THE TESTIMONY OF
MR. GALLOWAY A MASTER-TAILOR OF GLASGOW
At the first visit of Mrs. Wriedt to
Mr. Robertson’s home in Glasgow (1911) I had the joy of hearing my sons’
voices, clear and direct in their natural Scotch tones, exhibiting a
knowledge of my external life and my inward thoughts; but I was
gratified at a later stage with something which added to the charm of
hearing the objective realisation of their presence.
At one of the sittings with Mrs.
Wriedt in the house of Mr. Coates (Rothesay) I recall the following
manifestation with great pleasure.
The circle was
comprised of fourteen sitters, and, the conditions being very good, we
had a great deal of wonderful phenomena, which had a deep interest for
others; but what appealed to me most was the appearance of my son.
We had not been sitting long when
white vapoury clouds were seen floating about the room; then suddenly a
face formed out of the clouds, which I at once recognised as that of my
son Jack.
I involuntarily
exclaimed; “Oh, Jack!” when the face assumed a pleased expression, and
seemed to give me a nod of confirmation. I had not long to wait for
further proof, for the
trumpet was brought over to me, and a voice at once said: “What did you think
of my face, father?” I replied: “It is
first class, Jack; I knew you at once.” He then added: “I wish my mother had been
here.”
Jack was the youngest
of my twin sons who were drowned by the wreck of the steamship Hestia on
their way out to Canada then ( aged seventeen years). They have both given
abundant proof of their continued existence, and I am satisfied that I
still retain their love.
At a sitting held in the house of Mr.
Robertson, with a large company—I think about twenty were present—a voice, as
distinctly Scotch as my own,
addressed me, thus :—
“How are you, Mr.
Galloway?” I replied: “Who are you, friend?” When he said; “I am
McGillivray.” I said that I did not know him, but he insisted that he knew
me, and, on asking where it was that he made my acquaintance, he said: “Do
you no mind that I worked with
you in Coatbridge?”
I could not recall this, and asked him
if he used to live in Glasgow.
He then said: “Do you no
mind working in Coatbridge when you were a young man? You had just left
home, and did not know your trade very well, and I did that for you while you sewed for me.”
I at once recognised him, and asked if
he remembered what we made “colliers vests” of. He replied: “Moleskin.” I
said that I meant their Sunday vests, when he replied: “Silk Velvet,”
which was correct. Well then,” I said “now tell me the price per yard of
the velvet?” Answer: “Twenty-six shillings.” (I was under the impression
that it was twenty-five shillings, but I may be wrong.) “Now tell me what
they paid for the vests?”
Answer: “Forty-two shillings,” which, I believe, was correct.
I remember it struck
me then as being out of place for a miner to spend so much on a vest; but at that time there was a
great boom in the coal trade,
and that was one of the ways
they spent some of their money. I was a young man then, and only worked along with Mr. McGillivray for ten weeks.
After coming back to Glasgow he called once on
me, and I never saw him since. That is now thirty-nine years ago, and he
is one of the last men that I would have expected to come back; yet here
he was still interested in my
welfare. Of course, this was a glimpse of one old associate, but many others came close
to me whose identity was as closely marked, if not more so, than that of
my old fellow-worker McGillivray.
(Signed) PETER
GALLOWAY. |
