Книга - The Psychic Adventures of Derek Acorah: Star of TV’s Most Haunted

The Psychic Adventures of Derek Acorah: Star of TV’s Most Haunted
Derek Acorah


The UK’s number one TV psychic Derek Acorah tells of his experiences with the spirit world, from his one-to-one readings and consultations to international performances and renowned investigations for Living TV’s Most Haunted.• Sunday Times no. 3 bestseller.• Derek Acorah is one of the UK's best known psychics with several regular television shows on the Living TV channel: the hugely successful 'Most Haunted' and ‘Celebrity Most Haunted’, and ‘Psychic Live’.• In this book he tells amazing tales of his countless psychic experiences, from public performances to personal readings.• Includes exclusive details of Derek’s extraordinary communications with some of Britain's more notorious spirits; a phenomenon often witnessed by thousands of television viewers during his investigations into reputedly haunted historical sites for Living TV.









The Psychic Adventures of Derek Acorah

Tv’s Number One Psychic

Derek Acorah












Dedicated to the memory of my beloved dogs, Cara and

Bonnie, who have now passed on to the world of spirit.

Until we meet again, girlies!




Table of Contents


Cover Page (#u0cdac455-0dca-5af6-97fe-1951b2e90741)

Title Page (#uc786f8f7-5362-54a1-9179-460562910fb8)

Dedication (#u281f71cb-121d-57ae-91d3-65da26b315bc)

Introduction (#ucff222ed-061b-574a-9630-7fc67bdccae1)

First Steps (#ud3a207a8-ee0c-5e62-a723-3edd0604fa35)

A Breeze (#u322568d4-3bab-5691-8130-f753022a1ad9)

The ISPR Visits the UK (#uc686e0cc-7f71-52eb-b2a9-88b07ea68fb2)

The James Whale Show (#ua4e8e4b5-f9e7-5c67-892e-7b47d8bb813b)

Predictions with Derek Acorah (#uc80072fc-730a-552d-ac1a-9f8df2b957d3)

Investigations (#litres_trial_promo)

Claire Sweeney (#litres_trial_promo)

Coronation Street (#litres_trial_promo)

The Birth of Most Haunted (#litres_trial_promo)

The End of an Era (#litres_trial_promo)

The Poltergeist of Penny Lane (#litres_trial_promo)

Bereavement (#litres_trial_promo)

Connections (#litres_trial_promo)

Taking a Break (#litres_trial_promo)

Most Haunted Investigations (#litres_trial_promo)

The Auric Field (#litres_trial_promo)

Warwick Castle (#litres_trial_promo)

Kilroy (#litres_trial_promo)

From Euston to Liverpool (#litres_trial_promo)

Lady on the Ship (#litres_trial_promo)

All at Sea (#litres_trial_promo)

A Return to Liverpool Football Club (#litres_trial_promo)

Psychometry (#litres_trial_promo)

Lottery (#litres_trial_promo)

Meeting my Spirit Guide (#litres_trial_promo)

Treading the Boards (#litres_trial_promo)

Afterword (#litres_trial_promo)

Acknowledgements (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Introduction (#ulink_afdd8e92-4dce-5755-9288-ba1cc01c382b)


As a small child I lived with my mother and my elder brother and sister at the home of my grandmother in Bootle, Liverpool. My father worked as a merchant seaman and was home for only very short periods of time. Gran’s was a large three-storey Victorian house on Brazenose Road, close to the then thriving port of Liverpool. After school each day we three children were sent up to the top floor to play whilst our evening meal was being prepared.

My first experience of spirit occurred one day just after Gran had called Colin, Barbara and me down for our tea. Being the youngest of the three, and with much the shortest legs, I was always the last to arrive downstairs. On this particular day, as I reached the first landing of the staircase, I saw a man I didn’t recognize. ‘Hello, young tyke,’ he said as he reached out towards me. It felt as though he had ruffled my hair. I was afraid because I thought that there was a stranger in Gran’s house. Never had I reached the bottom of the stairs more quickly. I ran panting into the kitchen, shouting to Gran and my mother that there was a strange man in the house.

My grandmother and my mother hurried up the stairs, only to return a few moments later with bemused expressions on their faces. ‘Tell me what the man looked like,’ Gran said. On hearing my description, she reached for a tin in which old family photographs were kept. She took out a photograph and showed it to me.

‘That’s him!’ I shouted. ‘That’s the man on the stairs!’

Gran looked at my mother and said, ‘He’s the next! Derek will be the next person in the family to work for spirit.’

I looked from my grandmother to my mother, not understanding what they were talking about. Gran gently explained to me that the man I had seen on the stairs was not in fact a stranger but my grandfather, who had passed to the world of spirit as the result of an accident three years before I was born. His name was Richard. ‘In time, when you are older, Derek,’ she said, ‘you will see many people who have passed on to the next life. You will work with the people in the spirit world and will help many people on your life’s pathway.’

I soon put all this to the back of my mind, but occasionally over the next few years I would recall the incident and question my grandmother about this ‘world of spirit’. Each time she would explain to me that it was my destiny to work with the spirit people one day. ‘But I want to be a footballer,’ I would tell her. ‘I don’t want to be a “gook”!’ Gran would smile knowingly. All she would say was ‘We’ll see!’

At the age of 13 I began to realize my dream when I signed as a schoolboy player with Wrexham Football Club. I was happy. I lived, ate and breathed football. My bedfellow was not a teddy bear but a football, which I clutched to my chest as I fell asleep and dreamed of scoring goals for England.

At the age of 15 I signed as an apprentice-pro with Liverpool Football Club under the management of the great Bill Shankly, but sadly I didn’t quite make the grade as a first-team player. After four years I moved back to Wrexham FC, then to Glentoran Football Club of Northern Ireland.

It was at this time that I met my first wife, Joan. After a season with Glentoran, I joined Stockport County FC, but didn’t feel particularly happy with my footballing career. Joan had just given birth to our son, Carl, when I was asked by the players’ union in Manchester whether I would be interested in playing football abroad. The idea appealed to me and after a lengthy discussion with Joan, I agreed. We were Australia bound! I joined USC Lion of the South Australia Football League.

Unfortunately, although I was very happy living in Australia, Joan was not. She missed her friends and her family back home. The physical rigours of the game were also beginning to take their toll on me. Ultimately, we made the decision to return to England. By 1982 my footballing days were over.

Throughout my career as a professional footballer I had not lost my interest in the world of spirit. There had been many instances when spirit people had made their presence felt and impressed upon me proof of survival after this earthly life. With my return to English shores came the time for me to start working for spirit.

Sadly, my marriage to Joan had come to an end. Now living on my own, I began to do private readings for people in my home, but soon the demand became so great that I had to find office space. Although I was working as a full-time spirit medium, I had not yet developed the gift of clairaudience. This was about to change.

Ever since my grandmother’s realization that I was the one who had inherited her mediumistic gifts, she had gently tutored me and explained to me the workings of the spirit world. She taught me that we all have spirit guides and that I was no exception. Throughout my lifetime many guides would come and go, she explained, but my main guide was a black man from the Ethiopian regions of Africa and he would never leave me. One day he would introduce himself to me.

One evening I was at home alone. I had just completed my evening meditation and was sitting listening to some music. Suddenly I heard a voice saying, ‘Hello, Derek.’ This was repeated four times. Then the voice said, ‘I’m Sam.’

Even though I was perfectly well aware that I was alone, I looked around, expecting to see somebody. There was nobody there. Realization dawned—at last my spirit guide had spoken to me! The words my grandmother had uttered all those years ago had come true.

It was during these early days that I met my second wife, Gwen, who had herself been through the sadness of a marriage break up. I knew immediately upon meeting her that she was somebody who would understand me; we had a bond which remains unbroken to this day.

We moved to a home just outside Southport on Merseyside and as well as my private readings I began to work as a regular guest on a number of radio stations. I was driving through to Liverpool one day when my mobile phone rang. It was Gwen ringing to tell me that the Granada Breeze television programme Livetime had been in touch to ask whether I would be interested in making a guest appearance. This was the first time that I had been offered a spot on a television programme. Nervously, I agreed.

The following Friday I arrived at the Manchester studios and was introduced to the presenter of Livetime, Becky Want. ‘Hi, Derek,’ she said. ‘Now what we’re looking for is somebody who can read tea leaves.’

Tea leaves! It was National Tea Week and one of the producers of the programme had decided that it would be a good idea to get a psychic in to do a tea leaf reading for Becky. I was nervous. I had not conducted a reading using this method before, but as the introductory music began, Sam told me to relax, that everything would be fine and that he wouldn’t let me down.

The time passed quickly. I conducted Becky’s reading successfully and before I knew it she was thanking me and telling me that what I had told her was correct. The closing music was playing and it was the end of the programme. ‘That was wonderful, Derek,’ Becky said.

On the Wednesday of the following week I received another telephone call from Granada Breeze, asking me whether I would like to join them again the next Friday. The public response to my initial appearance had been so great that the producer thought it would be a good idea if I were to appear weekly. I was delighted to accept. So began my career as a television psychic.

Since that day I have had many adventures. From the relative obscurity of local radio and appearing on a minor satellite television channel, I have been catapulted into the public eye on a much grander scale—all thanks to Karl Beattie and Yvette Fielding, who invited me to take part in LIVINGtv’s celebrated Most Haunted programme.

It is almost three years now since the pilot programme was filmed and we are preparing to shoot the fourth and fifth series. Now I find that I am communing with spirits from different eras, from different backgrounds and different cultures. I have taken a journey into the history of my homeland—something which I sadly neglected to do during my schooldays. For the first time in my life, I have been frightened; for the first time I have sometimes been perplexed at the workings of spirit. What I have not lost, however, is my faith in the world of spirit. The spirits have never let me down.

In this book I have attempted to give an insight into my experiences whilst travelling the country, both on stage and in front of the television cameras. I hope that you will enjoy making that journey with me.





First Steps (#ulink_83269846-dfb5-5a76-add3-83320a4a9fbc)


Soon after I had met Sam, my work for spirit increased. My first experience of stepping up onto the platform in a Spiritualist church was a particularly memorable one.

Gwen and I had driven to Blackpool. It was a hot sunny day and as we headed out of the seaside town we heard on the car radio that the motorways were terribly congested, so we decided that we would delay our departure in order to miss the heavy traffic. To while away a couple of hours we thought we would take a trip further up the coast to Lancaster.

We arrived in the old town around half an hour later. By now it had started to rain, so our original idea of taking a walk around the town did not seem nearly so appealing. I drove around looking for a parking space and found one in a narrow side street. As we sat wondering what to do next to kill the time, I happened to look through the rear-view mirror and saw a small building behind me. Over the door were the words ‘Lancaster Spiritualist Church’.

I got out of the car, walked over to the notice board and saw that the service would be commencing in 15 minutes. We attended the Spiritualist church in Liverpool regularly, but I thought it might be nice to join the service in Lancaster. Gwen agreed.

We walked through the door and squeezed into a couple of seats at the rear of the hall. It was very small, with a capacity of no more than 50 people. The presiding medium for that day was a lady named Gloria Duthy. I had heard of Gloria, but had never seen her work.

The service began with the usual prayers, hymns and dedications before the medium took the platform. Two or three messages had been passed on from loved ones to members of the congregation when suddenly Gloria pointed to the back of the hall and said, ‘I’ve a man here. He’s a very brusque Scot and he wants to speak to Derek!’

Gwen dug me in the ribs with her elbow, but as I have no Scottish links in my family and as Derek is not the most uncommon name, I remained silent.

‘I know I’m going to someone at the back of the hall with this man,’ Gloria said. ‘I want the Derek who was linked to football! This spirit man is telling me to tell Derek that “the boss” is here and he’s still putting the goals in the “onion bag” over there!’

Now I knew that the message could only be for me. ‘The boss’ was most definitely my old boss from my footballing days at Liverpool Football Club, the legendary Bill Shankly. He was the only person I knew who referred to the goal net as ‘the onion bag’ and it would be far too much of a coincidence to have two Dereks in such a small congregation who both had links with football and the great man. I put my hand up.

‘Thank you, Derek,’ Gloria said. ‘This man is telling me that you shouldn’t worry about not making it to the top in football. He tells me that you’ll make your mark in another way—working for spirit. He’s saying that you must never give up, that you must continue on, no matter what obstacles are put in your way, because you are meant to do this work. He’s telling me that you should be up on this platform conducting the service. He tells me that I’m good but that you will be better. He’s laughing and saying, “Just tell him it’s Shanks!”’

Gloria continued with messages from my grandmother Helen, my Uncle George and a family friend called Micky. She told me that one day my name would be in lights and that I would work for spirit in all parts of the world, and finished by asking me if she could talk to me after the service.

When the final prayers and hymns had been completed and the absent healing requests read out, I waited at the back of the hall to speak to Gloria. She was a lovely lady and congratulated me on the work that I was to do for spirit.

After a few minutes the booking secretary for the church approached us. ‘I’d like to book you to conduct next week’s service here,’ she said.

‘Me?’

I was overwhelmed. Although I had spent many years as a member of a Spiritualist congregation, I had never taken the platform before. Gwen was busily digging me in the ribs, urging me to agree. She had always said that I should have more confidence in myself. I reluctantly agreed that I would travel to Lancaster the following Sunday to take the role of presiding medium for their evening service.

For the whole of the following week I was extremely nervous and wasn’t looking forward to our trip to Lancaster at all. Finally the day arrived. We set out to travel along the M6 but as we were nearing the service station at Charnock Richard, the car began to overheat. We pulled onto the forecourt and checked the radiator. Although there was no sign of a leak, there was very little water in it.

‘I think we’d better telephone the church and tell them that I won’t be able to make it,’ I said to Gwen.

‘No way,’ she replied. ‘You’ve said that you’ll take the service and you’ll do just that, even if I have to push you there in the car!’

We filled a couple of bottles with water and set off once more. We had to stop twice to let the engine cool and to top up the radiator, but eventually we arrived in Lancaster and parked up in front of the church.

As I walked in through the door my stomach was rolling and I was feeling terribly nervous. The walk to the podium seemed endless as I tottered along on quaking legs. Then the prayers were said and the hymns were sung and before I knew it, it was time for my demonstration of mediumship.

‘Please don’t let me down,’ I begged Sam.

‘Don’t worry, Derek, this is your destiny,’ Sam replied.

And I need not have worried. After a faltering start, the messages began to flow. I saw spirit people and I heard spirit people, and they all passed on messages of love to their family members sitting in the congregation. I found I was really enjoying myself.

Before I knew it I was being called to time by the president of the church. I received a round of applause and my heart swelled with gratitude. As I stood there on that tiny platform in one of the smallest churches I have ever been in, I knew that I had been foolish to question spirit. Those on the other side knew that I was ready to undertake platform work—they had told me so through Gloria—but I, through human frailty, had doubted it. Thank goodness that Gwen had an unswerving faith in my mediumistic abilities and had urged me to do just what Shanks had told me—to carry on no matter what obstacles were put in my way!




‘People Friendly’ Spiritualism


Over the following years I travelled the country appearing in Spiritualist churches in different towns. Although I very much enjoyed this aspect of my work for spirit, it frustrated me that so few people were attending the churches. At the very best, we could only expect an audience of 50 or 60 people. In those days people had some very strange conceptions regarding Spiritualism. They imagined the churches to be places where only a few rather strange people gathered to hold séances in a darkened room with a red light glowing. The hard and fast belief was that ‘normal’ people just did not go there, only people who wanted to ‘talk to the dead’. I realized that it was time that Spiritualism took a step forward into the present day and become more ‘people friendly’.

I knew that the great Doris Stokes and one or two of the better-known mediums in the UK had appeared in theatres. ‘What would happen,’ I thought, ‘if I did something similar, though obviously not on such a grand scale?’

With this idea in mind I contacted one or two cabaret clubs in the Liverpool area to see whether they would be interested in hiring out their premises to me for an evening of clairvoyance. Unsurprisingly, I received a number of point-blank refusals, but eventually I received a positive response from the manager of the Orrell Park Ballroom. A date was arranged and a month or so later I was waiting backstage to be announced to an audience of 250 or more people.

‘This is the way it’s meant to be,’ I thought to myself. ‘If I’m to be working for spirit, surely it’s part of my job to ensure that I spread that knowledge to as many people as possible.’ I knew that I had been inspired to make the correct decision.

It was the first time that I had demonstrated to an audience of more than 40 or 50 people. Word had got around from people who had been for private sittings with me and Gwen had kindly offered to print off some leaflets advertising the event and had trudged around the streets of the local area putting them through the letterboxes. This was a task she undertook on a regular basis for subsequent evenings of clairvoyance at venues throughout Liverpool, though her endeavours came to an abrupt end one day when a rather sneaky dog failed to announce his presence by barking, but silently waited under the letterbox and bit the ends of her fingers as she pushed the leaflet through!

That first evening at the Orrell Park Ballrom I began my demonstration with a short talk and then proceeded to approach people in the audience and give them messages from their loved ones in the world of spirit. Time after time I was met with tears of joy and gratitude from the people to whom I spoke. It was a wonderful feeling. At the end I received thunderous applause and I knew that the evening had been a great success. ‘This is the way it’s meant to be,’ I thought to myself…

Following the success at the Orrell Park Ballroom I decided to move further afield. Over the next year or two I appeared at civic halls and small theatres. Audiences were growing and interestingly I noticed that they were no longer comprised exclusively of women. I also began to notice that other mediums were following in my footsteps. The word of spirit was definitely being spoken to a wider audience now!




A Breeze (#ulink_d12e117b-8549-51f6-a261-9e88c786bfea)


Time moved on and eventually I was spreading the word not just in theatres but also on television. One day early in 1999 I was arriving at the Psychic Livetime studios when I was stopped by Rachel, one of the assistant producers. ‘Derek, can you please help me? I’ve lost my engagement ring. I don’t know how or where and I’m so upset. Not only is it my engagement ring, but it’s irreplaceable because it’s an antique.’

Rachel was dreading having to tell her fiancé about the loss. She had spent hours searching all the rooms she had been into since arriving at the studios, but to no avail. The ring was nowhere to be found.

I closed my eyes and asked Sam to help. I was shown a room full of clothes with dummies dressed in different costumes. This was all rather strange because I knew that Rachel was an assistant producer and would spend her days in the gallery or on the studio floor and not in the wardrobe department. Nevertheless, I decided to ask her whether what I had been shown was correct. She stood and thought for a moment and then remembered that when she had arrived for work that morning she had taken a telephone call from the wardrobe department asking her to send a runner up to collect an outfit for the presenter Becky Want. She realized that as it was still very early, none of the runners would have arrived at work, so she decided that she would go and collect the items herself. When she arrived at Wardrobe, she was directed to an outfit hanging on a rail in the corner of the room.

‘Whilst you were there, did you do anything else in that room?’ I asked. ‘Because I feel you were looking for something else and that is when the ring slipped off your finger. My insight is that if you return to the wardrobe department you will find your ring underneath the rail on which Becky’s outfit was hanging.’

With that I had to go and get changed and go over to the studios where the programme was to be filmed. I was very busy for the next few hours, but at the end of the filming, I came out of the studio to see Rachel waiting for me. She was smiling broadly and twiddling the fingers of her left hand in front of my face. On the third finger was her engagement ring!

‘You were right, Derek,’ she said excitedly. ‘I went back over to Wardrobe and I found my ring lodged in some clothes which were directly under the hangar which I had taken to Becky. Thank goodness! I had completely forgotten about going over to that department. In fact I think it’s the only time I’ve ever been over there in all the time I’ve worked for Granada!’

All’s well that ends well!

Before Rachel walked away she said to me, ‘Oh, Derek, I nearly forgot! The editor wants to see you.’

This was most unusual. I wondered what on earth I was being summoned to the office for. At the end of the programme I walked over to Dean Street rather apprehensively.

As I entered the editor’s office, she was smiling. ‘Come in, Derek. We’ve some good news for you.’ She went on to tell me that because of the popularity of Psychic Livetime it had been decided to create a new programme which was to be named Predictions. People would be brought to the studio to demonstrate the various disciplines of mediumship and I would be given the opportunity to demonstrate my mediumship to a live audience in the studio.

I was absolutely delighted. This would be a first for British television. I felt honoured that I was to be the first medium to appear regularly working with a studio audience.





The ISPR Visits the UK (#ulink_658ef3a9-e7f8-5c5d-b9b9-ed084dfc4e84)


The International Society for Paranormal Research (ISPR), headed by Dr Larry Montz, is based in Los Angeles, California. Dr Montz has been a paranormal investigator for over 27 years. His speciality is field parapsychology. Early in 1999, at his invitation, I had taken part in team investigations of various sites in Hollywood. (These investigations are fully documented in my first book, The Psychic World of Derek Acorah.)

After my return to the UK Dr Montz kept in constant contact with me and one day in March he phoned to tell me that the ISPR team would be travelling to the UK. They had teamed up with Dotted Line Entertainment and were coming over to conduct several investigations and make two videos.

On a breezy day in April the team arrived at Heathrow airport. It was wonderful to meet up with them all again. Dr Montz, Daena Schmoller, Linda Mackenzie, Shawn Roop and my good friend Peter James wearily walked into the arrivals hall and we were soon excitedly discussing the first of the locations they intended investigating the following day—the Jack the Ripper murder sites.




Jack the Ripper


The East End of London in the late nineteenth century was one of the most disreputable areas of the city and the Whitechapel district was witness to a series of horrible murders. It was to be the job of the ISPR team to uncover the identity of the murderer, who was known only as ‘Jack the Ripper’.

Donald Rumbelow, historian and Ripper expert, was invited to join the team on their investigation. Although Jack the Ripper has been ‘credited’ with the murder of six women at different locations, we would be visiting just two of those murder sites. It would be Donald’s job to authenticate any information the team members might produce.

The first place the team was taken to was Mitre Square. Today this is a pleasant flagged area where people may sit and enjoy a sandwich during a summer lunch break. Along one side of the square runs a schoolyard in which children play. However, the cheery sounds of a lunchtime game of football faded as I concentrated on opening myself up to the energies of the infamous events which had taken place over a century earlier.

I allowed myself to drift back in time. The April sunshine disappeared as the square darkened and it became nighttime. It was quiet, though I could hear shouting and merriment coming from a nearby hostelry. A woman’s raucous laughter echoed out of the darkness. The name ‘Catherine’ came into my mind. Clairvoyantly, I could see a woman dressed in dark shabby clothing. Wisps of greying hair could be seen straying from underneath a greasy bonnet. She had the raddled features of somebody who is no stranger to drink. I knew that she was a victim of the infamous Jack the Ripper and that Catherine was her name.

As I allowed myself to come forward to the present, I noticed a bench not six feet away from me. I walked over and touched it. ‘This is the spot!’ I shouted to Dr Montz. ‘This is where Catherine’s life was taken from her.’

Although the bench had been placed in the square at a much later date, I was able to use it to pick up on the residual energies of the woman’s dying moments. I could feel the dread and heart-stopping fear she had experienced. I was overcome by the stench of blood and something which I could not describe but which was horrible and offensive. I could also tell Dr Montz that Catherine had not been the first of this vile creature’s victims. By the time he met her, Jack the Ripper was a seasoned killer.

As I stood contemplating the spot, I became aware of another name. ‘Lily—Elizabeth!’ I said. ‘She was a victim too. There were two killings and both on the same night!’ I could sense the slashing of the victims’ bodies as they were disembowelled and butchered.

Donald confirmed that on the night of 30 September 1888 both Catherine Eddowes and Elizabeth Stride had fallen victim to London’s most famous serial killer. He had viciously killed and brutalized their bodies.

Then Donald guided us to another area. He stopped at a place called Durward Street. ‘This was Buck’s Row,’ he told us and stood back expectantly waiting to hear what we had to say.

I allowed myself to drift back in time once more. The small area of rough ground where I was standing bore no resemblance to the picture which unfolded before my eyes. Now it is a concrete jungle with high-rise flats and flagstones sprouting tufts of grass. There is a graffitiscarred concrete garage next to a fence with a wooden gate hanging off its hinges.

I was drawn to this break in the fence and as I walked over to it I could smell the same revolting odours which had assaulted my nostrils in Mitre Square. This time I could see the body of a rather stocky dark-haired woman; her clothes were obviously filthy but appeared to be soaked in blood. Her face was slashed and I could see that one of her ears was hanging off. In stark contrast, on the floor not far from her body lay what appeared to be a shiny black straw hat. I was impressed to utter the name ‘Nicholas’. Could this be the name of the murderer? The name ‘Polly’ was also strongly evident to me.

As I allowed myself to drift back to the present day, I relayed the picture I had seen to Dr Montz and Mr Rumbelow. They confirmed that it was in the area of the gateway that the body of a woman called Polly was found.

‘Can you describe the person responsible for the murders?’ Dr Montz asked me.

‘I feel that there were two people responsible,’ I said. ‘I believe that there was a “copy cat murder”. The man responsible for most of the murders is tall and slim—not heavy-set at all—and in his thirties. He has strong crease marks down the side of his face with high cheekbones. He has dark hair with touches of grey to the sides and he definitely has facial hair. He carries a pocket watch and seems to be constantly conscious of time. He certainly isn’t a poor working man. The person I’m talking about is used to mixing with the aristocracy and I feel he could have some connection with royalty.’

‘And a name?’ questioned Dr Montz.

Sadly, no. On this occasion I was not being impressed by the name of the man who became infamous as ‘Jack the Ripper’.

I would like one day to revisit the site of the Whitechapel murders and see what else I can uncover. I still maintain that more than one person was behind what I would describe as ritualistic killings. I feel that five of the murders were carried out by the same man but there was at least one other murder for which another individual was responsible.




The Euxton Mills Hotel


Following our investigation of the killing fields of Jack the Ripper, we travelled north and based ourselves at a hotel in Leyland, which is a suburb of the old Lancashire town of Preston.

The Euxton Mills Hotel is a 300-year-old establishment which was once a coaching house which accommodated travellers on their journeys from Scotland and the north of England to more southern areas. The manager, Keith Burgess, had kindly agreed to allow the ISPR team to conduct an investigation of the premises. Although Mr Burgess was sceptical of mediumistic abilities, he was interested to see whether the ISPR team could shed any light on the strange goings-on experienced by members of his staff.

Immediately I walked into the lounge area I was aware of a spirit man standing in the centre of the room. Wearing a dark cloak and stovepipe hat, he had the appearance of a Victorian gentleman. He said nothing but as he gently faded from my view Sam told me that his name was George Chapman and he had frequently visited the hostelry and enjoyed his stays there. He was a jovial soul who enjoyed the company of women and had a tactile nature. Indeed, to this day, employees of the hotel talk of being touched by an unseen person.

As the spirit form of George Chapman disappeared, Linda, Peter and I were simultaneously drawn to the washroom area at the rear of the lounge and in particular to the ladies’ toilets. As I entered the toilet area I had the feeling that things were not quite as they should be. It was a ladies’ toilet but I felt a distinctly male influence and that George would have visited these facilities when he arrived at the hotel in his earthly life.

At that moment, the temperature began to drop dramatically and a lady in a long Victorian-style dress and hat walked past and through us and exited through the door into the lounge. She seemed intent on what she was doing and appeared to be keeping a very tight hold of a small bag. I was not given her name nor was I told the reason for her continuing to visit the hotel, but it was confirmed by the staff that a ‘grey lady’ is often seen in the ladies’ toilet area.

Our investigation continued in the cellars. I was immediately aware of a male presence and knew that the male in question was not the jovial George Chapman. This was a different personality—not angry, but certainly mischievous.

‘You have problems down here,’ I said to Keith. ‘In particular I feel you have problems with the beer lines. There’s spiritual interference here. A man comes down and plays with the lines and I feel you could have experienced the gas in the kegs pushing back.’

Keith laughingly confirmed that on many occasions he had experienced just that and had been forced to go up and change his shirt because of the soaking he had received.

‘Well, the next time it happens, tell Tom to stop it,’ I advised.

I had the distinct impression that Tom had at one time worked at the public house and was still jealously guarding what he considered to be his domain.




Tonge Hall


Tonge Hall in the Middleton area of Manchester was built by the Tonge family in 1594. It is a beautiful Tudor-style black-and-white building and is owned by Norman Wolstencroft, who was our amiable host for the next investigation.

The main room of Tonge Hall, where Norman was seated with our expert for the day, Mr W. John Smith, was cosy and welcoming after the cold and rain outside.

I had only been standing in this room for a few moments when I became aware of a gentleman. ‘I have a man with me,’ I told Dr Montz, ‘and he wants to talk to me. He tells me his name is Richard and he’s very proud of his staircase! He’s asking us to follow him!’

We all hurried out, following Richard as he took us out of the lounge and past a staircase to a part of the house which was undergoing renovation. ‘There,’ Richard said, pointing towards a set of stairs which the team had been unaware of, ‘these are the stairs that I designed and I’m extremely proud of them!’

Mr Smith, our expert, confirmed that Richard Tonge had indeed built a second staircase and noted that this set of stairs was unusual for the time in that they were built out of wood.

‘There are two men here now,’ I said, ‘both Richards! They’re different generations. One is very much younger than the other. And there’s a William too—he has a very bad limp. William seems very fond of the younger Richard.’

Mr Wolstencroft was able to confirm that William was the father of the younger Richard. He had received a bullet wound to his leg in the First World War but wouldn’t allow amputation, so he spent the rest of his life with a limp. He also told us that his grandmother had five sons. Four of them were wounded but Uncle Dick had been particularly badly hurt and also limped. This must have been the Richard who had shown himself to me earlier.

We were all drawn to the upper levels of the old house and all felt compelled to enter one particular bedroom. As soon as the door was opened I immediately became aware of a young girl, eight or nine years of age, with red hair in plaits. Almost simultaneously Linda and I said the same name: ‘Ann!’

The child seemed afraid and upset. I felt that she had passed to spirit as the result of an illness, certainly not as the result of an accident or anything more sinister. Nevertheless, she seemed to be frightened.

Suddenly there was a huge drop in the temperature in the room. The reading on the gauge which Dr Montz was holding decreased dramatically and Linda and I became aware of a male presence who seemed to be more malevolent than the kindly souls we had experienced earlier. He was not at all pleased at our being at Tonge Hall. Linda, a gifted and experienced healer, attempted to calm the spirit, but he was not going to be so easily placated. Dr Montz’s electromagnetic field metre needle swooped backwards and forwards. I stood next to Linda. I knew that it would take the strength of both of us to send this unpleasant spirit man on his way.

Suddenly, Linda stumbled. ‘He pushed me!’ she shouted. Dr Montz and I grabbed at her arms to steady her. We were at the top of a steep set of stairs and the last thing we wanted was for Linda to go tumbling down them. I braced myself and moved forward towards the entity. Too late I realized that I had allowed him to get too close to me. I felt as though the wind had been knocked out of my lungs and I doubled over coughing and choking, fighting desperately for breath.

Slowly I managed to stand upright once more. As I did so, I saw the outline of the angry spirit man fade and disappear. He had warned us! He was not going to allow us to interfere with his home!

We were all completely shocked at what had happened. Meanwhile, little Ann was still standing in the bedroom. She had not moved and seemed to be waiting for us to help her in some way. ‘She’s lost,’ Linda murmured. ‘She needs to be sent to join her mother in the light.’

We turned and looked through the doorway to the bedroom across the hall and straight over to a window through which could be seen the dying rays of the April sun. Through that window I could see a lady, very peaceful and calm, with her arms outstretched towards Ann. Linda and I mentally took Ann by the hand and led her towards the lady who would take her into the light of the spirit world and eternal peace.

Norman was later to explain that his father had a sister named Ann who had succumbed to a childhood disease at the age of eight. She had red hair and long red pigtails!




Live at the Liverpool Empire


The day which I had long awaited had finally arrived. Tonight I was to be appearing for the first time at the famous Liverpool Empire theatre.

As I would be conducting a demonstration of clairvoyance and mediumship for two hours, it was decided that the rest of the ISPR team would carry out an investigation of the theatre without me. I am happy to be able to report that they were able to confirm the presence of the spirit of a girl aged approximately 12 who had fallen from the front of the circle onto the seats of the stalls below. Linda and Peter confirmed that she was an active presence and the names ‘Joanna’ or ‘Jessica’ were suggested. The spirit of this young girl is frequently seen in the corridors, front of house and stalls of the theatre. She is reported to be very pretty with long blonde hair and is dressed in Victorian-style clothing. She is often seen in the company of a man with either black eyes or no eyes. Unfortunately, on the day of the investigation, the spirit man chose not to make the team aware of him.

Meanwhile I was honoured that Julie Goodyear had graciously agreed to introduce me to my audience at the beginning of the show. I had worked with Julie briefly whilst she hosted the Granada Breeze programme Livetime and was delighted to see her once again.

I had a tremendous evening and judging by the audience’s response, so did they. Many people think that a demonstration of mediumship is all ‘doom and gloom’ with an atmosphere of misery and sadness. This is not the case at all. If a person had a cheerful and outgoing personality whilst here on Earth, they will carry that personality through to their life in the spirit world.

I can recall one hilarious moment at the Liverpool Empire when a young man from the spirit world tapped me on the shoulder and told me that he’d like to speak to his sister Karen and her friend, who were sitting in the audience. ‘Tell them Carl wants to speak to them,’ he announced in his cheeky Scouse accent.

I duly did as requested and a gasp went up from a young lady who was sitting half a dozen rows back in the stalls.

‘I’m alright now, our kid!’ shouted Carl. ‘Look!’ And he proceeded to skip across the stage.

‘I can’t do that,’ I said to Carl.

“Course you can, Degsy,’ came the cheeky reply.

‘Carl’s telling me that he’s fine now in the world of spirit,’ I told Karen, ‘and he’s kicking up his heels just to prove it.’

Carl continued, ‘It wasn’t any good, that stuff. I knew I shouldn’t take it, but it got a hold of me and I just carried on. Didn’t think it’d see an end to me, though. But guess what? I’m not skint over here—you don’t need money!’ With that he turned out his pockets. ‘And I don’t have to keep looking over me shoulder!’ He burst into peals of laughter and ran across the stage, warily looking over his shoulder. ‘I don’t need to keep an eye out for the rozzers over here!’

I looked out to Karen in the audience and wondered how on earth I was going to pass that message over. ‘Oh well! Go for broke,’ I thought and repeated exactly what Carl had told me, giving a demonstration of the turned-out pockets and the hasty scuttling across the stage whilst looking over my shoulder.

Karen and her friend were beside themselves with laughter, together with the rest of the audience. ‘That’s our Carl,’ Karen said. ‘He was always getting into trouble and had to keep on his toes.’

Carl’s message continued. ‘Seriously, though, kid, I’m OK over here, and guess what? I’ve met old Uncle Jimmy! He’s shown me the ropes. Tell you one thing, though, I’m not happy about our Dave nicking me bedroom!’

Karen laughed through her tears. ‘Dave’s our brother and when we lost Carl, Dave took over his bedroom. Their tastes in decoration weren’t quite the same,’ she added tellingly.

Carl passed on messages of love to his mum and dad and the rest of the family. He finished up on a light note by telling his sister that the medium she’d been to see just after his passing had not been able to make contact with him. ‘Because she was no good, that’s why,’ he scoffed. ‘Next time you want to speak to me, go to somebody who can do the bizz!’ Karen nodded her agreement.

The evening was drawing to an end, but there was just one more thing to do. Dr Montz came on stage to ask whether any member of the audience who had experienced spirit activity in their home would agree to the ISPR team visiting their premises to conduct an investigation. The reason behind his request was to prove to sceptics that an investigative paranormal team could go into an undocumented building and still pick up on the spirit activity there without the possibility of research.

A number of people put their names forward, but one young man stood out as being more in need of our assistance than the others. To preserve his and his family’s privacy, I have changed their names.

Paul had come to the theatre in the hope that he would receive a message from his wife Paula who had passed to the world of spirit just five weeks before. She had suffered from that horrible condition called cancer. Paul was absolutely bereft. He had been left to look after his small daughter Jemma on his own as his family lived out of the Liverpool area.

We arrived at Paul’s neat home in a suburb of Liverpool the following morning. Paul was there with his daughter and his mother. Dr Montz felt that I should be the first person to go into Paul’s home to speak to him.

I entered the house by myself, leaving the rest of the team outside. I walked over to Paul and took his hand. I could feel all the hurt, sorrow and desperation that he was experiencing. I picked up the anguish of his loss.

Jemma was there, clinging to her toy rabbit. She had become destructive since the loss of her mother, and her family were worried about her. As I did not want to conduct a reading or any sort of investigation in front of the little girl, I asked Paul’s mother to take her through to the kitchen area of the house, together with Linda Mackenzie, who has an amazing empathy with children and has marvellous healing powers which I felt could benefit Jemma.

As I stood in the lounge I became aware of a slim young woman in spirit. She smiled gently and said, ‘I’m Paula. This is my home and Paul is my husband.’ She pointed over to the window and told me, ‘That was my last resting-place—there under the window.’

‘Did you have Paula’s coffin at home?’ I asked Paul, ‘because I have a young woman with me who’s telling me that she was laid under the window. She’s also telling me to thank you for the necklace you put around her neck whilst she lay in her coffin.’

Tears welled up in Paul’s eyes. He told me that he had placed a cross and chain around Paula’s neck as she lay there.

‘You’ve heard Paula around the house, especially on the stairs,’ I said.

Paul confirmed that he had indeed heard noises, especially on the stairs. The noises were reminiscent of when he used to help Paula up the stairs when the ravages of her illness had made it impossible for her to climb them herself.

‘There’s something serious I need to speak to you about,’ I told Paul. ‘You mustn’t do what you’ve been thinking and planning. Paula’s telling me that you must carry on. You must stay to take care of Jemma.’

Paul gasped and as he stared up at me, I could see the tears welling once more in his eyes. ‘I know what you’re saying, Derek,’ he said as he stared down at his hands. ‘I understand.’

‘Always know that Paula loves you,’ I told him. ‘She wants you to be happy. She knows that it will take time, but you must persevere because you have to be responsible for Jemma.’

We went into the kitchen where Linda was playing with Jemma. I could see the healing colours surrounding the child and I knew that Linda had been sending out healing energies whilst playing with the little girl.

I like to think that we were meant to visit Paul’s home and that as a result of our visit he was able to continue on and come to terms with the passing of his young wife. I feel that he learned that life does indeed continue beyond physical death and that loved ones never really leave us. They remain with us until we ourselves leave the physical plane and rejoin them in the world of spirit.




Belgrave Hall


The grand finale of the ISPR team’s visit to the UK was a visit to Belgrave Hall in Leicestershire. Belgrave had recently been in the news around the world. The cctv system at the old hall had picked up some anomalous footage. Had a ghost been caught on camera? The video footage purported to show two ghostly apparitions on the gravel path to the rear of the hall. The ISPR team had been invited by Leicester City Council to view the tapes and to visit the hall in an effort to determine whether it was true ghostly activity or a mere fault on the videotape.

It was planned that the team would arrive at midnight. Dr Montz asked each member of the team to enter the hall individually so that he could compare findings.

I was the third team member to take part in the investigation. As I entered the rear pantry and walked through to the dimly lit kitchen I was aware that there was indeed spirit activity within the hall. I continued through to the hallway and was surprised to find that my nostrils were assailed by the smell of freshly baked gingerbread and the sweet smell of cooked fruit. ‘How odd!’ I thought. I would have expected such smells to have been apparent in the kitchen, but not in a hallway.

As I was mulling over this strange situation, out of the corner of my eye I noticed a movement on the staircase that led up to the first floor. A smell of freesias became apparent and there on the staircase stood the spirit form of a lady. She was in her mid-fifties, had white hair and was dressed in a deep red Victorian-style dress. She said nothing, but drifted slowly up the stairs and disappeared onto the landing above. I was strongly impressed to utter the name ‘Alice’ or ‘Ellis’.

‘This is one of the Ellis sisters,’ Sam advised me. ‘She loved her home and her garden and loves to come back and visit. Although the furnishings have changed, she’s very happy that her home still remains and that she’s able to come back and pay visits.’

I reported to Dr Montz what Sam had told me about the lady. As I followed her spirit form up the staircase, I was drawn to a room which was full of the paraphernalia of children: small chairs, a cradle and one or two low armchairs. As I entered the room I could feel a definite temperature drop. ‘Annie’s here,’ I said. ‘She was a nursemaid or nanny. She was very proficient and had very strong links with this building. She’s talking sadly of the loss of two of her small charges. I feel that these two children were lost to spirit through consumption. They’re buried in the churchyard.’

I moved from the nursery and into one of the large bedrooms. Here I encountered a man in spirit. He was quite old and bent over. Although there was no communication from him, I gained the distinct impression that he had been some type of servant and that he had worked long and hard for his master.

As we moved from bedroom to bedroom, although I was very aware of the residual energy contained in these rooms from the many years of occupation by various families, no further spirit people showed themselves to me.

I descended the stairs once more and entered the drawing room. There in the corner I could make out the spirit form of yet another lady building up. I knew that she had been a good and sensitive person in her earthly life.

‘I’m Eliza,’ she told me in direct communication. ‘I lived here with my sisters.’ She talked of her sister Isobella who had a leg impediment. She was very sad that she had not been able to enjoy walking around the beautiful gardens of Belgrave Hall, though she laughingly added, ‘She has no problem now!’

It was time for the whole team to congregate in the hallway. Stuart Warburton, curator of the Belgrave museum, had joined us and was confirming our findings with Dr Montz. It was now 3 o’clock in the morning and we were all becoming more than a little weary.

Suddenly we all became aware that the temperature had plummeted. I knew that we had been joined by another past inhabitant of Belgrave. I also knew that unlike the other people in spirit that I had encountered here, this spirit entity was not at all pleased at our intrusion. ‘Edmund,’ boomed a voice in my ear. ‘Edmund Craddock.’ I had feelings of agitation and negativity. The other members of the team confirmed that they too were picking up similar feelings. We all agreed that this man definitely did not want us in his former home. He was a forceful personality who was blustering and huffing, but because there were four experienced mediums present he was unable to cause problems. It was to be a different story three years later when I visited Belgrave Hall with the crew of LIVINGtv’s enormously successful programme Most Haunted and Vic Reeves and his wife Nancy Sorrell.

Now the ISPR investigation of Belgrave Hall drew to an end. Dr Montz had analysed the videotape footage and had questioned each of the team about it. We all agreed that though Belgrave Hall has many ghostly visitations and an enormous amount of residual energy, what had been caught on tape was nothing more than a combination of bad weather and a camera fault which had given the impression that a ghostly apparition had been photographed when in fact it had not.



And so the ISPR team’s visit to the UK came to an end. The following day I waved them off from Heathrow airport and wondered when we would meet again.

In fact it was the following July, when I flew across the Atlantic to meet the team for the premier showing of Ghosts of England and Ghosts of Belgrave Hall at the Vogue Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard. And I hope I will have the pleasure of seeing them again in the autumn of 2004 when a huge paranormal convention is scheduled to take place in Los Angeles.




The James Whale Show (#ulink_1bc2607f-c34d-57c3-97a8-a5e663affdd0)


By now I was well used to working on radio and had been a regular guest on Radio City’s Billy and Wally Show each Friday for over a year. I had also had a regular Sunday-evening guest spot on Red Rose Radio when I took telephone calls and gave live readings on air.

But in September 1999, just as my first book, The Psychic World of Derek Acorah, was due to go into the shops, I received a telephone call asking me to go to London to guest on the Talk Radio James Whale Show and my heart plummeted! James Whale! James has a reputation of not suffering fools gladly and I had the distinct impression that he would definitely consider me to be a fool.

On the appointed Sunday Gwen and I drove down to London. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. We arrived at the studio and as I took the lift up to the reception desk I could hear James’s voice being piped through the corridors. ‘And my guest this evening is Derek Acorah. He says he can talk to dead people!’

‘Don’t worry,’ Gwen told me. ‘Just promote your book and we’ll be out of here in half an hour. It’s not as though he’s going to eat you!’ I hoped she was right.

Before I knew it I was sitting in the studio with James. ‘Welcome, Derek,’ he said. ‘Now tell me—just what exactly is it that you do?’

I proceeded to explain my work as a medium. ‘Right!’ said James. ‘Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind doing a reading for me?’

‘Oh dear!’ I thought. This was the last thing that I had expected to do. ‘Don’t worry, Derek,’ I heard Sam whisper.

I opened myself up to James’s vibrations and saw a lady in spirit who came up behind him and stood there smiling. She was quite plump but gave me the impression that she had not always been so, that once she had been lithe and slim. She impressed upon me that she had had lots of problems with her hips but that she had passed to spirit as a result of cancer. She mentioned the name ‘Michael’. Then she was joined by a gentleman who also stood behind James and placed a hand on his shoulder. I got the distinct impression that this man loved the open air and had some links with farming. Oddly enough, though, I also saw him standing behind a bar in the role of landlord.

All the time that I had been passing this information over to James he had said nothing, only uttering the odd grunt now and again. When I finished speaking he was gracious enough to confirm that his mother had once been a ballet dancer but had ended up with hip problems because of her dancing and consequently had put on weight. She had passed to the world of spirit as a result of cancer. The name ‘Michael’ was certainly relevant. He was James’s father who had been the landlord of a public house for many years but whose desire had always been to buy a farm and live off the land. I breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had not let me down.

‘Would you like to stay on after the midnight news and take some telephone calls?’ James asked. Of course I would!

Before I knew it, it was 2 o’clock in the morning and James was bringing his show to a conclusion. I had been on air for three hours, including two hours of telephone calls. James was jubilant. ‘Well done, Derek!’ he said. ‘We’ll have to have you back!’

And so after that every Sunday evening would see me travelling to Stockport for a live link-up with James in his London studio. For three hours I would conduct telephone sittings live on air.

At this time I was continuing to conduct my personal readings as well as joining Billy and Wally on a Friday morning on their Radio City show. I was also appearing every week on Granada Breeze television in Manchester. The demands on my time were so great, I didn’t even have time to arrange theatre appearances. ‘You need an agent,’ James said to me one day. ‘I know a great one. He’s my own agent. I’ll give you his number.’

A few days later I contacted Stuart Hobday. What Stuart thought on that day I really do not know. His background lay in music and theatre. To be contacted by a clairvoyant must have seemed a little strange to him, but thank goodness that he agreed to meet me. We have worked together successfully ever since and I would like to think that this situation will continue for a very long time to come.

My weekly spot on The James Whale Show unfortunately came to an end in the April of the following year when James had to undergo serious surgery. Since then I have been a guest on his show whenever my schedule has allowed, but I often look back fondly to that day when two panic-stricken people drove to London to meet the great James Whale.





Predictions with Derek Acorah (#ulink_03866447-24e6-55bd-9159-322f77b14dee)


All things psychic were now proving to be hugely popular with television audiences and Livetime had changed its name to Psychic Livetime and was now solely involved in airing mind, body and spirit subjects. The producers decided that another programme should be created, called Predictions. Guests would be invited to the studio to demonstrate their expertise in the various aspects of mediumship, astrology, dream analysis and so on. My contribution would be to demonstrate mediumship to a small studio audience and to conduct one-to-one sittings live on air.

The show was pre-recorded, but what was filmed went out on air—what the television audience saw was what had really taken place. I was elated when I was told that the viewing figures for Predictions were as great, if not greater, then the figures for Psychic Livetime.

Predictions continued for approximately 12 months and at the end of that time I was called in to see the editor once more and was informed that the format of the programme was to be changed and it was now to be called Predictions with Derek Acorah. The response to my contribution had been such that the producers had decided to dedicate the programme to me alone. I was surprised but elated, because I now knew that I was indeed fulfilling my destiny, just as Gran had predicted all those many years ago.

In the new programme I would continue to demonstrate mediumship to a studio audience, but there would be a new feature which would involve me going out to meet people and conducting sittings for them in their own homes. A further section of the programme would see me being taken to alleged haunted locations to conduct investigations there. I would not be told where I was going or the name of the location I was to investigate.

I had mixed feelings about this. Although visiting people to conduct sittings for them held no fear for me—it was what I was used to and I loved my work—the idea of wandering around old buildings talking about days gone by held no appeal whatsoever. I had hated history at school and had always managed to escape history lessons to train for my school football team. Needless to say, my school reports always demonstrated my dunce status where history was concerned! Nevertheless, I agreed to take part in the programme. With Sam’s help, I knew I could do it.




Samlesbury Hall


The first place I visited was Samlesbury Hall. Samlesbury is a small central Lancashire town which lies between Blackburn and Preston. The manor itself is a black-and-white building which was built in the fourteenth century after the original hall had been burned by Robert Bruce when he raided Lancashire.

What surprised me most as I entered the old hall was the sound of girlish laughter and I had the definite impression that this had been an educational establishment at some time. The name ‘John’ was impressed upon me. ‘John Cooper,’ I said.

No sooner had I uttered that name than the energy around me changed and I felt as though I was in an inn. Once more there was laughter around me, but this time it was accompanied by the smell of ale and roasting meats in the huge fireplace. The sensations were only brief and were quickly replaced by a more sombre feeling—a feeling of desperation and despair. Then I heard a loud bang! ‘Somebody shot themselves here!’ I said. I could not say who it was, as I was not being given a name, but I knew for certain than somebody had committed suicide.

I went further into the premises. The name ‘John’ rang out again. It was not the same man whose residual energy I had picked up on earlier. This was another man and as I watched I could see him building up in front of me. ‘Sir John!’ he said. ‘Sir John Southworth!’

I knew that this man had been a good man—quiet and peaceable—but I also knew that he had suffered because of his faith. There was another sadness which he had experienced in his life too. The name ‘Dorothy’ was whispered. I felt the urge to move to the upper floors of the building. Up we went, past the priest hole and on to a bedroom. ‘Dorothy!’ the name came again. I had the impression of a tragic young lady, a murder and horrendous grief. ‘Her brother murdered her betrothed,’ said Sam. ‘It was an accident. He and his two companions were murdered by Dorothy’s brother. She went mad with grief!’

On the investigation went, out into the gardens and back into the hall again. Before I knew it the producer was telling me that our time was up and that we would have to vacate the hall. I was disappointed. To my surprise I had enjoyed wandering around the old manor house and meeting the inhabitants of years gone by!




Something Missing


Another part of the programme involved me visiting people in their homes to conduct readings for them. The television audience was invited to telephone or write in, a name would be drawn at random and then I would be taken to that person’s home. I met hundreds of wonderful people this way and everybody was extremely kind to me. I look back fondly to all the people I met, but once there was one little boy I was more than happy to help.

Paul was aged two and Sylvia, his grandmother, had written in to ask for a reading. Her daughter-in-law Jane had passed to spirit and her son David had been left to look after Paul on his own. As David was a long-distance lorry driver, he had sold his home and moved back to live with his mother so that she could care for Paul whilst he was away.

Jane had been gone for three short months and during that time Paul had been quiet, morose and cried each night when he was put to bed. Sylvia knew he was missing his mother but thought there must be something else that he was missing too. She could not have been more correct.

As I entered Sylvia’s home I immediately became aware of a young lady in spirit. She was slim and dark-haired and I gained the impression that when in her physical life she had been a joyous soul with a bubbly sense of humour. ‘Yes, that’s Jane,’ Sylvia confirmed. ‘She was always laughing. She didn’t have a care in the world.’

Jane then told me herself that she had loved her life here on Earth, that she and David had been very happy and were planning another baby. ‘Life couldn’t have been better,’ she said. ‘The trouble is, I just didn’t see them coming!’ She had been coming home from a friend’s home one evening when a car had mounted the pavement and struck her. After two days in hospital she had passed on to the spirit world. She told me that her father Jim had been there to collect her and that she was at peace, but she still missed David and Paul very much.

‘I inspired Sylvia to contact you,’ she continued. ‘There’s a problem with Paul. He’s missing his toy elephant. He always used to have it with him in bed at night, but when David moved to Sylvia’s house it was packed into a box and it’s still in there.’

I turned to Sylvia and told her what Jane had said. ‘I didn’t know anything about a toy elephant,’ she told me. She walked over to a cupboard under the stairs and took out a large cardboard box full of cuddly animals. After rummaging around, she finally pulled out a blue velvet elephant.

On seeing his toy, Paul let out a shriek of glee. He toddled over to Sylvia, took hold of the elephant and clutched it to his chest.

‘I haven’t seen him looking so happy since Jane went,’ Sylvia said. ‘Just wait until I tell David.’

A day or two later the studio received a telephone call from Sylvia thanking us for coming to her house and telling us that Paul had gone to bed each evening without a problem now that he had been reunited with his longlost friend.




No Smoking


One of the funniest incidents on the road occurred when the film crew and I had travelled to Northumberland to conduct a reading for Jean, who lived in a quaint village some 40 miles west of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. We were booked to spend the night before in a small hotel which was actually located on Hadrian’s Wall. Rain had fallen relentlessly for the whole of our journey north. By the time we reached the hotel, which was situated down a farm track, the stream which ran alongside it had burst its banks and we were forced to drive through a foot or more of water to reach our destination.





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