The landlady of our local pub introduced me to two mediums recently. They said they were devout Christians as if that explained some oddity. They were on a mission. A woman had lost her son and wouldn’t be happy until she held his hand again.
“When did she lose him?” I asked.
“1750,” was the reply, “and she’s been searching for him since.”
The spirit woman said the pub was an ale house in the old days, and insisted her son might be at “The Farm” nearby. I pointed out the farm, and where the farm house was back then. I offered to take them but they’d another appointment and said they’d come back.
To be honest, I’d difficulty dropping the exchange from my head. I’ve heard enough ghost stories in my time, and had several experiences that couldn’t be explained so I’m receptive to the idea of a spirit world.
The great poet, W. B. Yeats, was a medium and he put it well. He was standing by a bridge In Sligo one time. An old man hobbled along. They’d a conversation and Yeats asked him if he believed in leprechauns.
“Leprechauns, is it? Damn you, sir. What do you take me for, a fool!”
Yeats apologised profusely and they both watched the stream in silence. Then the old man said:
“But you never know now, do ye?”
Enjoy the chorus from The Stolen Child by Yeats:
Come away, O human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping
Than you can understand.
First published in Swindon Link