Note by O. J. L.
It must be remembered that all this, though reported in the first person, really comes through Feda; and though her style and grammar improve in the more serious portions, due allowance must be made for this fact.
CHAPTER XXI
TWO RATHER EVIDENTIAL SITTINGS BY O. J. L. ON 3 MARCH 1916
ON the morning of 3 March I had a sitting in Mrs. Kennedy's house with a Mrs. Clegg, a fairly elderly dame whose peculiarity is that she allows direct control by the communicator more readily than most mediums do.
Mrs. Kennedy has had Mrs. Clegg two or three times to her house, and Paul has learnt how to control her pretty easily, and is able to make very affectionate demonstrations and to talk through the organs of the medium, though in rather a jerky and broken way. She accordingly kindly arranged an anonymous sitting for me.
The sitting began with sudden clairvoyance, which was unexpected. It was a genuine though not a specially successful sitting, and it is worth partially reporting because of the reference to it which came afterwards through another medium, on the evening of the same day; making a simple but exceptionally clear and natural cross-correspondence:—
Anonymous Sitting of O. J. L. with Mrs. Clegg
At 11.15 a.m. on Friday, 3 March 1916, I arrived at Mrs. Kennedy's, went up and talked to her in the drawing-room till nearly 11.30, when Mrs. Clegg arrived.
She came into the room while I was seeing to the fire, spoke to Mrs. Kennedy, and said, "Oh, is this the gentleman that I am to sit with?" She was then given a seat in front of the fire, being asked to get quiet after her omnibus journey. But she had hardly seated herself before she said:—
"Oh, this room is so full of people; oh, some one so eager to come! I hear some one say 'Sir Oliver Lodge.' Do you know anyone of that name?"
I said, yes, I know him.
Mrs. Kennedy got up to darken the room slightly, and Mrs. Clegg ejaculated:—
"Who is Raymond, Raymond, Raymond? He is standing close to me."
She was evidently going off into a trance, so we moved her chair back farther from the fire, and without more preparation she went off.
For some time, however, nothing further happened, except contortions, struggling to get speech, rubbings of the back as if in some pain or discomfort there, and a certain amount of gasping for breath.
Mrs. Kennedy came to try and help, and to give power. She knelt by her side and soothed her. I sat and waited.
Presently the utterance was distinguished as, "Help me, where's the doctor?"
After a time, with K. K.'s help, the control seemed to get a little clearer, and the words, "So glad; father; love to mother; so glad," frequently repeated in an indistinct and muffled tone of voice, were heard, followed by, "Love to all of them."
Nothing was put down at the time, for there seemed nothing to record—it seemed only preliminary effort; and in so far as anything was said, it consisted merely of simple messages of affection, and indications of joy at being able to come through, and of disappointment at not being able to do better. The medium, however, went through a good deal of pantomime, embracing me, stroking my arm, patting my knees, and sometimes stroking my head, sometimes also throwing her arms round me and giving the impression of being overjoyed, but unable to speak plainly.
Then other dumb show was begun. He seemed to be thinking of the things in his kit, or things which had been in his possession, and trying to enumerate them. He indicated that his revolver had not come back, and that in his diary the last page was not written up. I promised to complete it.
After a time, utterance being so difficult, I gave the medium a pad and pencil, and asked for writing. The writing was large and sprawly, single words: 'Captain' among them.
While Raymond was speaking, and at intervals, the medium kept flopping over to one side or the other, hanging on the arm of her chair with head down, or else drooping forward, or with head thrown back—assuming various limp and wounded attitudes. Though every now and then she seemed to make an effort to hold herself up, and once or twice crossed knees and sat up firm, with arms more or less folded. But the greater part of the time she was flopping about.
Presently Raymond said 'Good-bye,' and a Captain was supposed to control. She now spoke in a vigorous martial voice, as if ordering things, but saying nothing of any moment.
Then he too went away, and 'Hope' appeared, who, I am told, is Mrs. Clegg's normal control. Hope was able to talk reasonably well, and what she said I recorded for what it might be worth, but I omit the record, because though it contained references to people and things outside the knowledge of the medium or Mrs. Kennedy, and was therefore evidential as regards the genuineness and honesty of the medium, it was not otherwise worth reporting, unless much else of what was said on the same subjects by other mediums were reported too.
On the evening of this same 3rd of March—i.e. later in the same day that I had sat with Mrs. Clegg—I went alone to Mrs. Leonard's house and had rather a remarkable sitting, at which full knowledge of the Clegg performance was shown. It is worthy therefore of some careful attention.
After reading this part, the above very abbreviated record of the Clegg sitting, held some hours before in another house and other conditions, should again be read. I wish to call attention to the following 3rd of March sitting as one of the best; other members of the family have probably had equally good ones, but my notes are fuller. I hope it is fully understood that the mannerisms are Feda's throughout.
Sitting of O. J. L. with Mrs. Leonard at her House on
Friday, 3 March 1916, from 9.15 p.m. to 11.15 p.m.
(O. J. L. alone.)
No preliminaries to report. Feda came through quickly, jerked in the chair, and seemed very pleased to find me.
(I asked if she had seen Raymond lately.)
Oh yes, Raymond's here.
He came to help Feda with the lady and gentleman—on Monday, Feda thinks it was. Not quite sure when. But there was a lady and gentleman, and he came to help; and Feda said, "Go away, Raymond!" He said, "No, I've come to stay." He wouldn't go away, and he did help them through with their boy.
[The reference here is to a sitting which a colleague of mine, Professor and Mrs. Sonnenschein, had had, unknown to me, with Mrs. Leonard. I learnt afterwards that the arrangements had been made by them in a carefully anonymous manner, the correspondence being conducted via a friend in Darlington; so that they were only known to Mrs. Leonard as "a lady and gentleman from Darlington." They had reported to me that their son Christopher had sent good and evidential messages, and that Raymond had turned up to help. It was quite appropriate for Raymond to take an interest in them and bring their son, since Christopher Sonnenschein had been an engineering fellow-student with Raymond at Birmingham. But there was no earthly reason, so far as Mrs. Leonard's knowledge was concerned, for him to put in an appearance; and indeed Feda at first told him to 'Go away,' until he explained that he had come to help. Hence the mention of Raymond, under the circumstances, was evidential.]
He's only been once to help beside this, and then he said, Don't tell the lady he was helping. [See below.]
He's been with Paulie to-day, to Paulie's mother's. He says he's been at Paulie's house, but not with Mrs. Kathie, with another lady, a medie, Feda thinks. She was older than this one; a new one to him.[27] He wanted to speak through her, but he found it was difficult. Paul manages it all right, he says, but he finds it difficult. He says he started to get through, and then he didn't feel like himself. It's awful strange when one tries to control anybody. He wanted to very bad; he almost had them. (Sotto voce.—What you mean, Yaymond?) He says he thought he almost had them. He means he nearly got through. Oh, he says, he's not given it up; he's going to try again. What worries him is that he doesn't feel like himself. You know, father, I might be anybody. He says, Do you believe that in that way, practice makes perfect?
O. J. L.—Yes, I'm sure it gets easier with practice.
Oh, then he'll practise dozens of times, if he thinks it will be any good.
O. J. L.—Did he like the old woman?
Oh, yes; she's a very good sort.
O. J. L.—Who was there sitting?
[This question itself indicates, what was the fact, that I had so far given no recognition to the statement that Raymond had been trying to control a medium on the morning of that same day. I wanted to take what came through, without any assistance.]
He's not sure, because he didn't seem to get all properly into the conditions; it was like being in a kind of mist, in a fog. He felt he was getting hold of the lady, but he didn't quite know where he was. He'd got something ready to say, and he started to try and say it, and it seemed as if he didn't know where he was.
[Feda reports sometimes in the third person, sometimes in the first.]
What does she flop about for, father? I don't want to do that; it bothered me rather, I didn't know if I was making her ill or something. Paulie said she thought it was the correct thing to do! But I wish she wouldn't. If she would only keep quiet, and let me come calmly, it would be much easier. Mrs. Kathie [Feda's name for Mrs. Katherine Kennedy] tries to help all she can, but it makes such a muddled condition. I might not be able to get a test through, even when I controlled better; I should have to get quite at home there, before I could give tests through her. He and Paulie used to joke about the old lady, but they don't now. Paul manages to control; he used to see Paulie doing it. I will try again, he says, and I will try again. It's worth trying a few times, then I can get my bearings, and I feel that what I wanted to say beforehand I will be able to get through.
Feda has an idea that what he had saved up to say was only just the usual messages. He had got them ready in his head; he had learnt it up—just a few words. Paulie told him he had better do that, and then (oh, you had better not tell Mrs. Kathie this, for it isn't polite!)—and then Paulie told him to spit it out. And that's what he tried to do—just to say the few words that he had learnt up. He just wanted to say how pleased he was to see you. He wanted also to speak about his mother, and to bring in, if he could, about having talked to you through Feda. Just simple things like that. He had to think of simple things, because Paulie had told him that it was no good trying to think of anything in-tri-cate.
[Feda always pronounces what she no doubt considers long words in a careful and drawnout manner.]
He didn't see clearly, but he felt. He had a good idea that you were there, and that Mrs. Kathie was there, but he wasn't sure; he was all muddled up. Poor Mrs. Kathie was doing her best. He says, Don't change the conditions, if you try it again. He never quite knows whether he is going to have good conditions or not. He wanted to speak about all this. That's all about that.
[This is a completely accurate reference to what had happened with Mrs. Clegg in the morning of the same day. Everything is properly and accurately represented. It is the best thing about the sitting perhaps, though there are many good things in it.]
[The next incident concerns other people—and I usually omit these—but I propose to include this one.]
About the lady he tried to help—the one that he didn't want Feda to tell who he was (p. [241]).
He was helping through a man who had got drowned. This lady had had no belief nor nothing in spiritual things before. The guides brought her to Feda, that she might speak with a dear friend of hers. I helped him, he says, and got both of his initials through to her—E. A.
O. J. L.—Do I know these people?
Yes, you write a lot to the lady.
[I remembered afterwards that I had had some correspondence with a lady who was told at a sitting, apparently by Raymond, that I knew a Dr. A. She was and is a stranger, but for this curious introduction.]
O. J. L.—Is A the surname?
Yes, the spirit's, not the lady's. The lady doesn't know that he [Raymond] is telling you this. And she doesn't know that he helped her. He says, It's for your own use, father. It's given her a new outlook on life.
O. J. L.—I have no idea who she is. Can you get her name?
Oh yes, she's a lady called Mrs. D. [Full name given easily, but no doubt got from the sitter in ordinary course.] And before, you see, she was living a worldly life. She was interested in a way, but not much. She never tried to come into it. When she came, she thought she would have her fortune told. Raymond was waiting for her to come, and brought up the right conditions at once. The man was a nice man, he liked him, and he wanted to bring her into it. The man was fond of her. Raymond has been helping him a lot. He says, I can only help in a small way, but if you could go round and see the people just on the verge of learning something! I can't help them in a big way, but still, it's something important even what I can do. For every one I bring in like that lady, there will be a dozen coming from that.
O. J. L. (still remembering nothing about these people.)—Did the man drown himself?
Oh no, he wented down in a boat; they nearly all wented down together.
The lady wasn't expecting him—she nearly flopped over when he came.
O. J. L.—Was he related to the lady?
No, but he had been the biggest thing in her life. He says it seemed as though she must have felt something, to make her write to you.
O. J. L.—However did Raymond know that she had written to me?
Feda doesn't know. (Sotto voce.—Tell Feda, Yaymond.)
Do you believe me, father, I really can't tell you how I know some things. It's not through inquiry, but sometimes I get it just like a Marconi apparatus receives a message from somewhere, and doesn't know where it comes from at first. Sometimes I try to find out things, and I can't.
[I perceived gradually that this episode related to some one named E. A. (unknown to me), about whom I had been told at a Feda sitting on Friday, 28 January 1916, Raymond seeming to want me to speak to E. A.'s father about him. And in a note to that sitting it is explained how I received a letter shortly afterwards from a stranger, a Mrs. D., who consulted me about informing Dr. A. of the appearance of his son. The whole episode is an excellent one, but it concerns other people, and if narrated at all must be narrated more fully and in another place. Suffice it to say that the son had been lost in tragic circumstances, and that the father is impressed by the singular nature of the evidence that has now been given through the lady—a special visit to Scotland having been made by her for that express purpose. She had not known the father before, but she found him and his house as described; and he admits the details as surprisingly accurate.]
Here is the extract from my sitting of 28 January 1916 relating to this affair:—
EXTRACT FROM O. J. L.'S SITTING WITH MRS. LEONARD,
FRIDAY, 28 JANUARY 1916
He has met somebody called E., Raymond has. He doesn't know who it is, but wonders if you do.
O. J. L.—Is she an old lady?
It's a man, he says. He was drownded. I have helped him a bit, at least I tried, he says. He passed on before Raymond did.
O. J. L.—Did he drown himself?
Raymond doesn't say that. His name was E. He was from Scotland. You will know his father.
Raymond says, I have got a motive in this, father; I don't want to say too much, and I don't want to say too little. You have met E.'s father, and you will meet him again; he comes from Scotland. Raymond is not quite certain, but he thinks he is in Scotland now. His father's name begins with an A, so the other man is E. A. He was fighting his ship. Raymond thinks they was all drownded. He's older than Raymond. Raymond says he's a pretty dark chap. You know his father best, I don't know whether you knew the other chap at all. You have known his father for some years, but you don't often get a chance of meeting. I have got an idea that you will be hearing from him soon. Then you will be able to unload this onto him. They are trying to bring it about, that meeting with the father of E.
O. J. L.—I could make a guess at the surname, but perhaps I had better not.
No, don't. You know I'm not always sure of my facts. I know pretty well how things are, and I think I am pretty safe in saying that it is Scotland. He gives D. also. That's not a person, it's a place. Some place not far from it, called D., he says. It's near, not the place, where he lives. 'Flanked,' he calls it, 'flanked' on the other side by L. They never knew how E. passed on really. They know he was drowned, but not how it happened.
On receiving this message I felt that the case was a genuine one, and that I did know a Dr. A. precisely as described. And I also gradually remembered that he had lost a son at sea, though I did not know the son. But I felt that I must wait for further particulars before broaching what might be an unpalatable subject to Dr. A.
(End of extract from 28 January 1916.)
Ultimately I did receive further particulars as narrated above, and so a month later I did go to call on the old Doctor, after the ice had been broken by Mrs. D.,—who in some trepidation had made a special journey for the purpose, and then nearly came away without opening the subject,—and I verified the trance description of his house which Mrs. D. had received and sent me. Indeed, all the facts stated turned out to be true.
The sitting of 3 March, now being reported, and interrupted by this quotation from a previous sitting, went on thus:—
He took his mother some red roses, and he wants you to tell her. He took them to her from the spirit world, they won't materialise, but I gathered some and took them to her. This isn't a test, father.
O. J. L.—No. Very well, you just want her to know. I will tell her.
(A little talk omitted.)
O. J. L.—Do you want to say anything about the other two people that you helped—last Monday, I think it was? [The Sonnenscheins; still only known to Mrs. Leonard as a lady and gentleman from Darlington.]
No, there's nothing much to tell you about that, or about them. But he brought a son to them.
He stood on one side so as not to take any of the power. He just came at first to show Feda it was all right, and he just came in at the end to send his love.
O. J. L.—Why did he help those particular people?
[I knew why, but I thought proper to ask, since from the medium's point of view there was no reason at all.]
He says he had to. They have been worrying about whether their son had suffered much pain before he passed on. There seems to have been some uncertainty about as to whether he had or not. His body wasn't recovered as soon as it ought to have been. But he didn't suffer much. He was numbed, and didn't as a matter of fact feel much. He throwed up his arms, and rolled down a bank place.
[Christopher Sonnenschein was killed by falling down a snow mountain, and his body was not recovered for five days.]
O. J. L.—Did you know these people before?
Yes. He says, yes. But he won't tell Feda who they is.
O. J. L.—Does he want to send them any message?
He says nothing further has come out, except that he is getting on very well, and that he was pleased. You might tell them that he is happier now. Yes, he is, since he seed them.
[The sitting referred to here, as having been held by a lady and gentleman last Monday, refers to my colleague and his wife and their deceased son Christopher. Their identity had been completely masked by the arrangements they had made, without my knowledge. The letters making arrangements were sent round by Darlington to be posted, in order to cover up tracks and remove all chance of a discoverable connexion with me. (See p. [240].) Hence it is interesting that Raymond turned up to help, for in their normal life the two youths had known each other.]
He has been trying to help you since he saw you here last time. He thought that you knew that he was. He did try hard. He says, I helped you in such a funny way. I got near you and felt such a desire to help you and prevent you from getting tired. He was concentrating on the back of your head, and sort of saying to himself, and impressing the thought towards you: "It's coming easy, you shan't get tired, the brain is going to be very receptive, everything is going to flow through it easily in order." I feel myself saying it all the time, and I get so close I nearly lean on you. To my great delight, I saw you sit up once, and you said: "Ah, that's good." It was some little time back.
O. J. L.—I speak to your photograph sometimes.
Yes. I can speak to you without a photograph! I am often with you, very often.
He's taking Feda into a room with a desk in it; too big for a desk, it must be a table. A sort of a desk, a pretty big one. A chair is in front of it, not a chair like that, a high up chair, more wooden, not woolly stuff; and the light is falling on to the desk; and you are sitting there with a pen or pencil in your hand; you aren't writing much, but you are looking through writing, and making bits of writing on it; you are not doing all the writing yourself, but only bits on it. Raymond is standing at the back of you; he isn't looking at what you are doing. [The description is correct.]
He thought you were tired out last time you came here. He knows you are sometimes. He's been wanting to say to you, "Leave some of it."
O. J. L.—But there's so much to be done.
Yes, he knows it isn't easy to leave it. But it would be better in the end if you can leave a bit, father. You are doing too much.
You know that I am longing and dying for the day when you come over to me. It will be a splendid day for me. But I mustn't be selfish. I have got to work to keep you away from us, and that's not easy for me.
He says that lots over here talk, and say that you will be doing the most wonderful work of your life through the war. People are ready to listen now. They had too many things before to let them think about them; but now it's the great thing to think about the after-life.
I want you to know that when first I came over here, I thought it a bit unfair that such a lot of fellows were coming over in the prime of life, coming over here. But now he sees that for every one that came over, dozens of people open their eyes, and want to know where he has gone to. Directly they want to know, they begin to learn something. Some of them never stopped to think seriously before. "He must be somewhere," they say, "he was so full of life; can we find out?" Then I see that through this, people are going to find out, and find out not only for themselves, but will pass it on to many others, and so it will grow.
He wants to tell you that Mr. Myers says that in ten years from now the world will be a different place. He says that about fifty per cent. of the civilised portion of the globe will be either spiritualists, or coming into it.
O. J. L.—Fifteen per cent.?
Fifty, he said.
Raymond says, I am no judge of that, but he isn't the only one that thinks it. He says, I've got a kind of theory, in a crude sort of way, that man has made the earth plane into such a hotbed of materialism and selfishness, that man again has to atone by sacrifices of mankind in the prime of their physical life. So that by that prime self-effacement, they will bring more spiritual conditions on to the earth, which will crush the spirit of materialism. He says that isn't how I meant to put it, but I've forgotten how I meant to say it.
O. J. L.—Well now, Raymond, Mr. Myers sent me a message to say that you had got some tests ready to get through, and that I was to give you an opportunity of giving them.
Oh yes, he says. But I can't get anything through about the Argonauts: that seems worst of anything.
He's showing Feda a thing that looks like a canvas house. Yes, it must be a canvas house. And it looks to Feda as though it's on a place that seems to be open—a wide place. Yes, no, there's not much green showing where Feda can see. There's a kind of a door in it, like that. (Feda made some sign I didn't catch.) The canvas is sort of grey, quite a light colour, but not quite white. Oh yes, Feda feels the sound of water not far from it—ripple, ripple. Feda sees a boy—not Raymond—half lying, half sitting at the door of the tent place, and he hasn't got a proper coat on; he's got a shirt thing on here, and he's like spreaded out. It's a browny-coloured earth, not nice green, but sandy-coloured ground. As Feda looks at the land, the ground rises sharp at the back. Must have been made to rise, it sticks up in the air. He's showing it as though it should be in some photograph or picture. Feda got wondering about it, what it was for. It's a funny-shaped tent, not round, sort of lop-sided. The door isn't a proper door, it flops. You ought to be able to see a picture of this. [See photographs opposite.]
O. J. L.—Has it got to do with the Argonauts?
No.
O. J. L.—Oh, it's not Coniston then?
No.
O. J. L.—Is it by the sea?
Near the water, he says; he doesn't say the sea. No, he won't say that; he says, near water. It looks hot there.
O. J. L.—Will the boys know?
You will know soon about it, he says.
Feda gets a feeling that there are two or three moving about inside that tent.
O. J. L.—Is it all one chamber in the tent?
He didn't say that. He was going to say, no, and then he stopped to think. No, I don't think it was, it was divided off.
LARGE DOUBLE-COMPARTMENT TENT IN ITS FIRST FORM (1905)
(BUILT AT MARIEMONT AND TAKEN TO WOOLACOMBE)
THE TENT IN ITS SECOND FORM (1906)
MADE OUT OF THE REMAINS OF THE FIRST
[See photographs of two forms of this tent.]
Now he is showing something right on top of that. Now he is showing Feda a yacht, a boat with white sails. Now he is going back to the tent again. The raised up land is at the back of the tent, well set back. It doesn't give an even sticking up, but it goes right along, with bits up and bits lower down.
[The description could not be completely taken down, but it gave the impression of a raised bank of varying height, behind an open space, and a tent in front of it. It quite suggested that sort of picture.]
[See photograph facing p. [252].]
Maps, what's that? Maps, maps, he says. He's saying something about maps. This is something that the boys will know. Poring, he says. Not pouring anything out, but poring over maps. Ask the boys. [See note after further reference to maps later in the sitting.]
O. J. L.—What about that yacht with sails; did it run on the water?
No. (Feda, sotto voce.—Oh, Raymond, don't be silly!) He says, no. (Feda.—It must have done!) He's showing Feda like a thing on land, yes, a land thing. It's standing up, like edgeways. A narrow thing. No it isn't water, but it has got nice white sails.
O. J. L.—Did it go along?
He says it DIDN'T! He's laughing! When he said 'didn't' he shouted it. Feda should have said, 'He laid peculiar emphasis on it.' This is for the boys.
O. J. L.—Had they got to do with that thing?
Yes, they will know, they will understand. Yes, he keeps on showing like a boat—a yacht, he calls it, a yacht.
[See note below and photographs.]
Now he is showing Feda some figures. Something flat, like a wall. Rods and things, long rods. Some have got little round things shaking on them, like that. And he's got strings, some have got strings. 'Strings' isn't the right word, but it will do. Smooth, strong, string-like. In the corner, where it's a little bit dark, some one is standing up and leaning against something, and a piece of stuff is flapping round them.
Now he is saying again something about maps. He's going to the maps again. It isn't a little map, but it's one you can unfold and fold up small. And they used to go with their fingers along it, like that—not he only, but the boys. And it wasn't at home, but when they were going somewhere—some distance from home. And Feda gets the impression as though they must be looking at the map when it was moving. They seem to be moving smoothly along, like in one of those horrible trains. Feda has never been in a train.
[The mention of folded-up maps cannot be considered important, but it is appropriate, because many of the boys' common reminiscences group round long motor drives in Devonshire and Cornwall, when they must frequently have been consulting the kind of map described.]
[Note by O. J. L. on Tent and Boat.—All this about the tent and boat is excellent, though not outside my knowledge. The description of the scenery showed plainly that it was Woolacombe sands that was meant—whither the family had gone in the summer for several years—a wide open stretch of sand, with ground rising at the back, as described, and with tents along under the bank, one of which—a big one—had been made by the boys. It was on wheels, it had two chambers with a double door, and was used for bathing by both the boys and girls. Quite a large affair, oblong in shape, like a small cottage. One night a gale carried it up to the top of the sand-hills and wrecked it. We saw it from the windows in the morning.
FIRST EDITION OF THE SAND-BOAT (1906)
AT WOOLACOMBE WITH ALEC ON BOARD
RISING GROUND BEHIND OLDER TENTS
ON WOOLACOMBE BEACH
The boys pulled it to pieces, and made a smaller tent of the remains, this time with only one chamber, and its shape was now a bit lop-sided. I felt in listening to the description that there was some hesitation in Raymond's mind as to whether he was speaking of the first or the second stage of this tent.
As for the sand-boat, it was a thing they likewise made at Mariemont, and carted down to Woolacombe. A kind of long narrow platform or plank on wheels, with a rudder and sails. At first, when it had small sails, it only went with a light passenger and a strong wind behind. But in a second season they were more ambitious, and made bigger sails to it, and that season I believe it went along the sands very fast occasionally; but it still wouldn't sail at right angles to the wind as they wanted. They finally smashed the mast by sailing in a gale with three passengers. There had been ingenuity in making it, and Raymond had been particularly active over it, as he was over all constructions. On the whole it was regarded as a failure, the wheels were too small; and Raymond's 'DIDN'T' is quite accepted.
References to these things were evidently some of the tests (p. [249]) which he had got together for transmission to me. [See photographs.]
The rod and rings and strings, mentioned after the 'boat,' I don't at present understand. So far as I have ascertained, the boys don't understand, either, at present.]
I don't know whether I have got anything more that I can really call a test. You will have to take, he says (he's laughing now)—take the information about the old lady as a test.
O. J. L.—You mean what he began with? [i.e. about Mrs. Clegg.]
Yes.
O. J. L.—Well, it's a very good one.
He's been trying to find somebody whose name begins with K. But it isn't Mrs. Kathie, it's a gentleman. He's been trying to find him.
O. J. L.—What for?
He thought his mother would be interested. There's something funny about this. One is in the spirit world, but one they believe is still on the earth plane. He hasn't come over yet. [One of the two referred to is certainly dead; the other may possibly, but very improbably, be a prisoner.] There's a good deal of mystery about this, but I'm sure he isn't actually come over yet. Some people think that because we are here, we have only to go anywhere we choose, and find out anything we like. But that's Tommy-rot. They are limited, but they send messages to each other, and what he sincerely believes is, that that man has not passed on.
O. J. L.—Mother thinks he has, and so do his people.
Yes, yes. I don't know whether it would be advisable to tell them anything, but I have a feeling that he isn't here. I have been looking for him everywhere.
He keeps on building up a J. He doesn't answer when Feda asks what that is. He says there will be a few surprises for people later on.
O. J. L.—Well, I take it that he wants me to understand that J. K. is on our side?
Yes, he keeps nodding his head. Yes, in the body. Mind, he says, I've got a feeling—I can only call it a feeling—that he has been hurt, practically unconscious. Anyway, time will prove if I am right.
O. J. L.—I hope he will continue to live, and come back.
I hope so too. Except for the possible doubt about it, I would say tell them at once. But after all they are happier in thinking that he has gone over, than that he's in some place undergoing terrible privations.
Now he's saying something carefully to Feda. He says they should not go by finding a stick. He wants you to put that down—they ought not to go by finding a stick.
O. J. L.—Oh, they found a stick, did they?
Yes, that's how, yes.
[I clearly understood that this statement referred to a certain Colonel, about whom there was uncertainty for months. But a funeral service has now been held—an impressive one, which M. F. A. L. attended. On inquiry from her, I find (what I didn't know at the time of the sitting) that the evidence of his death is a riding-whip, which they found in the hands of an unrecognisable corpse. From some initials on this riding-whip, they thought it belonged to him; and on this evidence have concluded him dead. So far as I know, they entertain no doubt about it. At any rate, we have heard none expressed, either publicly or privately. Hence, the information now given may possibly turn out of interest, though there is always the possibility that, if he is a prisoner in Germany, he may not survive the treatment. He was leading an attack on the Hohenzollern Redoubt when he fell; he was seen to fall, wounded; there was great slaughter, and when at night his man returned to try and find him, he could not be found. This is my recollection of the details, but of course they can be more accurately given. At what period the whip was found, I don't know, but can ascertain.] (See also p. [266].)
[No further news yet—September 1916. But I must confess that I think the information extremely unlikely.
—O. J. L.]
O. J. L.—Does he remember William, our gardener?
Yes.
Feda doesn't know what he means, but he says something about coming over. (Feda, sotto voce.—Tell Feda what you mean.)
He doesn't give it very clearly. Feda gets an idea that he means coming over there. Yes, he does mean into the spirit world. Feda asks him, did he mean soon; but he shakes his head.
O. J. L.—Does he mean that he has come already?
He doesn't get that very clearly. He keeps saying, coming over, coming over, and when Feda asked 'Soon?' he shook his head, as if getting cross.
O. J. L.—If he sees him, perhaps he will help him.
Of course he will. He hasn't seen him yet. No, he hasn't seen him.
[I may here record that William, the gardener, died within a week before the sitting, and that Raymond here clearly indicates a knowledge, either of his death or of its imminence.]
It's difficult when people approach you, and say they knew your father or your mother; you don't quite know what to say to them!
O. J. L.—Yes, it must be a bother. Do you remember a bird in our garden?
(Feda, sotto voce.—Yes, hopping about?)
O. J. L.—No, Feda, a big bird.
Of course, not sparrows, he says! Yes, he does. (Feda, sotto voce.—Did he hop, Yaymond?) No, he says you couldn't call it a hop.
O. J. L.—Well, we will go on to something else now; I don't want to bother him about birds. Ask him does he remember Mr. Jackson?
Yes. Going away, going away, he says. He used to come to the door. (Feda, sotto voce.—Do you know what he means? Anyone can come to the door!) He used to see him every day, he says, every day. (Sotto voce.—What did he do, Yaymond?)
He says, nothing. (I can't make out what he says.) He's thinking. It's Feda's fault, he says.
O. J. L.—Well, never mind. Report anything he says, whether it makes sense or not.
He says he fell down. He's sure of that. He hurt himself. He builds up a letter T, and he shows a gate, a small gate—looks like a foot-path; not one in the middle of a town. Pain in hands and arms.
O. J. L.—Was he a friend of the family?
No. No, he says, no. He gives Feda a feeling of tumbling, again he gives a feeling as though—(Feda thinks Yaymond's joking)—he laughed. He was well known among us, he says; and yet, he says, not a friend of the family. Scarcely a day passed without his name being mentioned. He's joking, Feda feels sure. He's making fun of Feda.
O. J. L.—No, tell me all he says.
He says, put him on a pedestal. No, that they put him on a pedestal. He was considered very wonderful. And he 'specs that he wouldn't have appreciated it, if he had known; but he didn't know, he says. Not sure if he ever will, he says. It sounds nonsense, what he says. Feda has got an impression that he's mixing him up with the bird, because he said something about 'bird' in the middle of it—just while he said something about Mr. Jackson, and then he pulled himself up, and changed it again. Just before he said 'pedestal' he said 'fine bird,' and then he stopped. In trying to answer the one, he got both mixed up, Mr. Jackson and the bird.
O. J. L.—How absurd! Perhaps he's getting tired.
He won't say he got this mixed up! But he did! Because he said 'fine bird,' and then he started off about Mr. Jackson.
O. J. L.—What about the pedestal?
On a pedestal, he said.
O. J. L.—Would he like him put on a pedestal?
No, he doesn't say nothing.
[Contemporary Note by O. J. L.—The episode of Mr. Jackson and the bird is a good one. 'Mr. Jackson' is the comic name of our peacock. Within the last week he has died, partly, I fear, by the severe weather. But his legs have been rheumatic and troublesome for some time; and in trying to walk he of late has tumbled down on them. He was found dead in a yard on a cold morning with his neck broken. One of the last people I saw before leaving home for this sitting was a man whom Lady Lodge had sent to take the bird's body and have it stuffed. She showed him a wooden pedestal on which she thought it might be placed, and tail feathers were being sent with it. Hence, the reference to the pedestal, if not telepathic from me, shows a curious knowledge of what was going on. And the jocular withholding from Feda of the real meaning of Mr. Jackson, and the appropriate remarks made concerning him which puzzled Feda, were quite in Raymond's vein of humour.
Perhaps it was unfortunate that I had mentioned a bird first, but I tried afterwards, by my manner and remarks, completely to dissociate the name Jackson from what I had asked before about the bird; and Raymond played up to it.
It may be that he acquires some of these contemporary items of family information through sittings which are held in Mariemont, where of course all family gossip is told him freely, no outsider or medium being present. But the death of Mr. Jackson, and the idea of having him stuffed and put on a pedestal, were very recent, and I was surprised that he had knowledge of them. I emphasise the episode as exceptionally good.]
He's trying to show Feda the side of a house; not a wall, it has got glass. He's taking Feda round to it; it has got glass stuff. Yes, and when you look in, it's like flowers inside and green stuff. He used to go there a lot—be there, he says. Red-coloured pots.
O. J. L.—Is that anything to do with Mr. Jackson?
He's shaking his head now. That's where mother got the flowers from. Tell her, she will know.
"GRANDFATHER W."
"MR. JACKSON" WITH M. F. A. L. AT MARIEMONT
[There is more than one greenhouse that might be referred to. M. F. A. L. got the yellow jasmine, which she thinks is the flower referred to, from the neighbourhood of one of them. And it is one on which the peacock used commonly to roost; though whether the reference to it followed on, or had any connexion with, the peacock is uncertain, and seems to be denied.]
Yes, he's not so clear now, Soliver. He has enjoyed himself. Sometimes he enjoys himself so much, he forgets to do the good things he prepared. I could stay for hours and hours, he says. But he's just as keen as you are in getting tests through. I think I have got some. When I go away, I pat myself on the back and think, That's something for them to say, "Old Raymond does remember something." What does aggravate him sometimes is that when he can't get things through, people think it's because he has forgotten. It isn't a case of forgetting. He doesn't forget anything.
Father, do you remember what I told mother about the place I had been to, and whom I had been allowed to see? What did they think of it?
[See M. F. A. L. sitting with Mrs. Leonard, 4 February 1916, Chap. [XX].]
O. J. L.—Well, the family thought that it wasn't like Raymond.
Ah, that's what I was afraid of. That's the awful part of it.
O. J. L.—Well, I don't suppose they knew your serious side.
Before he gave that to his mother, he hesitated, and thought he wouldn't. And then he said, Never mind what they think now, I must let mother and father know. Some day they will know, and so, what does it matter?
He knew that they might think it was something out of a book, not me; but perhaps they didn't know that side of me so well.
O. J. L.—No. But among the things that came back, there was a Bible with marked passages in it, and so I saw that you had thought seriously about these things. [page [11].]
Yes, he says. Yet there's something strange about it somehow. We are afraid of showing that side; we keep it to ourselves, and even hide it.
O. J. L.—It must have been a great experience for you.
I hadn't looked for it, I hadn't hoped for it, but it was granted.
O. J. L.—Do you think you could take some opportunity of speaking about it through some other medium, not Feda? Because at present the boys think that Feda invented it.
Yes, that's what they do think. He says he will try very hard.
O. J. L.—Have you ever seen that Person otherwise than at that time?
No, I have not seen Him, except as I told you; he says, father, He doesn't come and mingle freely, here and there and everywhere. I mean, not in that sense; but we are always conscious, and we feel him. We are conscious of his presence. But you know that people think that when they go over, they will be with him hand in hand, but of course they're wrong.
He doesn't think he will say very much more about that now, not until he's able to say it through some one else. It may be that they will say it wrong, that it won't be right; it may get twisted. Feda does that sometimes. (Feda, sotto voce.—No, Feda doesn't!) Yes she does, and that's why I say, go carefully.
O. J. L.—Has he been through another medium to a friend of mine lately?
[This was intended to refer to a sitting which Mr. Hill was holding with Peters about that date, and, as it turned out, on the same day.]
He doesn't say much. No, he doesn't say nothing about it. He hasn't got much power, and he's afraid that he might go wrong.
Good-bye, father, now. My love to you, my love to mother. I am nearer to you than ever before, and I'm not so silly about [not] showing it. Love to all of them. Lionel is a dear old chap. My love to all.
SECOND EDITION OF SAND-BOAT, AT MARIEMONT,
BEFORE BEING UNSHIPPED AND TAKEN TO WOOLACOMBE, 1907
RAYMOND WORKING AT THE SAND-BOAT IN THE BOYS'
LABORATORY AT MARIEMONT
Don't forget to tell mother about the roses I brought her. There's nothing to understand about them; I just wanted her to know that I brought her some flowers.
Good night, father. I am always thinking of you. God bless you all.
Give Feda's love to SrAlec.
O. J. L.—Yes, I will, Feda. We are all fond of you.
Yes, Feda feels it, and it lifts Feda up, and helps her.
Mrs. Leonard speedily came-to, and seemed quite easy and well, although the sitting had been a long one, and it was now nearly 11.30 p.m.
[I repeat in conclusion that this was an excellent sitting, with a good deal of evidential matter.—O. J. L.]
CHAPTER XXII
MORE UNVERIFIABLE MATTER
ON 24 March, we had some more unverifiable material through Mrs. Leonard; it was much less striking than that given on 4 February, and I am inclined myself to attribute a good deal of it to hypothetical information received by Feda from other sitters: but it seems unfair to suppress it. In accordance with my plan I propose to reproduce it for what it is worth.
Sitting with Mrs. Leonard at our Flat, Friday, 24 March
1916, from 5.45 p.m. to 8 p.m.
(Present—O. J. L. and M. F. A. L.)
Report by O. J. L.
(Mrs. Leonard arrived about 5.30 to tea, for a sitting with M. F. A. L. I happened to be able to come too, in order to take notes. She had just come away from another sitting, and had had some difficulty in getting rid of her previous sitter in time, which rather bothered her. The result was not specially conducive to lucidity, and the sitting seemed only a moderately good one.
When Feda arrived she seemed pleased, and said:—)
Yes it is, yes, it's Soliver!
How are you? Raymond's here!
M. F. A. L.—Is he here already?
Yes, of course he is!
(Feda, sotto voce.—What's he say?) He says he hasn't come to play with Feda, or make jokes; he's come about serious things.
Do you remember, Miss Olive [Feda's name for Lady Lodge], some time ago, about that beautiful experience what he had? He's so glad that you and Soliver know about it, even though the others can't take it in. Years hence he thinks they may. He says, over there, they don't mind talking about the real things, over there, 'cos they're the things that count.
He thinks the one that took it in mostly was Lionel. Yes, it seemed to sink in mostly; he was turning it over afterwards, though he didn't say much. He's more ready for that than the others. He says he would never have believed it when he was here, but he is.
He hasn't been to that place again, not that same place. But he's been to a place just below it. He's been attending lectures, at what they call, "halls of learning": you can prepare yourself for the higher spheres while you are living in lower ones. He's on the third, but he's told that even now he could go on to the fourth if he chose; but he says he would rather be learning the laws ap-per-taining to each sphere while he's still living on the third, because it brings him closer—at least until you two have come over. He will stay and learn, where he is. He wouldn't like to go on there and then find it to be difficult to get back. He will wait till we can go happily and comfortably together!
Would it interest you for him to tell you about one of the places he's been to? It's so interesting to him, that he might seem to exaggerate; but the experience is so wonderful, it lives with him.
He went into a place on the fifth sphere—a place he takes to be made of alabaster. He's not sure that it really was, but it looked like that. It looked like a kind of a temple—a large one. There were crowds passing into this place, and they looked very happy. And he thought, "I wonder what I'm going to see here." When he got mixed up with the crowd going into the temple, he felt a kind of—(he's stopping to think). It's not irreverency what he says, but he felt a kind of feeling as if he had had too much champagne—it went to his head, he felt too buoyant, as if carried a bit off the ground.
That's 'cos he isn't quite attuned to the conditions of that sphere. It's a most extraordinary feeling. He went in, and he saw that though the building was white, there were many different lights: looked like certain places covered in red, and ... was blue, and the centre was orange. These were not the crude colours that go by those names, but a softened shade. And he looked to see what they came from. Then he saw that a lot of the windows were extremely large, and the panes in them had glass of these colours. And he saw that some of the people would go and stand in the pinky coloured light that came through the red glass, and others would stand in the blue light, and some would stand in the orange or yellow coloured light. And he thought, "What are they doing that for?" Then some one told him that the pinky coloured light was the light of the love-colour; and the blue was the light of actual spiritual healing; and the orange was the light of intellect. And that, according to what people wanted, they would go and stand under that light. And the guide told him that it was more important than what people on earth knew. And that, in years to come, there would be made a study of the effect of different lights.
The pinky people looked clever and developed in their attitude and mentality generally; but they hadn't been able to cultivate the love-interest much, their other interests had overpowered that one. And the people who went into the intellectual light looked softer and happy, but not so clever looking. He says he felt more drawn to the pink light himself, but some one said, "No, you have felt a good deal of that," and he got out and went into the other two, and he felt that he liked the blue light best. And he thinks that perhaps you will read something into that. I had the other conditions, but I wanted the other so much. The blue seemed to call me more than the others. After I had been in it some time, I felt that nothing mattered much, except preparing for the spiritual life. He says that the old Raymond seemed far away at the time, as though he was looking back on some one else's life—some one I hadn't much connexion with, and yet who was linked on to me. And he felt, "What does anything matter, if I can only attain this beautiful uplifting feeling." I can't tell you what I felt like, but reading it over afterwards, perhaps you will understand. Words feel powerless to describe it. He won't try, he will just tell you what happened after.
We sat down—the seats were arranged something like pews in a church—and as he looked towards the aisle, he saw coming up it about seven figures. And he saw, from his former experience, that they were evidently teachers come down from the seventh sphere. He says, they went up to the end part, and they stood on a little raised platform; and then one of them came down each of the little aisles, and put out their hands on those sitting in the pews. And when one of the Guides put his hand on his head, he felt a mixture of all three lights—as if he understood everything, and as if everything that he had ever felt, of anger or worry, all seemed nothing. And he felt as if he could rise to any height, and as if he could raise everybody round him. As if he had such a power in himself. He's stopping to think over it again.
They sat and listened, and the first part of the ceremony was given in a lecture, in which one of the Guides was telling them how to teach others on the lower spheres and earth plane, to come more into the spiritual life, while still on those lower planes. I think that all that went before was to make it easy to understand. And he didn't get only the words of the speaker, words didn't seem to matter, he got the thought—whole sentences, instead of one word at a time. And lessons were given on concentration, and on the projection of uplifting and helpful thoughts to those on the earth plane. And as he sat there—he sat, they were not kneeling—he felt as if something was going from him, through the other spheres on to the earth, and was helping somebody, though he didn't know who it was. He can't tell you how wonderful it was; not once it happened, but several times.
He's even been on to the sixth sphere too. The sixth sphere was even more beautiful than the fifth, but at present he didn't want to stay there. He would rather be helping people where he is.
O. J. L.—Does he see the troubles of people on the earth?
Yes, he does sometimes.
I do wish that we could alter people so that they were not ashamed to talk about the things that matter. He can see people preparing for the summer holidays, and yet something may prevent them. But the journey that they have got to go some time, that they don't prepare for at all.
M. F. A. L.—How can you prepare for it?
Yes, by speaking about it openly, and living your life so as to make it easier for yourself and others.
O. J. L.—Is Raymond still there? Has he got any more tests to give, or anything to say, to the boys or anybody?
Did they understand about the yacht?
O. J. L.—Yes, they did.
And about the tent?
O. J. L.—Yes, they did.
He's very pleased—it bucks him up when he gets things through.
O. J. L.—Have you learnt any more about [the Colonel[28]]?
He's not on the spirit side. He feels sure he isn't. Somebody told him that there was a body found, near the place where he had been, and it was dressed in uniform like he had had. But something had happened to it here (pointing to her head).
O. J. L.—Who was it told you?
Some one on the other side; just a messenger, not one who knew all about it. No, the messenger didn't seem to know J. K. personally, but he had gathered the information from the minds of people on the earth plane. And Feda isn't quite sure, but thinks that there was something missing from the body—missing from the body that they took to be him, which would have identified him.
O. J. L.—Do you mean the face?
No, he doesn't mean the face.
(M. F. A. L., here pointing to her chest, signified to me that she knew that it was the identification disk that was missing.)
M. F. A. L.—Why was it missing?
Because it wasn't he! In the first place, it couldn't be, but if that had only been there, they would have known. He can't say where he is at the present moment, but he heard a few days ago that he is being kept somewhere, and as far as he can make out, in Belgium. It's as though he had been taken some distance.
Raymond's not showing this—but Feda's shown in a sort of flash a letter. First a B, and then an R. But the B doesn't mean Belgium; it's either a B or an R, or both. It just flashed up. It may mean the place where he is. But Raymond doesn't know where he is, only he's quite sure that he isn't on the spirit side. But he's afraid he's ill.
O. J. L.—Have you anything more to say about E. A.? [See 3 March record, p. [243].]
No, no more. Raymond came to Feda to help the lady who came. Feda started describing Raymond. And he said, no, only come to help. And then he brought the one what was drownded. He came to help also with another, but Feda didn't tell that lady, 'cos she didn't know you. He doesn't like Feda to tell. Feda couldn't understand why he wanted to help, because she didn't know he knew that gentleman. He helped E. A. to build up a picture of his home. Perhaps she thinks it was Feda being so clever!
O. J. L.—Yes, I know, she's been there to see it. [See p. [245].]
Yes, and she found it what she said. He told her that she wouldn't be seeing his mother. She couldn't see why she shouldn't see his mother; but she didn't. [True.]
Raymond hasn't got any good tests. He can't manufacture them, and they are so hard to remember.
O. J. L.—Is he still in his little house?
Oh yes, he feels at home there.
O. J. L.—He said it was made of bricks—I could make nothing of that.
I knew you couldn't! It's difficult to explain. At-om-; he say something about at-om-ic principle. They seem to be able to draw (?) certain unstable atoms from the atmosphere and crystallise them as they draw near certain central attraction. That isn't quite what Feda thinks of it. Feda has seen like something going round—a wheel—something like electricity, some sparks dropping off the edge of the wheel, and it goes crick, crick, and becomes like hard; and then they falls like little raindrops into the long thing under the wheel—Raymond calls it the accumulator. I can't call them anything but bricks. It's difficult to know what to call them. Wait until you come over, and I'll show you round. And you will say, "By Jove, so they are!" Things are quite real here. Mind, I don't say things are as heavy as on the earth, because they're not. And if he hit or kicked something it wouldn't displace it so much as on the earth, because we're lighter. I can't tell you exactly what it is; I'm not very interested in making bricks, but I can see plainly how it's apparently done.
He says it appears to him too, that the spirit spheres are built round the earth plane, and seem to revolve with it. Only, naturally, the first sphere isn't revolving at such a rate as the third, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh spheres. Greater circumference makes it seem to revolve more rapidly. That seems to have an actual effect on the atmospheric conditions prevailing in any one of the spheres. Do you see what he's getting at?
O. J. L.—Yes. He only means that the peripheral velocity is greater for the bigger spheres, though the angular velocity is the same.
Yes, that's just what he means. And it does affect the different conditions, and that's why he felt a bit careful when he was on a higher sphere, in hanging on to the ground.
[A good deal of this struck me as nonsense; as if Feda had picked it up from some sitter. But I went on recording what was said.]
Such a lot of people think it's a kind of thought-world, where you think all sort of things—that it's all "think." But when you come over you see that there's no thinking about it; it's there, and it does impress you with reality. He does wish you would come over. He will be as proud as a cat with something tails—two tails, he said. Proud as a cat with two tails showing you round the places. He says, father will have a fine time, poking into everything, and turning everything inside out.
There's plenty flowers growing here, Miss Olive, you will be glad to hear. But we don't cut them here. They doesn't die and grow again; they seem to renew themselves. Just like people, they are there all the time renewing their spirit bodies. The higher the sphere he went to, the lighter the bodies seemed to be—he means the fairer, lighter in colour. He's got an idea that the reason why people have drawn angels with long fair hair and very fair complexion is that they have been inspired by somebody from very high spheres. Feda's not fair; she's not brown, but olive coloured; her hair is dark. All people that's any good has black hair.
Do you know that Give Feda's love to all of them, specially to SLionel—Feda likes him. (Mrs. Leonard now came-to, and after about ten minutes she and M. F. A. L. sat at a small octagonal table, which, in another five minutes, began to tilt.) [But the subject now completely changed, and, if reported at all, must be reported elsewhere.] I may say that several times, during a Feda sitting, some special communicator has asked for a table sitting to follow, because he considers it more definite and more private. And certainly some of the evidence so got has been remarkable; as indeed it was on this occasion. But the record concerns other people, distant friends of my wife, some of whom take no interest in the subject whatever. Footnotes [27] This shows clear and independent knowledge of the sitting which I had held with Mrs. Clegg that same morning (see early parts of this chapter).
CHAPTER XXIII
A FEW ISOLATED INCIDENTS
THERE are a number of incidents which might be reported, some of them of characteristic quality, and a few of them of the nature of good tests. The first of these reported here is decidedly important.
I. SIMULTANEOUS SITTINGS IN LONDON AND EDGBASTON
Special 'Honolulu' Test Episode
Lionel and Norah, going through London on the way to Eastbourne, on Friday, 26 May 1916, arranged to have a sitting with Mrs. Leonard about noon. They held one from 11.55 to 1.30, and a portion of their record is transcribed below.
At noon it seems suddenly to have occurred to Alec in Birmingham to try for a correspondence test; so he motored up from his office, extracted some sisters from the Lady Mayoress's Depot, where they were making surgical bandages, and took them to Mariemont for a brief table sitting. It lasted about ten minutes, between 12.10 and 12.20 p.m. And the test which he then and there suggested was to ask Raymond to get Feda in London to say the word "Honolulu." This task, I am told, was vigorously accepted and acquiesced in.
A record of this short sitting Alec wrote on a letter-card to me, which I received at 7 p.m. the same evening at Mariemont: the first I had heard of the experiment. The postmark is "1 p.m. 26 My 16," and the card runs thus:—
"Mariemont, Friday, 26 May, 12.29 p.m.
"Honor, Rosalynde, and Alec sitting in drawing-room at table. Knowing Lionel and Norah having Feda sitting in London simultaneously. Asked Raymond to give our love to Norah and Lionel and to try and get Feda to say Honolulu. Norah and Lionel know nothing of this, as it was arranged by A. M. L. after 12 o'clock to-day.
"(Signed) Alec M. Lodge
Honor G. Lodge
Rosalynde V. Lodge"
It is endorsed on the back in pencil, "Posted at B'ham General P.O. 12.43 p.m."; and, in ink, "Received by me 7 p.m.—O. J. L. Opened and read and filed at once."
The sitters in London knew nothing of the contemporaneous attempt; and nothing was told them, either then or later. Noticing nothing odd in their sitting, which they had not considered a particularly good one, they made no report till after both had returned from Eastbourne a week later.
The notes by that time had been written out, and were given me to read to the family. As I read, I came on a passage near the end, and, like the few others who were in the secret, was pleased to find that the word "Honolulu" had been successfully got through. The subject of music appeared to have been rather forced in by Raymond, in order to get Feda to mention an otherwise disconnected and meaningless word; the time when this was managed being, I estimate, about 1.0 or 1.15. But of course it was not noted as of any interest at the time.
Here follow the London Notes. I will quote portions of the sitting only, so as not to take up too much space:—
Sitting of Lionel and Norah with Mrs. Leonard in London,
Friday, 26 May 1916, beginning 11.55 a.m.
Extracts from Report by L. L.
After referring to Raymond's married sister and her husband, Feda suddenly ejaculated:—
How is Alec?
L. L.—Oh, all right.
He just wanted to know how he was, and send his love to him. He does not always see who is at the table; he feels some more than others.[29]
He says you (to Norah) sat at the table and Lionel.
He felt you (Norah) more than any one else at the table.
[This is unlikely. He seems to be thinking that it is Honor.]
Feda feels that if you started off very easily, you would be able to see him. Develop a normal ... [clairvoyance probably].
Raymond says, go slowly, develop just with time, go slowly. Even the table helps a little.
He can really get through now in his own words. When he is there, he now knows what he has got through.
The Indians have got through their hanky-panky. [We thought that this meant playing with the table in a way beyond his control.]
He says that Lily is here. (Feda, sotto voce.—Where is she?)
She looks very beautiful, and has lilies; she will help too, and give you power.
Sit quietly once or twice a week, hold your hands, the right over the left, so, for ten minutes, then sit quiet—only patience. He could wait till doomsday.
He says, Wait and see; he is laughing!
He has seen Curly (p. [203]).
L. L.—Is Curly there now?
No, see her when we wants to. That's the one that wriggles and goes ... (here Feda made a sound like a dog panting, with her tongue out—quite a good imitation).
Raymond has met another boy like Paul, a boy called Ralph. He likes him. There is what you call a set. People meet there who are interested in the same things. Ralph is a very decent sort of chap.[30]
(To Norah).—You could play.
N. M. L.—Play what?
Not a game, a music.
N. M. L.—I am afraid I can't, Raymond.
(Feda, sotto voce.—She can't do that.)
He wanted to know whether you could play Hulu—Honolulu.
Well, can't you try to? He is rolling with laughter [meaning that he's pleased about something].
He knows who he is speaking to, but he can't give the name.
[Here he seems to know that it is Norah and not Honor.]
L. L.—Should I tell him?
No.
He says something about a yacht; he means a test he sent through about a yacht. Confounded Argonauts![31]
He is going. Fondest love to them at Mariemont.
The sitting continued for a short time longer, ending at 1.30 p.m., but the present report may end here.
Note on the 'Honolulu' Episode by O. J. L.
In my judgment there were signs that the simultaneous holding of two sittings, one with Honor and Alec in Edgbaston, and one with Lionel and Norah in London, introduced a little harmless confusion; there was a tendency in London to confuse Norah with Honor, and Alec was mentioned in London in perhaps an unnecessary way. I do not press this, however, but I do press the 'Honolulu' episode—
- because it establishes a reality about the home sittings,
- because it so entirely eliminates anything of the nature of collusion, conscious or unconscious,
- because the whole circumstances of the test make it an exceedingly good one.
What it does not exclude is telepathy. In fact it may be said to suggest telepathy. Yes, it suggests distinctly one variety of what, I think, is often called telepathy—a process sometimes conducted, I suspect, by an unrecognised emissary or messenger between agent and percipient. It was exactly like an experiment conducted for thought transference at a distance. For at Edgbaston was a party of three sitting round a table and thinking for a few seconds of the word 'Honolulu'; while in London was a party of two simultaneously sitting with a medium and recording what was said. And in their record the word 'Honolulu' occurs. Telepathy, however—of whatever kind—is not a normal explanation; and I venture to say that there is no normal explanation, since in my judgment chance is out of the question. The subject of music was forced in by the communicator, in order to bring in the word; it did not occur naturally; and even if the subject of music had arisen, there was no sort of reason for referring to that particular song. The chief thing that the episode establishes, to my mind, and a thing that was worth establishing, is the genuine character of the simple domestic sittings without a medium which are occasionally held by the family circle at Mariemont. For it is through these chiefly that Raymond remains as much a member of the family group as ever.