“Don't worry,” he said as he broke the news of this engagement to me, “it's only a small church, and there are never many people there. And besides, I will be right there with you.”
Stainforth, although a mere ten miles from where I lived, was a place I had rarely visited and didn't know much about. I had been completely unaware that it even had a spiritualist church until Mick dropped this little bombshell on me.
Mick continued, “You don't have a thing to worry about,” he said. “I'll give the philosophy and all you have to do is give some clairvoyance.”
As I knew that I would have to get my feet wet sometime, I nervously agreed to go, consoled by the fact that my friend had stressed not many people would be there to witness my first public appearance.
The fateful Sunday arrived all too soon, and at four o'clock that afternoon, having been jittery all day, I went upstairs, had a bath, and went through to the bedroom to get changed.
Even though my guide had reassured me again and again, I had been on edge all day. I kept telling myself that Grey Eagle would be there and everything would go well, and in some part I had managed to convince myself. In fact, as I sat down at the dressing table to put on my makeup, I was quite pleased with the way I was handling the situation. I was keeping my nerves under control. Or so I thought.
Then I looked in the mirror—and gasped in horror at the sight before my eyes. I was looking at a face that was almost unrecognizable to me.
Huge red lumps had appeared across my cheeks, making my nose look as if it were in the wrong place. My neck and shoulders had developed into a great swollen, salmon-pink blob, and as I watched, more lumps and bumps began forming on my forehead. From my shoulders up I was looking at one great big, blotchy red mess.
Oh, my God! I thought, my heart sinking into my boots. What on earth can I do?
Well, I tried cream, and makeup, then more cream, and more makeup. But the more I tried to cover up the mess, the worse it got, and time was running out.
Eventually, with no more time to spare, I gave up, dressed quickly, and without even a backward glance in the mirror, went out.
By the time I got into the car I looked like a very lumpy red balloon. I drove to Stainforth to meet Mick, all the time muttering to myself and to Grey Eagle that at least I would be noticed, if nothing else.
Mick took one look at my face and burst out laughing, which only made matters worse than they already were.
“I knew you would be nervous,” he said, chuckling, “but I didn't expect you to be as bad as this.”
He had known immediately what had caused the rash. My seemingly calm exterior had hidden my true feelings. I was terrified.
Most spiritualist churches run on a shoestring, and speakers go around the country, working without pay, claiming only traveling expenses. All of the churches I have ever worked in support themselves on a voluntary basis, and this church was no exception. The Stainforth Spiritualist Church building is a very small place, not much more than a barn. It is very easy to miss, as it is set back off the road and insignificant looking to boot. Only when you step in the door and feel the love and warmth inside it do you have any indication that it is a church at all.
When we arrived most of the congregation were already there, about a dozen adults in all, and I was quaking.
Well, I needn't have worried, because things went very smoothly, and I actually enjoyed myself. First of all we sang a hymn, then Mick took over and talked to the small group about his beliefs and how working as a healer had given him a greater understanding of what Christ had meant about loving others as yourself.
I listened intently, forgetting for a time how nervous I was, until he introduced me to the audience. “Here is someone very special with a very special gift, which she would now like to demonstrate to you,” he said.
I stood up shakily, very aware that I was trembling and trying hard not to show it. I searched the room for my first communicator, that person in the spirit world who would like to give a message through me to one of our “flock.” Soon I began to work, making clear and positive connections with many waiting souls, and my nervousness disappeared as I simply got on with the job that I had been born to do. And the rash? Well, that stayed with me for three or four days.
A few days later I received a phone call from the president of the Hatfield Young Farmers Club. Hatfield is another small village that backs onto Stainforth.
News travels fast.
“Are you Rosemary Altea, the lady who does fortune-telling?” the young man asked.
“No,” I replied. “But I am Rosemary Altea who is a medium.”
“Ah yes, well”—he coughed—“someone I know has mentioned to me that you do ‘this sort of thing’ and that you don't charge. My committee and I were wondering if you would be interested in coming to Hatfield to give our group a talk.”
“Yes, of course I will,” I heard myself say. And then and there we made the arrangements.
I wanted to know how many people he would expect to come and what age group I would be dealing with. I also tried to ensure that he knew what he would be letting himself in for.
He told me that the membership was mixed, girls as well as boys, and that age varied from fifteen-year-olds to thirty-year-olds. As for numbers, I should expect probably around twenty people to be there.
At that stage in my life twenty people seemed a lot. Putting down the phone, I turned to Mick, who had just arrived for the Wednesday circle.
“Did you hear that?” I asked. “Did you hear what I just did? I've just agreed to give a talk. You will come with me, won't you?”
He laughed. “Yes, of course I'll come with you.”
When I arrived at the community center where the talk was to be held, I was amazed to see so many people assembled. At least thirty-five were there, all in their late teens and early twenties. It was also a surprise for me to discover that I had been booked as the “mystery speaker,” which meant that no one there, except the committee, would be expecting a medium.
I looked at the scrap of paper that contained the speech I had struggled to prepare, such as it was, and realized how empty the words seemed. Taking a deep breath, I crumpled it up, braced myself, and walked onto the stage.
At first I was very nervous, but courage came, and before long I began to settle down. What really broke the ice, and gave me complete attention from my young audience, was this:
In an attempt to help them understand about mediumship, I explained some of the different ways that those in spirit can come through to communicate. “Sometimes,” I said, “I see them as clearly as I see you. At other times I may see no more than a shadow, or I will see someone quite well, but from a distance. There are times,” I continued, “when I won't see a person, but I will hear them quite clearly.”
I also told them that many people, not just mediums, can often sense the presence of spirit. Then I asked, “How many of you here have felt someone standing behind you?”
Well, I had hardly got the sentence out before the whole place was in an uproar. My audience had taken the sentence literally and were laughing at the thought of “feeling” someone—or anyone, for that matter— standing next to them. The color came up in my face, which seemed only to delight them even more. Of course, it didn't take me long to realize how they had taken what I'd said.
I looked at this group of seemingly unruly kids, who were laughing all the more at my discomfort and embarrassment, and then I began to laugh. Grey Eagle was laughing, too.
“Have you ever ‘felt’ anyone?” I spluttered to myself, and then this group of young people saw that I, too, was laughing, laughing with them, and they began to clap.
A few cheered, but they all clapped, and it took several minutes before we all settled down and I was able, once more, to continue with the demonstration. From then on I had their complete and undivided attention as I made connections again and again with relatives and loved ones in the spirit world, and we all enjoyed ourselves
thoroughly.
In fact, it was one of the best demonstrations I have ever given—many people from the spirit world came through to communicate—and it was one of the nicest groups I have ever had to work with.
I continued with my private consultations, becoming busier and busier, and some twelve months later I received another phone call from the same Young Fanners Association, asking me if I would please come back to see them again and do another demonstration.
But this time I was not booked as the “mystery speaker,” and more than just a few youngsters came for the night out. There were people of all ages, old and young. Word had obviously gone round, and I found myself with an audience of about two hundred people, all of them curious about me and eager to hear more about the kind of work I did.
It was that demonstration that seemed to trigger things, and before many weeks passed I was inundated with calls. Requests came flooding in from women's institute groups, schools, and churches, and I went from strength to strength, gaining experience all the time. Always Grey Eagle was with me, always guiding, reassuring, encouraging me forward.
The first school I went to also stands out clearly in my mind. Mick McGuire had once again agreed to come with me, to hold my hand. Although by now I ought to have gained more confidence, I was still very apprehensive about standing on stage. What if my mind went blank or if I said something wrong? Worse still, what if those in spirit deserted me, what then? Every time I faced an audience, small or large, these thoughts raced through my mind, leaving me feeling sick and jittery.
As we pulled into the school parking lot, Mick remarked on the number of cars there were, but we were lucky and found a space. Naively I assumed that all those cars must belong to people attending night school classes, so imagine my amazement when we were ushered into the hall.
There were well over three hundred people in the place, all of them sitting there, waiting patiently for the evening to begin!
I could feel the panic rising in me, and turning to Mick, I muttered, “I can't go in there, not with all those people, Mick, I just can't do it.”
But his reaction was completely different from mine. Grinning from ear to ear and rubbing his hands together delightedly, he replied, “Don't be silly. Come on, this is great, just great.” And, grabbing my arm, he began steering me down the center aisle toward the stage.
He couldn't wait to begin.
We had entered the hall from the back, and as we headed forward, faces turned toward us and I could see people nudging one another and hear voices murmuring, “That's her, that's her, that's Rosemary.”
This just seemed to bolster Mick's confidence even further, but all I wanted to do was run away.
After what seemed like an eternity, we finally reached the stage, and I remember standing frozen to the spot, with my back to the audience, looking up into space, trying to find Grey Eagle.
“Help me,” I begged. “Please don't make me face all of these people. Make a hole appear. Make me disappear. Do something, anything,” I pleaded, “but don't make me face the crowd sitting behind me.”
But Grey Eagle didn't seem to be listening to my cowardly pleas, and I found myself with no alternative but to climb onto the stage. If I had run, I don't think I would have gotten very far before Mick hauled me back.
The chairman of the Parent-Teacher Association gave me a lovely introduction, and as I stood up to face my audience the applause was warm, sincere, and welcoming.
That should have made me feel better, but it didn't— nothing could, I was so intimidated by the size of the crowd, and it was with my knees knocking furiously that I began.
It took me less than ten minutes to give my introductory talk, to explain what we were going to do, who Mick was, that he was a healer, and that he would be giving a talk about his work.
I had raced on, my speech almost incoherent as I gave this information, and as my voice began to wobble and my nerve began to crack, I hurriedly handed over the proceedings to him. The audience was a little confused at first by my short outburst, but they soon settled down and gave Mick their full attention.
Gratefully I sank onto the chair, and relief flooded over me. The first part was over, and I had a respite … but not for long. Although Mick can talk the hind leg off a donkey, even he would have to stop soon, and after all, it was me these people had come to see. I was the one they had booked.
What on earth, I thought as I looked around this sea of faces, had possessed me to come?
I looked around at my audience again, and again panic seized me.
Oh, God, I prayed silently, Grey Eagle, don't desert me, please…. And in that moment I saw him as I always do, whenever I need him or when he needs to communicate with me.
Standing tall and proud, right at the back of the hall, was my guide, looking at me with sympathy and understanding, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Be still,” I heard him say to me in a voice loud and clear to my ears, “be calm and listen. There are those in spirit who want to communicate, and they need you.”
Mick was forgotten, my audience was forgotten, and my nerves were also forgotten as now I searched for those who were trying to reach me.
Within seconds I became aware of a young man standing on the stage beside me. He was tall and quite good-looking, with strong features and a determined look in his eyes.
“My name is Alan.” He spoke quite clearly, the determination in his voice matching the look in his eyes, making quite sure that I would hear what he had to say. “I passed over as a result of a car crash twelve months ago, and I would like to get a message to my wife.”
“Can you direct me to her?” I asked him silently, and he pointed to a lady sitting in the middle of the hall.
“That's her sister,” Alan told me. “Please, will you help me? I must let my wife know that I'm all right.” His voice then broke a little as he went on, “And the kids as well, my two babies.”
I listened intently to Alan as he expressed his thoughts and feelings to me, and perhaps I should explain to you, the reader, yet again that I will frequently make communication with those in the spirit world without any outward sign of doing so. I see and hear spirit people in many situations, in restaurants, bars, walking, and so forth. My “visions,” as you might call them, are a common occurrence to me. In this same way I see Grey Eagle, when I wake in the morning and throughout my day he visits with me. He will even help with the most mundane chore if I ask him, which I do. I ask him questions like Did I put enough salt in the stew? How long should I cook the roast? Does this need more sugar? My guide is great to have around the kitchen.
When I am by myself, my communication often will take the form of my speaking out loud, but it is just as natural for me to talk to those in the spirit world using thought … or mind talk, and this was how I was now communicating with Alan. My developed senses and sensitivity allowed me to “feel” his emotions as profoundly as if they were my own. I was able to hear him and see him as clearly as if he were still on the earth plane, and so the audience at this point was completely unaware that anything “out of the ordinary” was happening.
Mick talked for another fifteen minutes, but I wasn't really aware of him, for I was too busy listening to Alan, who was now very keen to get on.
Over and over, while he was waiting, he would repeat, as if to reassure himself that I could still hear him: “It's Alan, just say it's Alan.”
Finally Mick wound up and handed the stage back to me, and as I stood up, the jelly came back into my legs and for one brief moment I felt paralyzed.
Then a firm hand was placed reassuringly on my arm beneath the elbow (only those of you who have experienced real physical contact with someone in the spirit world will understand this), and I was propelled gently down the stage steps to face the eagerly waiting crowd. Grey Eagle was with me!
Once again I heard Alan's voice, and I looked to where he stood, beside a young woman with blond hair. Confidently now, I pointed to this lady and, as
precisely as I could, began the message.
“I have a young man standing next to you,” I said, “who was killed in a car crash. He tells me that his name is Alan,” I continued, but before I could say anything more, this poor woman let out the most dreadful yell and promptly burst into tears.
Every single person in the hall seemed suddenly to sit to attention, some craning their necks to get a better view of what was going on. Apart from the sound of heartrending sobs coming from the lady I had been attempting to give a message to, you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone sat with bated breath, and the air was electric.
After waiting a few seconds, I tried again to give Alan's sister-in-law her message, but she was too upset. I heard Mick's voice behind me.
“Go somewhere else, Rosemary,” he said, “and then come back later when she's calmed down a little.” That seemed like a good idea to me, so I started to cross the hall to the far side.
But Grey Eagle and Alan had other plans.
When a medium is working and, as in this case, giving a demonstration, he or she is directed by her guide and can't decide herself where she should go, whom she should go to, or what messages to give. And no matter how sensible it seemed to suggest that I go somewhere else, it simply wasn't going to work that way.
“No matter how traumatic and upsetting this may seem to you to be, you must go back and continue with the message,” I was told by my guide. “But don't worry, everything will work out well.”
Trusting that Grey Eagle would know of the need of this family for a message from Alan, that no harm but only great joy would come from this, I was reassured.
So back I went. “I'm really sorry,” I said, “but I'm afraid I have been told to try again. If you would prefer me not to, then I won't, but if you would like me to continue, then perhaps you would say so and we can get on with it.”
Tears still streaming down her face, the young woman looked at me and with desperation said, “Please, please don't stop. I know I'm upset, but this is terribly important to me, and I really would like you to carry on.”
The Eagle and the Rose Page 9
