My Life As a Medium

by Betty Shine

  Her home had already been sold, and she was waiting to have a meeting with her husband’s accountants. At this time she had no idea what she was worth.

  Six months later, Maxine was able to look at the houses available in the village and bought the one whose interior matched the description I had given her.

  When I last saw her she was working as a photographer’s assistant. She was loving every minute of it, and told me that for the first time in her life, she felt fulfilled.

  The transformation in all those who eventually chose to take responsibility for their lives was a sight to behold. Their eyes shone, they looked like the free spirits they were, and one could feel the happiness they exuded. None of them had an easy transition, but they were determined to achieve the independence they so desired, and they won.

  Leela was eighteen years old. Her parents had protected her all her life, never allowing her to go out alone or with other girls of her own age. Her mother first brought her to me for healing, because she had injured her foot whilst walking. Whenever I asked Leela a question, her mother would answer it for her. In fact the girl did not even try to answer, as she obviously thought the effort would be wasted. I felt the frustration within her, but could do nothing in her mother’s presence. However, the following week she came alone, and I was able to talk to her for some time. She was very intelligent, and confided that she was at a loss as to know how to handle her mother. ‘I don’t think she believes I have a mind of my own,’ she said.

  Whilst she was speaking, her late grandmother contacted me. After checking whether Leela would be happy to receive survival evidence, I passed on the message.

  ‘Your mother has never changed. She was just the same when she was your age. I loved her dearly, but spent most of my life opposing her. She has to be in control all the time and you must put your foot down – in fact you should have done so a long time ago.’ Leela’s grandmother then gave her many family names, past and present, and talked about the problems that some of them were experiencing at that moment. She finished by telling the young woman that she must insist on having a life of her own. Leela told me that this would be very difficult; her father backed her mother all the way, for his own peace of mind.

  However, the message from her grandmother had given Leela so much strength that her mother finally gave in and allowed her more freedom. It was to be two years before her mother refrained from interfering in her conversations, but she won in the end.

  I think this story is a salutary lesson for possessive parents. Although they mean well, their actions can cause a great deal of harm. Learning to let go is difficult, but it’s a lesson we all have to learn. We all have to let go in differing circumstances throughout our lives.

  Barbara had been having an affair with a married man for twelve years. From the beginning, she had begged him to tell his wife so that Barbara would not, as she put it, ‘be crawling behind bushes all my life’. He refused, making his children the excuse for not owning up. Barbara told me that although she was still very much in love with the man, she had told him their relationship was over. Since then, he had pestered her at home and at work, sending flowers daily, and making threats of suicide if she did not return to him.

  She had been receiving healing from me for four weeks. During that time we had talked about the problems that they both faced. Her lover was obviously more dependent on her than she had realized. But as he still maintained that he could not leave his wife, Barbara had no choice but to seek a life elsewhere, and although she had come to terms with this fact, she still worried that she would cause his suicide. Then her late father contacted her through me.

  ‘You deserve better,’ he told her.

  Barbara burst into tears. ‘Tell her she must go to Tilly,’ he said.

  ‘Tilly lives in Austria,’ Barbara replied. ‘I can’t live there.’

  Her father spoke again. ‘Move right away. It’s the only solution.’

  He then talked to her about her family, and finished with the words, ‘Don’t contact him ever again.’

  Barbara was beside herself, and asked how she could possibly live in Austria. I suggested that her father was probably trying to point out that it would be a good idea for her to move away for a time. It was patently obvious that her lover would never leave her alone.

  Later, I heard that she had gone to Austria for a holiday, had fallen in love and married a friend of Tilly’s, and had made her home in that country.

  Her lover, on the other hand, became seriously depressed and his wife left him, taking the children with her.

  Although others may judge those who indulge in extra-marital affairs, it is, nevertheless, a kind of marriage, and letting go can be very distressing to both parties. If there is a dependency problem on either side, the only cure is for one of them to move away.

  I first became aware that as a medium and healer I had no right to judge others when, during a particularly draining time listening to a wife slandering her husband, I began to feel desperately sorry for the husband. My thoughts were immediately interrupted by a voice saying, ‘Judge not, lest ye be judged.’

  Later, when I looked at my own life, I realized that one cannot and should not judge others. No one can ever know the full story of why we take certain actions in our lives. Outsiders can only see the effect they have but, in practically every case, there are extenuating circumstances. In my own life and in my work I have seen and heard the inside stories, and some of them are truly mind-shattering. Very often it is the guilty party who receives the most sympathy. It is better to put everything behind you and begin again, but this is hard especially when memories come crowding in when you least expect them.

  Life is not easy, and there are no quick answers to all the problems we have to face. But I do believe that spirituality gives us the strength to carry on, and the knowledge that our loved ones still live – and try to contact us from time to time with messages of love and hope – sustains us when things are bad.

  Everyone too, has a spiritual minder, but this does not necessarily mean that they will help you over every hurdle. The more hurdles we are seen to jump by ourselves, the more help we will receive when the matter is truly urgent. It is all a question of progression, and of showing how much spiritual stamina we have.

  I have spoken to hundreds of people who are approaching old age, and they have stories to tell which are fascinating. Some of them are also heartrending, especially when they talk about the way their lives have been changed because they can no longer look after themselves. The happiest are those who have been given small flats with wardens to attend to them if they are ill. The unhappiest are those who, for one reason or another, have to live with their children. No matter how much love there is in the family, they hate the dependency. I do not think town planners give enough thought to warden-operated flats. There should be more of them, especially as people are now living well into their eighties and nineties.

  The next story is of one such person.

  Nell was a sprightly eighty-eight-year-old great-grandmother. Her daughter brought her to me as she was suffering from severe arthritis. They argued all through the healing and eventually I asked them to stop. Then Nell’s late husband contacted me, and said, ‘Will you tell them that I love them both.’ I passed this message on.

  Nell began to cry, and then she said, ‘If he was still here I’d be living in my own home.’

  ‘Was your husband’s name Len?’ I asked.

  Nell nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, Len is telling me that your troubles will soon be over.’

  ‘You mean I’m going to die?’ she asked.

  ‘No, not at all,’ I replied. ‘It seems that he is going to sort things out for you, and as he is smiling, I assume it is going to be a happy ending.’

  Nell’s daughter had been quietly listening to our conversation. At this point she said, ‘Betty, Mum has to live with us. She has no money of her own.’

  I smiled. ‘I’ve given th
ese sort of messages so often that I really think you should believe your Dad. They can sort things out better than we can because they have an overall view of the whole situation.’

  I saw Nell and her daughter every week for about six weeks. Although nothing more was said about their situation or the message they had received, their relationship seemed to be easier.

  A year later, the daughter visited me alone. When I asked her where Nell was she told me that her mother was sharing a flat with a friend. I asked how this had happened.

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘do you remember giving me that message from my Dad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Mum repeated it to an old friend, and laughingly said that she thought Dad was still dreaming.’ She explained that he had always been a bit of a dreamer, which was why he hadn’t provided for her mother. She smiled. ‘You won’t believe the next bit,’ she said.

  ‘Try me,’ I urged.

  ‘Mum’s friend told her that she had been so lonely she had often thought about asking Nell to live with her, but thought that I might be offended.’

  ‘So your Dad wasn’t dreaming after all, was he?’

  ‘He certainly wasn’t, and he obviously knew it would work, because they are very happy together.’ She hugged me, and said, ‘I can never thank you enough. I love my mother but she was driving us mad.’

  I told her that it was her father who had brought about the happy ending, not me.

  ‘Betty, after we had received your message, things were a lot happier at home, which meant that we remained friends. That meant a lot to both of us.’

  I do believe that if families get together and talk about these difficult situations, then solutions can be found. There are still many old people who are entitled to help, financially and otherwise, who are too proud to ask for it.

  The young never think they are going to grow old, but it comes to us all in the end. There is so much that young and old can give to each other, and something as simple as becoming a pen friend, for example, won’t take that much time out of your life.

  I do not think that the general public are aware of the many diverse situations that mediums have to cope with. I can understand that because in the beginning I was completely unaware of the range of circumstances which I would have to tackle. Perhaps it’s just as well that I didn’t. I might have refused to take on the challenge.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I was now in my ninth year as a medium, and still experiencing a wide range of phenomena every day – although, much to my delight, the smell of ether had disappeared. The variety was endless, and the picture-shows that were projected on to my bedroom walls were a constant entertainment. One night I saw a group of uniformed men. I thought at first they were policemen but as they had their backs to me I could not be sure. No matter how long I thought about it, the reason for this particular scene eluded me.

  Then one day, two plain-clothes policemen visited me and asked if they could speak to me. As I was busy, I suggested that they return in the evening. I had no idea what they wanted, but it kept me guessing all day.

  When they returned, one of them introduced himself as an inspector, and told me that they had found my name and address in the diary of one of my young patients. She had been brutally murdered. I was mortified, especially as I had told her on her last visit that she must be careful. He asked me if I would help by using my gifts of mediumship; I agreed to do this, and for thirty minutes, I was able to give him specific details about the murder and the perpetrator. He appeared to be delighted with the information, and handed me a parcel, suggesting that I might receive further details from the contact, as it contained the victim’s clothes. From these I was able to give a clear picture of her last moments and these were to leave a lasting impression on my psyche.

  That same evening I saw a police car stop outside the house, and it stayed there for about fifteen minutes.

  The inspector called again the next day and told me that he had asked his men to keep an eye on me, as I could be in danger. That really cheered me up! He also asked whether I would mind visiting a police artist with him.

  ‘You’ll like him,’ he said. ‘And it will be interesting to see how successful you are working together.’

  I told him I would be happy to do so, and he called for me the following day.

  There was an immediate rapport between the artist and myself, and I fell in love with his work. I felt that it would be a privilege to work with him. To begin with, he asked me to sit on a chair facing the easel, on which he had pinned a blank piece of white paper, explaining that he sketched with a charcoal pencil. Within a few minutes we were working together. I closed my eyes and was able to easily conjure up the face of the murderer, which had haunted me from the first time I had seen him. When I finished with my description I opened my eyes and there, facing me, was his exact image. I could not believe it! The artist was a genius. It was obvious to everyone that there had been an incredible telepathy between us; there were so many tiny details that I had not thought important enough to pass on, and yet there they were in the picture.

  Needless to say, the inspector was delighted, and on the way back home asked me if I would help in other murder cases. I agreed, because I had found the whole process fascinating, but would later regret this decision.

  On one occasion I was given a parcel of clothes belonging to the victim, and as I handled it I clearly heard the sound of a gun being fired. I turned to the inspector and said, ‘This man was shot through the right side of his neck.’ He confirmed this. ‘He was also shot through the side,’ I continued, ‘because I can see a bullet hole by the side of his kidney.’

  He looked at me in amazement, and said, ‘You’re spot on. We didn’t know it was there until his clothes were removed.’

  ‘But it made a hole in his jumper,’ I protested.

  He smiled, and said, ‘I know! But it was so small we didn’t see it. We must bring you in on these cases much earlier.’ He was obviously pulling my leg!

  Again, I was astonished by the clarity of the pictures I was receiving. I saw the victim walking to the front door of his home, and then I heard a shout, the victim turned around, and it was at that moment that he was shot. I saw a man running down an alley and disappearing into a cobbled yard, very similar to those seen in old stableyards, and then saw huge wooden gates being slammed shut. What I did not get was an image of the man as he ran away, although from the back view I could see that he was wearing a raincoat and appeared to be quite stocky.

  After a while, I found that the images of the victims were taking over my life, and because the vibrations were affecting my healing, I decided to stop working on murder cases. I’m sure my spirit team were in agreement, because when the terrorist squad turned up on my doorstep asking if I could help with the Harrods bombing, my mind went black and I was no use to them whatsoever.

  Two years later I moved to Sussex, and on the second day in my new home I saw a policeman walking up the garden path. My heart sank, and I thought, ‘Oh no, not again.’ When I opened the door, he asked me whether I had seen anyone hanging around as there had been several cases of arson. ‘In fact,’ he said, ‘the barn across the field has just been set alight.’ We looked out of the window, and saw a huge plume of smoke wafting across the Downs.

  Without thinking, I said, ‘I think you will find that it’s a group of children, probably no more than eleven or twelve.’ As soon as I spoke I could have kicked myself.

  ‘That’s an odd thing for you to say,’ he said, looking at me with a puzzled expression on his face.

  Rather than have him think that I was peculiar, I told him that I had worked with the police before. His expression gave nothing away, but I could feel from his vibes that he thought I was a bit odd. He probably wondered what he had done wrong in his life that he should have me suddenly arrive in his patch!

  About three weeks later he knocked at my door again. ‘I’ve come to tell you,’ he said, ‘that we caught the arso
nists setting light to a garage. Their ages ranged from eleven to thirteen.’ He smiled. ‘Just thought you’d like to know.’

  We worked on several cases together, but my heart was not in it, and I felt increasingly ill at ease. I was pleased when this work petered out.

  I did help out in a particularly brutal double murder, giving a policeman some vital evidence, but he did not mention my name during the enquiries, for which I was thankful. Two years later my evidence was found to be correct.

  Although I would never go down that avenue again, I was grateful for the experience, and it later proved an enormous help when I found myself dealing with victims of physical and mental abuse.

  One such case was Glenda, a very attractive woman in her thirties who had made an appointment with me for healing. Whilst I was healing her I saw funnels of energy emanating from her body, and when I placed my hands over them the heat was incredible. This told me that there was a considerable amount of inflammation there, and I questioned her about it.

  ‘I can’t tell you,’ she said. ‘It is a private matter.’

  ‘But your body must be bruised all over.’

  ‘It is. That is why I’m here,’ she replied.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘I’ll get on with the healing.’ Then a voice said, ‘I’m Mary. I want to speak to Glenda,’ and I passed the message on.

  Glenda held her hands up in horror. ‘Oh no!’ she said. ‘I can’t cope with her.’

  ‘Why not?’ I asked.

  With her head resting in her hands, she muttered, ‘Because I took her husband away from her, that’s why.’

  I pressed her to listen to Mary. ‘She doesn’t sound angry to me. Perhaps she can help you.’

  Glenda looked weary. ‘Okay, I’ll listen.’

  ‘Well, I hope you will, because she is telling you to leave your husband before he kills you.’ I paused to listen to Mary. ‘She’s also telling me that you did her a big favour when you took him away from her, as she had never had the courage to leave.’