CHAPTER ELEVEN

 

MORE DIRECT VOICE

 

Sir Henry Segrave helped another speed-boat victim to prove his identity when a Japanese visitor attended one of my voice séances. The communication she received not only set her own mind at rest but dulled the edge of grief of her son’s suffering. She was Mrs. Kingi Yano and her son was named Haro.

 

Her husband and his brother, Shingi, had collaborated in racing motor boats and had won deserved reputations at this sport. Then came the day when Shingi was killed while practicing for a race. Kingi never got over it. For five months he mourned his brother and then himself died as the result of no more than a chill.

 

This was the background to Dulce Yano’s visit, and for the first hour of the sitting she sat silent and interested, taking no active part. Then Red Cloud said: “There is a little man here whom I must help. Hold on!”

 

Regular members of the circle knew that a stranger was going to manifest for the first time. Deliberately the trumpet moved to Mrs. Yano and stopped. Then a voice said in perfect English: “I say, Dulce, this is Shingi.”

 

“Yes, Shingi,” she replied, “what have you to say?”

 

“Kingi and I are here together. We do not want Haro to grieve always. He saw me die in the boat . . . but we got the speed. He must take his university examination in December.”

“How can I make them understand in Japan that we must stay here until the end of the year?”

 

“Tell them Kingi and I say so.” “Very Well,” Mrs. Yano said quietly.

 

“I say, Dulce,” the voice went on quickly with obvious traces of excitement. “Do you know who brought us here tonight? Sir Henry Segrave. Tell Lady Segrave that her husband does much to help us here. He has helped Kingi and me a lot. Kingi wanted to come tonight but could not manage it. He says he will try next time. He says: “tell Haro to grieve no more. All is well with us and we are always with him.’ “

 

Mrs. Yano wrote her own impressions of this séance, from which I quote:

 

“The voice was Shingi’s own and he had the same mannerisms as when he was with us here. He invariably prefixed his remarks with `I say’ and almost the first thing he said at the séance was, ‘I say, Dulce.’ I could hardly believe my ears when he announced his name, Shingi Yano, but then he repeated it louder and more clearly.

 

“Sir Henry Segrave and Shingi were known to one another. My son Haro, was very grief stricken after the accident, and it interefered greatly with his studies.

 

“Shingi had set his heart on achieving a certain speed at the trial run. My husband was timing him. One lap had been just finished and he was at the beginning of another when the boat overturned.

 

“His statement was correct. He achieved his speed.”

 

One of the difficulties in writing a book from the medium’s viewpoint is that when you have been in a deep trance you are dependant on the memories of those present for an accurate description of what transpired. Because of this the presence of the shorthand writer at the voice séances was invaluable. It made it possible for me to study the word-for-word transcriptions of what was said. The result, however, was curious, for the verbatim accounts, as I read them, produced a feeling of complete detachment from the events described, even though I was so intimately concerned in them. Quite often, however, verbatim records have not been available (the present-day use of the tape recorder has solved this problem) and so no one has been dependant for one'’ facts on reliable eyewitnesses.

 

I have always been fortunate in those who have testified to events that took place while I have been entranced. Often they have been distinguished men and women from many walks of life, frequently well-known writers and journalists whose names are widely known and whose integrity is unquestioned. Such people, knowing that Spiritualism is a controversial subject, bring balanced and inquiring minds to each new manifestation they witness. They accept nothing on trust, and when they write on the subject they do so from close experience and not from hearsay.

 

It is because I appreciate the value of eyewitnesses account that I asked Maurice Barbanell’s permission to use the following extract from his recently published, deeply-absorbing book This Is Spiritualism. It concerns the case of Bessy Manning, of whose existence none of us had heard until she was introduced by Red Cloud in the course of a sitting. It is remarkable, I think, not only in its evidence for survival after death but also as an example of the answer to prayer. It is remarkable, too, in that it was extended to include not only Bessy and her brother but her mother, too. This is how Maurice Barbanell describes the case of Bessy Manning in his book:

 

 

My most moving experience in Estelle Roberts séance room came when I was addressed by an unknown spirit communicator. About halfway through one sitting, Red Cloud said to me, almost casually: “There is a girl here who has approached me to get in touch with her mother on earth. She will give her own evidence.”

 

“Do I know her?” I asked.

 

“No,” the guide replied, “but you can help her.”

 

The trumpet slowly moved towards me and a voice, obviously belonging to a young girl, said: “I will, All right. I will . . . “

 

From long experience I knew that the way to get the best results was to encourage the communicators to speak, not to ply them with questions which could have a rebuffing effect. “Come along,” I urged, “you are going to try to give me a message. Come and talk to me.”

The voice replied: “I will if I am allowed to talk. A kind man brought me here.”

 

Then, very slowly, but distinctly, she declared: “My name is Bessy Manning. I died with tuberculosis last Easter. I have brought my brother, Tommy with me; he was killed by a motor car. My mother has prayed because she reads your paper, and has asked that some day the great guide, Red Cloud, would bring me here.”

 

In the psychic journal which I edited at the time, I had described some of these voice séances, and Bessy was indicating that her mother had read what I had printed. “I will send a message to your mother tomorrow,” I told the girl.

 

Bessy expressed gratitude and continued: “Tell mother that I still have my two long plaits. I am twenty-two, and I have got blue eyes. Tell her I want her to come here. Could you bring her?” Very wistfully she added, “She is not rich – she is poor.”

 

“I will see if I can bring her, “ I replied.

 

“She is so unhappy,” Bessy went on. “She says she lost both of us. You will help her, won’t you? God will bless you if you help her. Thank you . . . thank you . . . . thank you . . .”

 

“Before I can send a message to your mother,” I told Bessy, “I must know where she lives, for I do not know her.”

 

“Bessy’s reply came without hesitation. “I will tell you,” she said. Slowly and distinctly she gave the address, “14, Canterbury Street, Blackburn.”

 

“Red Cloud,” I said, “there must be thousands who pray for comfort like her mother.”

 

“I have only one instrument,” he answered, with a note of sadness in his voice.

 

“Will you invite her mother to the next séance?” I asked her. “Will I?” he replied. “Would you?”

 

I had never heard of Bessy Manning. I did not know whether there was a Mrs. Manning, or whether there was a Canterbury Street in Blackburn, but my confidence, built on years of experience with Red Cloud, was such that I knew the spirit information was correct.

 

On the following morning, without the slightest doubt in my mind, I sent this telegram to Mrs. Manning at 14, Canterbury Street in Blackburn: “Your daughter, Bessy, spoke to us at Red Cloud’s circle last night.” I received no reply, so I telegraphed again. Two days later, on the Monday, there were two letters from Mrs. Manning.

 

The first one read: “I don’t know whom I have to thank for the great joy you have given me. I thank you with all my heart and soul for the telegram I received last Saturday. I wanted to shout it from the house tops. I laughed and cried all at once. What a wonderful spirit Red Cloud is, and how good and kind you all are! I feel sure you will carry your kindness further and let me know what my Bessy said.

 

“Oh, the glorious happiness to me and mine! In my next letter I shall defray the cost of the telegram. Please don’t be offended. It is only fair. How can I ever thank you enough? That bit of paper is more to me than untold gold. I will pray with all my heart for all of you, and especially for Mrs. Roberts. You will tell me, won’t you, if she sent me a little message. It is a wonderful, glorious truth, and again I thank you so much. Also my husband and my other two daughters thank you.”

 

In her other letter Mrs. Manning wrote: “I have received your second telegram. I am sorry to have caused you to have to send a second one, and I am thankful for your wonderful kindness. You must not have received my letter which I posted on Sunday. I was very happy to have been able to send you a return telegram, as things are not very bright at present. I want you to understand how grateful we all are. We would do anything possible to repay your great goodness. You don’t know what it means to us.

 

“My daughter passed on last Easter Monday, and my son was killed nearly nine years ago. Had it not been for getting in touch with the Spiritualist family, I would have been raving mad. I am longing to know what Bessy said. I want to comfort others as I have been. We don’t get real good mediums here. It must be great to hear Mrs. Estelle Roberts and the other great ones. I wish I had the glorious gift. Again, I thank you so very much.”

 

I regard Bessy Manning’s return as flawless evidence for the after-life. No theories of telepathy or the subconscious mind can explain it away. No suggestion of collusion or any other kind of fraud can be entertained. Mrs. Manning had never met Estelle Roberts, or corresponded with her or any member of her family. Neither had she written to me or anyone who attended these voice séances. Yet her daughter’s full name and address had been given, accompanied by a complete message which was accurate in every detail.

 

Later, when I met Mrs. Manning, she told me that she had prayed night and day for evidence that her daughter lived beyond the grave. Her prayer had been heard and answered. How a prayer uttered in Blackburn can produce a response in Middlesex, I do not know. All that I do know is that it happened. This séance communication proves that some requests are heard, and that there is an organization in the Beyond able to provide the answer when conditions are appropriate.

 

I arranged for Mrs. Manning to come to London for the next voice séance. Her husband was unemployed. It was obviously a time of difficulty for her. I met her at St. Pancras Station, on, this, her first visit to London. She was full of excitement as I showed her some of the sights of the city before driving her down to Teddington, where the voice this séances were held.

 

It was not long before Bessy, speaking through the trumpet, addressed her overjoyed mother. “Ma,” she said excitedly, “it’s Bessy speaking.”

 

“Yes, Bessy,” replied the mother.

 

Her daughter was so full of excitement that half way through her conversation the trumpet dropped, a sure sign that she could not hold the “power.”

 

“Bessy,” her mother said, “this is wonderful. You know how your mother loves you, don’t you?”

 

“It is wonderful,” Bessy replied. “God bless you, Ma. Tell Father not to worry. Tommy is here too.” She added. “We are here together. Tommy is also anxious to speak to you, Ma. It is so wonderful I don’t know how to talk . . . I am so excited.”

 

The Lancashire dialect was obvious in the mother’s voice when she answered: “Don’t get excited, love. Talk to Mother. Do you come in to the home, Bessy?”

“You know I do,” she replied. “I’ll try to talk to you there. Day after day you talk to my picture. You stand in front of it, you pick it up and kiss it, and I watch you all the time.”

 

Later. Mrs. Manning assured me that this was true. Often, in her grief, she would take her daughter’s photograph, kiss it and talk to it. Bessy, to show that she knew what was happening in her own home, said to her mother: “You were telling Father about his boots this morning, weren’t you, Ma?”

 

“That is quite right,” replied Mrs. Manning.

 

“You said they wanted mending, didn’t you, Ma?”

 

“I understand what you mean Bessy,” was the answer.

 

“My Ma, I called her Ma,” said Bessy. In repeating Bessy’s words to enable the stenographer to record them verbatim, I thought that Bessy once said “Mother.” She instantly corrected me by saying “Ma,” which was her usual greeting for her mother.

 

More evidence followed as Bessy referred to the beads that her mother was wearing, saying that these were once her property, and that she had worn them before she died. This, I later learned, was accurate.

 

“It was a big shock for you when Tommy was killed,” were Bessy’s last words to her mother. Red Cloud followed and said, “She brought the boy, Tommy, with her.” Then, as he so often did, he slipped another item of evidence into his next sentence: “Tommy is named after his father.”

 

When the séance was over, Mrs. Manning was weeping, but they were tears of joy, not sorrow. “I am the happiest woman in the world,” she said.

 

The following morning, before she returned to Blackburn, Estelle Roberts gave Mrs. Manning a private sitting at which, I later learned, Bessy continued to prove her identity with detail after detail, none of which the medium could have known. She sent messages to other members of the family, and one to her fiancé. “Tell Billy,” she said, “that I still remember the ring he sent me – the one I wore when I was buried.”

 

A few days later, Mrs. Manning sent me this letter, doubtless so that I could have her own testimony:

“I am writing this for the comfort of others, knowing I shall be ridiculed by some, laughed at by a few, but blessed by many. My only son, whom I adored, was killed by a motor. He was a dear little chap, who loved me very dearly. I was frantic – utterly crushed. I lost all hope. All my ambitions lay buried in his grave.

 

“Eight years later, my daughter Bessy passed on, one of the most lovable and sweetest girls who ever lived. Just before the end, she said, `If it is possible at all, I will come back.’ I knew she would keep that promise. She has come in the most unexpected manner. I had often heard of the Red Cloud circle.

 

“It came as a big surprise to me to receive a telegram from Mr. Barbanell telling me that my daughter had come through, asking for her mother and telling them where she lived. I was astonished and overjoyed at the news. Through his kindness it was made possible for me to go to London and attend the circle. It was a great experience. Everywhere I was met with kindness. I heard many spirit voices and all were recognized. It was most amazing.

 

“I heard my own daughter speak to me, in the same old loving way, and with the self-same peculiarities of speech. She spoke of incidents that I know for a positive fact no other person could know. I, her mother, am the best judge, and I swear before Almighty God it was Bessy. She told me she had brought her brother with her, told of him being killed and gave his name. She spoke of many things that have passed in our home, things that were far from my mind at the time.

 

“I thank God, with all my heart and soul. He answered my prayers, and I have prayed, long and often. I have no fear of so­called death. I am looking forward to the glorious meeting with my loved ones.”

 

The years went by, and I forgot about Bessy and her mother. The war had intervened, and there was so much to do. Estelle Roberts decided to renew her voice séances in the new home to which she had moved. I was delighted to find that her mediumship was as powerful as ever, and the results equally as impressive.

 

At one of them, Red Cloud said to me: “I have a visitor for you. Hold on.” Through the trumpet, smeared as usual with its luminous paint, I heard the word “Hello” uttered three times. As this seemed to be a communicator making the first effort, I spoke words of encouragement. The woman’s tones that came through the trumpet said: “I know that voice. You helped me very much by enabling me to talk to my daughter.”

 

Quick as a flash, before she gave her name, I guessed it was Mrs. Manning speaking, though I had not heard of her passing. She had returned to complete the story, to say “that the glorious meeting with my loved ones” which she had anticipated was now a reality. “I have got Bessy and Tommy here,” she said through the trumpet. “Can you tell my family? Just give them my love and tell them I am helping. My dear ones would like to know.”

 

I sent a copy of this spirit message to the old Blackburn address, but my letter came back with the envelope marked “Gone away.” I was disappointed that Mrs. Manning’s family could not have the mother’s message. Then, to my surprise, I received a letter from another address in Blackburn. It was written by a Mrs. J. Smith, who described herself as a daughter of Mrs. Manning. Someone had seen a printed reference I had made to her mother’s return and had sent Mrs. Smith a copy of it.

 

“I am her youngest daughter,” she wrote. “My sister and I are the only remaining ones of the family on this earth. I can’t tell you the joy and gladness the message gave me. I felt I wanted to run out and tell the world. Instead of which I sat down and cried. I felt humble and ashamed that I had begun to doubt and despair that I would ever hear of that beloved person again.”

 

Her mother, she added, had suddenly died without the chance to say farewell. She was alone when she had a seizure. By the time the daughters reached her side, it was too late for their mother to speak.

 

“It was a cruel blow, for, with her passing, the sunshine of life went,” wrote Mrs. Smith. Years had dragged on and she was beginning to despair. Now she had received the answer to her prayers. “It is the grandest thing that can ever happen to me,” was her summing-up.

 

 

There is an amusing sequel to the Bessy Manning story which Barbanell does not mention in his book but which I have many times heard him tell against himself. As examples of superb spirit proofs and of direct answer to prayer, he recounted the case of Bessy Manning in the scores of his lectures up and down the country. It was never omitted because it was the perfect case. At last, reluctantly, he decided that for his own sake, because he had wearied of its constant repetition, he must delete it and refer to newer material.

 

After the first meeting at which he introduced the changed matter, he was approached by a women whose face seemed vaguely familiar. But where had he met her? A public lecturer meets thousands of people in the course of over thirty years.

 

“Do you remember me?” the woman asked.

 

Barbanell looked at her again but had to confess that he could not place her.

 

“I’m Mrs. Manning,” the woman said, adding disappointedly, I thought you would have told them about my Bessy.”

 

Poor Barbanell! There he was in Blackburn, in Bessy’s home town, and he had not told her dramatic story. With many of the audience having known Bessy in life, it would have created a sensation!

 

Maurice Barbanell has a keen sense of humor and I know that he would be the first to appreciate this story, told to me by one of the sitters in a voice séance. The greatest drawback to any good direct voice communication is tension. Once Red Cloud had brought a poor soul who was trying desperately hard to speak but the atmosphere grew so tense he had to abandon his effort. John, as Red Cloud calls Barbanell, said “Red Cloud, we will pray for him.” Renowned for his repartee and wishing to uplift the sitters Red Cloud laughingly replied, “John, charity begins at home!” In the laughter that followed the atmosphere was relaxed and after a short while the communicator tried again and was able to make contact.

 

There have been in my experience many cases like that of Bessy Manning which are the direct results of prayer. One occurred at a Royal Albert Hall meeting when Red Cloud gave me a message for a man with a name I thought I recognized. As the message was of a delicate and private nature I made no mention of it to the audience but noted it for later attention. After the meeting I inquired about the name which had sounded familiar and was not surprised to learn that it belonged to a prominent Member of Parliament.

 

I asked the stewards whether this gentlemen or his wife had been present, but nobody could tell me. In a quandary I telephoned Maurice Barbanell. He volunteered to tell the people concerned of the existence of this spirit message from their daughter. In less than ten minutes the wife was on the telephone to me and I delivered the message. Thanking me for it, she confessed: “My husband and I were in the auditorium. I prayed every minute we were there, prayed with every fibre of my being, that we might receive a message from our child. Thank you, oh thank you, for what you have done.”

 

Another communication within this category came at a public voice séance I gave at the Kingsway Hall, London. The details came from Mrs. Gertrude Brooke of Cricklewood, who was present at the meeting and directly concerned with what happened afterwards.

 

During the séance Red Cloud announced that a young nurse in the spirit world would give her own evidence. A voice was then heard to say: “My name is Olive May Mann. I was a nurse at the Leicester Infirmary. I was killed on my bicycle while riding with other nurses. My mother lives at Tansley, near Matlock. Please tell her I live on still, but that I cannot be happy until she stops grieving. She has been to a Spiritualist church and has prayed that I will give some sign of my survival.”

 

The trumpet then fell to the ground with the fading of power.

 

After the meeting Mrs. Brooke and some friends, over coffee, discussed this striking spirit message. They all regretted that the girl’s mother or some friend or relation had not been present to witness the nurse’s spirit return. For several days Mrs. Brooke deliberated, unable to make up her mind whether she might not be meddling with things which did not concern her if she took some positive action. At last she decided that no harm could come from checking part of the spirit evidence with the secretary of the Leicester Infirmary. She wrote a brief note asking if a nurse of that name had ever been employed in the hospital. She made no mention of the source of her information.

 

The reply she received was that this nurse had been engaged in the mental wards up to some eighteen months earlier. Regrettably she had met with an accident and had died in the hospital.

 

Without much difficulty Mrs. Brooke obtained the full address of the girl’s mother in Tansley, and wrote giving the full details of the communication. A grateful response came by return of post, expressing an immediate intention of coming to London to call on Mrs. Brooke. The mother was as good as her word and the two had tea. Afterwards they sat at a table in the hope of receiving a message. They were not disappointed, for the table spelled out: “Mother, you have made me very happy. My love to all. Olive.”

 

It was inevitable that my mediumship should bring me into frequent contact with Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. He regularly attended my meetings at the Marylebone Spiritualist Association and more than once spoke from the platform with me at the Queen’s Hall. I also knew his wife and family, his sons Adrian and Denis being occasional visitors to my direct-voice circles.

 

After Sir Arthur’s death, Lady Doyle and her family heard his voice at one of these sittings. At a later séance, when they were not present, he came and spoke at some length. On this occasion the circle comprised some of the best known figures in Spiritualism. Bluntly, Sir Arthur’s voice broke in on the gathering.

 

“Doyle speaking,” it said, “I asked permission to come for a minute to offer congratulations on the new paper. (This was a reference to a new psychic paper that had just been launched.) Go forward. Stand always for truth and fear no man.”

 

Hannen Swaffer then thanked him for speaking to a home circle of which he was a member and said he hoped he would come again.

 

“I will come whenever I can,” Doyle replied, “but it is not as easy as it would appear. Is Mr. Craze here?”

 

George Craze, President of the Merylebone Association, who had often presided for Doyle at public meetings, said he was.

 

“Take care of this medium,” Doyle urged him. “She is doing wonderful work. And you, Swaffer, watch our interests in the battle for truth that is now taking place. Great forces are opposing us, yet we must go forever forward.”

 

He continued in this vein for some time. Before taking his leave he sent a message to his wife with "all my love and affection" and one to his son Denis, "tell him to go forward in his work.”

 

On another occasion Sir Arthur returned and asked to speak to Shaw Desmond. Although Desmond did not doubt the genuineness of the communication he thought that nothing would be lost by asking the spirit speaker to prove his identity.

 

“If you are Conon Doyle,” he said, “tell me where we last met.”

Instantly the voice replied they had last met by accident in a doorway in Victoria Street, to which each had run to escape a sudden downpour of rain. Desmond recalled this incident.

 

Six days after Sir Arthur Conan Doyle left this life, a Spiritualist memorial service was held in the Royal Albert Hall which was packed from floor to ceiling. Many of those present hoped that Sir Arthur would dramatically come back and thus fulfill a promise he had made. He did return at this huge gathering, but not in the sensational manner hoped for by his audience.

 

Lady Doyle sat in the center of the platform. By her side there was a chair deliberately left empty as a symbol of his physical absence but an indication of his hoped for spirit presence. All around was a great concourse of spirit people anxious to communicate with their friends. For half an hour, by means of clairvoyance, I relayed their messages to individuals among the mass of people in the hall. But there was no sign of Sir Arthur. I kept looking about me, hoping he would appear. It was not until the audience stood for two minutes’ silence as a tribute to him, that I suddenly became aware he was standing beside me. With this realization I became momentarily flustered. He saw it at once and quickly calmed me. “Carry on with your work. Go on, child,” he said reassuringly. Then he went and sat in the “empty” chair by his wife.

 

I carried on transmitting spirit messages until Sir Arthur got to his feet and came over to my side. Slowly and deliberately he gave me a test message for Lady Doyle. It was an intimate one concerning another member of the family and referred to an event which had occurred only that morning. It convinced Lady Doyle that it must have come from her husband, as only she and the other member of the family were aware that the small incident described had happened.

 

While giving clairvoyance that evening a strange scene presented itself to my vision, one that had a striking sequel some years later. I was led to a man, wearing an open necked shirt, who was sitting near the platform.

 

“There is a woman here who was killed by a horse,” I told him. “Her name is Emily Wilding Davision. She says she told her friend in the hall that she would appear tonight.”