Chapter Four. Part VI.

Chapter Four. Part VI.

There was just one more contact on this evening of the 11th when once again Brenda introduced herself. Some of our discussion was nothing more than friendly chit-chat, and other subject matters are unclear. Her words cover more than two sides of A4 paper, so I’ll pick out what I see as the more significant passages.   

It’s obvious that I must have asked her if she knew someone, someone on her side that I imagine we’d spoken to. Whoever it was, she says, “HE’S OK IN SMALL DOSES”. Could it have been Ian? Or Sam, maybe? - I can’t recall.

She tells me, “DON’T LOSE SIGHT OF YOUR GOAL”, and to “WRITE A SONG FOR ME IF YOU HAVE THE TIME AND ENERGY” - even offering a title, “STILL WITH YOU AGAINST ALL ODDS”. I’m afraid I never did get round to writing it.

From some of the conversations we’d been having with our contacts, I started to develop a notion that, contrary to how many of us would imagine an afterlife of floating around aimlessly on clouds, in fact it had been mentioned that they had work to do. Tanina had often talked of being busy; Uri told us that he counsels, and Ian mentioned the art he was producing (and exhibiting). So I asked ...  

Though the words on paper appear slightly disjointed in parts, the topic of conversation started to develop in a way that had, and still does have a profound resonance for me. 

Beginning as we did with the idea of expressing and passing on those things that are relevant to the events in one’s own life, Brenda goes on to speak of the trying and painful times, those times that we feel we could, or should do without. Most of us would  naturally tend to view those experiences as negative or bad, but here, she now presents me with a whole new angle on this subject.

TBC ...

Chapter Four. Part V.

Chapter Four. Part V.

Maybe progress is not at all so black and white or as easily quantifiable as I’d inferred. Always with an unceasing desire for symmetry and perhaps a logic steeped in naivety, my vision of personal progress resembled that of a picture-perfect graph. 

The concept of randomness was not a comfortable one. So the notion that all those separate components of the inner-you do not always develop in synchrony was a realisation both disappointing and liberating - and a subject that raised its head more than once.

TBC ...

Chapter Four. Part IV.

Chapter Four. Part IV.

TBC ...

Chapter Four. Part III.

Chapter Four. Part III

TBC ...

Chapter Four. Part II.

Chapter Four. Part II.

There was a specific point made to us during one of our sessions that broadened my view of how all events that precede any given moment in time enable us to arrive at wherever one finds oneself - be it: personal development; music; technology; spirituality; science; medicine, you name it. 

I should add though that any significant evolvement cannot solely be just the sum of events that have already taken place, but must also include in the equation a measure of questioning and openness to the unfamiliar from the individual, and just maybe–as the following quote suggests–a receptiveness to any prompts received from some other place?

“Every circumstance and relevant experience is contrived by your spirit. Take it like this ... firstly, your spirit ‘ideas it’, then your mortal accepts that idea, acts on it, and so in turn allows the spirit to contrive further steps.”                

John 26/3/95

The Glass Chronicles had no time frame or deadline, it was going to be whatever it ended up being, and although in retrospect that sounds ideal, it led to a fair amount of impatience along the way. 

On one hand it was a project of such personal importance, and on the other there was considerable uncertainty - a feeling that it may never be completed. 

The archetypical artistic insecurities flourished. It became a breeding ground for doubt. There does appear to be a synergy that exists in the relationship between the doubts and insecurity an artist can carry within, towards themselves and their work, and the depth of his or her creativity and their desire (or compulsion) to express themselves. 

The American existential psychologist, Rollo May (1909 – 22 October) in his book ‘The Courage To Create’ (1975), writes:

“Creative people, as I see them, are distinguished by the fact that they can live with anxiety, even though a high price may be paid in terms of insecurity, sensitivity, and defenselessness for the gift of the ‘divine madness’ to borrow the term used by the classical Greeks. They do not run away from non-being, but by encountering and wrestling with it, force it to produce being. They knock on silence for an answering music; they pursue meaninglessness until they can force it to mean”.

Ch. 4 : Creativity and the Encounter, p. 93

Of course, doubt and insecurity in one’s own ability, in itself, could just make you work harder to get it right, it could be that simple. But consequently it was about seven or eight years before I could say that the album had reached a state of completion - the final stages being a little like climbing a mountain, just as you think you’re almost there, you spot what appears to be a new apex further ahead, and so on.

Once finished, I then began to think about what to do with it, where to take it. As it was, the vision I could claim to have was uncertain and abstract to say the least. One possibility I thought was that it could be turned into some kind of a stage show, and certainly there could be a Glass Chronicles band, better still an ensemble. 

Perhaps it could be a piece of theatre? - I would have to wait another sixteen years before the personnel, the finances and the rest of the jigsaw puzzle began falling into place that would turn all of these maybes into a reality. The tale of exactly how all of that happened is about as remarkable as the rest of the story, and I will write more on that later. 

TBC ...  

Chapter Four. Part I.

Chapter Four. Part I.

Our very first session was in December 1993, and earlier that same year, Glen, a good friend of mine suggested that I should consider recording an album that was–as he put it–unlike anything I’d done before. “Just do whatever you really want. Write and record with no regard to style or genre”, he told me. 

It was an unusual concept for me; I’d usually have a clear style of music in mind whenever beginning a new project, more for practical reasons than anything else - I had to think about what an audience would buy from me at the end of a show. But the more I thought about Glen’s idea, the more it appealed to me, so I set to work. 

The early 1990s was also an exciting time from a recording point of view; digital technology was becoming that bit more accessible and was moving into the sphere of affordability for many of us. So I went out and bought something that was, for then, a “cutting edge” piece of equipment - an ADAT machine; an eight track recording unit that used VHS tape, and that worked on the principle of converting acoustic sound into digital information - storing it onto the tape, and then reversing the process when listening or playing it back. 

The sound quality was incredible for the time and it marked the beginning of a technical do-it-yourself era that would eventually put many a professional recording studio out of business.   

My bedroom was now a place of work. 

I was part way into the first track of this new project when I realised three things - 1. What I was creating was turning into something commonly referred to as a “concept album”, 2. It needed a theme, and 3. The theme should be taken from our experience on the Ouija board. So I named the project The Glass Chronicles. 

As far as I was concerned, our experience with the board wasn’t just a good story - it was a great story. Nevertheless, back then I wasn’t completely confident that others would agree. And because, artistically, music had been the only language I’d ever used, then it seemed logical to represent the GCs story in that way. 

I figured that even if the subject matter was seen to be slightly crazy or not that believable, at least the music itself might carry it and give it an element of credibility. 

It was a long time in the making, not just because of the involved, eclectic, nature of what I was creating, but also because of the logistics. It was something I worked on in any window of time that became available as I went about earning a living - touring mainly with bands. All-in-all this side of the process was not without its frustrations. 

I am certainly aware that for a good number of people the idea of earning a living from performing music is a dream, and often one that’s not realised. But for me much of what I was doing had become nothing less than drudgery, it had turned into a boring day job, and constantly I was thinking about how to find a way out - not so much finding a way out of music, but more a way into something that carried with it more meaning and inspiration.  

    

So, my album was under way. It was slowly evolving, and the way in which it evolved wasn’t at all dissimilar to how the Ouija board had developed - in that just about everything that was happening was because of what had happened - it was the culmination of all that preceded any given point. There were original ideas, of course - ideas that had their independent origins - but once an idea or concept was created and put into action, then there was inter-action, re-action - the flow of new consequence.

This natural process was something I hadn’t thought much about before, whereas now I tend see it in just about everything, and certainly in terms of human development and evolvement. 

TBC ...

Chapter Three. Part V.

Chapter Three. Part V.

On Saturday 26th February we also had a second visit from Stan (see chapter one, 12th Jan). Here was someone who’d purportedly lived just outside Preston, and said he’d even carried equipment for me when I appeared at the Leyland Festival. He asked if I remembered him, and looking at the notes now, I have no idea if he was asking if I remembered him from the previous session, or from when he was here in the mortal. But I did feel in some way or another he was saying I should know who he was. 

There are times, as I’m writing this, when I really have to pause for thought and think long and hard. I have to consider ways in which to present certain things that to some readers would undoubtedly seem ridiculous. 

Maybe before I ever started with the glass much of this wouldn't have sounded all that believable to me either. I, however, had reached a point at which–though I may not automatically buy-in to something–I certainly wasn’t too surprised by anything any more. A good example is when Stan tells me he’s been watching Jimi Hendrix and Liberace perform together. I asked him what it was like, to which he replies, “Sound as a pound, they were great … amazing musicians”.

There’s one paragraph that jumps out at me in our conversation, and that’s where I’ve asked Stan if we could speak with a particular person. I’d often do this (though in this instance I can’t remember who it was I wanted to talk with). 

Stan’s first response was one that would be repeated by others many times during our sessions, this is where the glass would often move slightly in one direction or another, as though appearing to hesitate. Then, as I described in chapter two, the word “wait” would be spelled out, at which point the glass often stopped completely. 

It was as though they were looking into it, or perhaps trying to find someone that could help. 

Whoever it was I was after, when Stan came back to us, he said, “He’s not ready, he hasn’t come to terms with ‘here’ yet … [some] don’t want to live without loved ones”. Again, we were going to be given information of this nature quite often. The message seemed to be that if there is such a thing as “the afterlife” it isn’t necessarily something that everyone can easily embrace at first, or come to that, can even recognise as being an “after-life”. 

Monday 28th brought Paulo into our company - although his name is written down as, Paualo. He begins by saying, “Hello amegos”, then proceeded with a mixture of English and Spanish-sounding words and places, the latter of which I’ve had no success in verifying. 

He did tell us though he was from “Espania, Basque region”, and that he’d worked in shipping and owned many vessels. He also mentioned his familiarity with the Ouija, “I did same as you now when mortal”, he told us.

After Paulo, came Freda who amongst other things talked of recent earthquakes and an imminent cold snap, called me a “Smart ass”, and said I needed to “Get a brain”. Heaven knows what I’d said to deserve that! She didn’t stick around for very long. When I asked the reason for her visit, she responded, “Bren sent me. See ya, have a nice day”.   

Then came the already “infamous” Sam, the Sam I’d asked to materialise for us back in January, and who’d replied, “I ain’t livin’ in this kitchen”. 

I’ll just document each of his words here as they appear on the written page (with a touch of punctuation).

“Bassman … what’s cookin’ man … rite on man … slap the sand … what’s hapnin’ … yo … Sam the man … how’s the kitchen … sexy laugh … black cat … play it again Sam … spread yo wares … only buttheads play bass … see ya man … love the chick.”       

“Tomas calling from Cork, Ireland”, was next. Along with mention of “great fishing”, and “Guinness - black gold”, he goes on to say, and I quote, “Ian Paisley should be shot”. 

Moving along quickly, we’re welcomed by Urie, a Bosnian Muslim, who claimed to have been one of five killed by a shell whilst standing in line for bread. “Why let happen [to] my country … men in such pain for nothing … Karadzic must die to free my people … if he were here he would see how futile war is.” These were some of his words. 

[Now some seventeen years later, and after his arrest in Belgrade on 21 July 2008, Karadizic is in the custody of the International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia awaiting trial]

There were three more contacts before the conclusion of our session on this final day of the month. First up was Tilly who claimed to have been a Suffragette, and stated, “[it’s] Just like a man to waste a woman’s time”, and that women are “the superior sex”.

Then it was “Big Martin” again (see Monday 21st), the squeezebox player, asking me how I am, reminding us that nobody likes his music, and telling us, “[I] Miss the kids”.   

It must’ve been getting late by the time Daovar from Switzerland dropped by; our conversation was short. He did tell us, “Rome wasn’t built in a day”, but what that alluded to I have no recollection of.  

Chapter Three. Part IV

Chapter Three. Part IV.

Sometimes we’d play a game. One of us would ask a question which the other would have to think up an answer to, but they’d have to answer it as though it was coming from the other side. It sounds simple enough, but you should try it - it’s next to impossible. Well, I’ll qualify that; it is of course possible, but, it’s very, very difficult to do it at speed. 

I guess, like anything if you practised enough you’d get good at it, but why you’d want to I don’t know? I just thought it would be an interesting exercise, firstly to see how this “board thing” could be simulated, and secondly–though I’m slightly ashamed to admit it–I still needed to eliminate Carol from the niggling conspiracy theory I couldn’t quite shrug off. 

But let’s just take a look at what you have to do; first you have to come up with a good answer to whatever the question was, then you have to start spelling out that answer. So you search for the first letter and push the glass towards it, then you have to locate the next letter, and so on. Your eyes look towards where the glass is heading, and then they have to search again. It’s a painfully slow process that might in fact be almost acceptable, or somewhat convincing was it not for the remarkable smoothness and speed that we experienced the rest of the time without even trying.

The result of this little charade was, I concluded, that even if it were Carol who was the instigator, she must then be a genius with ability well beyond my understanding. This in itself I felt would be justification for wonderment. 

Still we persevered, and continued putting ourselves to the test from time to time, thinking that we might get better at it, but if there was any improvement it was unnoticeable. To cap it all off, more than once, when our fingers returned back to the glass, it would take off at a whole new tempo and we’d be told how foolish we were. 

Let’s take a brief look at the remaining sessions we had leading up to the end of this month of February.  

On the 24th, once again we spoke with Brenda. Understandably, I was particularly interested in any contact with my sister, more so than anyone else. Every time Carol and I sat at the table with the board in-between the two of us, I would be wishing for those unmistakable characteristics that spelt out her presence. 

Before she passed away, Brenda had been very active in the world of politics as a Labour Councillor in the town of Chorley, Lancashire where she lived. She’d always held strong views about our welfare state and the rights of the common man. 

On this day I’d made a note of the topics I wanted to address during the session. At the top of the page I’ve jotted the words: “Astral travelling” and “National Health”. There had been much discussion around this time about the threat to Britain’s National Health service, and I wanted to know what Brenda’s views were. 

On one hand I imagined that if she was to express a view, her comments would be somewhat dispassionate - not because she wouldn’t care anymore, but because it would be more an issue belonging to the mortal condition - something the we, here, had to deal with ourselves. This is what I anticipated, but it looks like I was mistaken. 

When I posed the “Health Service” question, the reply was, “Oh, a bugbear of mine … do not let this great National Health service go … vote Liberal”, (Brenda had been staunchly Labour, so it was somewhat surprising to see those words). 

“My passion. Been following the news and have inside information”, she went on.

I asked about the present Liberal leader of that time, Paddy Ashdown, and the response was, “Fantastic, he feels for the common man”. 

I was told the brandy I was drinking smells wonderful. When I asked if it’s possible for her to drink brandy, she said, “Don’t need … just a memory, very fond one … enjoy the next sip for me, cheers to you both”.   

Brenda said goodbye, and we were then visited by Ian. This was his second visit. He told us:”Do you know that when I left that place and came here, I had a choice as to which time in my mortal life I would like to be in. I chose [19]76. We hung out”. He then said, “Not got long, others [are] here”. 

When I enquired as to what brought us to his attention, Ian’s words were, “Some bird told me Nicol’s around, had to check it out”.   

Once again, there’s absolutely no way to determine if any of this is genuine, but if Ian really was who he professed to be, then this was a friend of many years; a friendship that began in 1967 when I was sixteen years old.                    

             

At that time he was serving an engineering apprenticeship (at his father’s behest) in the British Aircraft Corporation factory (BAC) at Preston, but what he really aspired to do though, was much less about being an engineer, and much more about becoming an artist. 

No sooner had his five years training been completed that he was enrolled as a student in art college on a foundation course. A few years–and art schools–later, he was finally accepted into the Royal College of Art in London to study sculpture. 

I also lived in London at that time, and just by sheer coincidence, there was a spell in which we lived virtually across the road from each other in the suburb of Lewisham. These were the 1970s, and I recall much of when we were in each others company as extremely fond times; we did drink a lot of beer together. 

It was during one of these pub outings that Ian told me about the tremors, or shakes, he was having in his arm. I told him it was probably nothing, just a “nerve thing”. Turned out I was both right and wrong; it was indeed a “nerve thing”, but it wasn’t nothing, in fact it was a brain tumour.

I moved to the USA in 1979, by which time he’d had his surgery, chemotherapy, etc., and I hadn’t been away long before receiving the letter from my mother telling me of Ian’s death. He was just 30 years old.

TBC ...

Chapter Three. Part III.

Chapter Three. Part III

We began our journey into the “Ouija world”  exactly three months ago and the surprises were still coming thick and fast. Perhaps my behaviour constituted some kind of addiction in the way I’d spend a large part of my daytime hours thinking only of the sessions that would follow at night. 

Looking through my notes now, from Monday 21st to Monday 28th of February 1994, I can see that we got the board out for no fewer than five of those eight evenings, and these would be sessions that could last up to four, maybe five hours. We wouldn’t get to bed much before 2 a.m., and consequently, though the element of sheer tiredness pervaded my daylight hours, it was easy for me to push that tiredness to one side and let the sense of “journey” carry me. 

As I sift through these early, and often scribbled pages, the difficulty I later had in arranging them into accurate chronological order is apparent; I hadn’t placed a date on some of them (during the sessions), and so later had to try and match things like the colour of ink and the writing characteristics in an effort to locate the correct position amongst the pages that were dated, some of which even had exact day/night times written on them. 

Although this ordering process was ultimately not all that important, it would serve to illustrate–even if only a little–the way in which the topics of conversation gradually developed. 

It wasn’t long though before making a note of the date at the top of each starting page had become part of the routine. This “dating” issue only applies to those first few months, and consequently relates to just a handful of pages in the original one of four folders that sit here on my shelf. These folders contain, collectively, more than four hundred A4 sheets, some of which have been written quite neatly, but that mostly have the appearance of a grammatical bomb site. 

I’ve never been the neatest hand-writer, but with so many things taking place simultaneously–trying to keep the right hand resting on a glass which was often moving at speed; a left hand writing down whatever Carol spoke (or more often-than-not shouted at me); my eyes trying their futile best to watch everything that was going on; a brain which compulsively pre-empted the outcome of every sentence; pondering the meaning of everything that was being spelt out; and finally, thinking of what question I would ask next – neatness was not going to happen unless by accident. 

Actually, it wasn’t always so frantic, there was the fair share of contacts whose energy seemed low, and whose words were laboured. When the glass moves at such a slow speed, for any onlooker it would be an easy and natural assumption to make that the entire process was being deliberately orchestrated by us - the mortals taking part. 

Yes, it’s a natural thing to think, but believe me - and I’m speaking as a born sceptic - I assure you, it’s not at all that straightforward, and I will explain why.

TBC ...

Chapter Three. Part II.

Chapter Three. Part II.

So, as the evening of the 21st continued, from the frantic pace of Brenda, things began to settle down a little. At a much more manageable pace someone called Martin dropped by. This took me by surprise; I had known a “Martin” who’d died in a motorcycle accident a year or two earlier, though I couldn’t say he’d recently been on my mind. 

Martin was a very large figure of a man who’d taught piano and also played the piano accordion. Not long before his death we’d done some studio work together, and more recently I’d actually taken the recording of his accordion from that previous session, and re-used it on a new recording I made with John, the earlier mentioned actor friend of mine. 

Chapter Three. Part I.

Chapter Three. Part I.

I was just back home from the USA having spent the last three to four weeks in Los Angeles writing and recording with John, an actor friend. John had recently hit the big-time quite suddenly, becoming extremely popular as a main character on a leading UK soap opera. We had worked together (musically) in the past, but now because of this new found popularity of his and the potential television exposure it made available to us, we decided to form a duo and take advantage of whatever opportunities were now available

   

Los Angeles is a place where I’d lived once-upon-a-time, and it had been great to see some old friends there - not to mention the welcome change a little sunshine made from these bleak winter months of England’s north-west.

Just weeks before I travelled to America, there had been a large earthquake in Southern California, the worst in a good few years, and they were still experiencing after-shocks.

During my first few days there, early one morning, I had the most interesting experience when I suddenly woke up for no apparent reason. Now it isn’t that I don't wake early from time to time, but it was more that I was suddenly wide awake, and I didn't know why. 

Then within twenty to thirty seconds the entire room, including the bed - with me in it, started to swing from side to side. 

I had, to some extent become used to this sort of thing from the eight years I'd lived in LA, but this time I was baffled as to why I awoke just moments before the after-shock began. 

On arriving back in England and reuniting with Carol, the next thing I wanted to do was to eat Indian food, open a bottle of wine, get the board out, and to ask about this early morning experience.

As I said earlier, I really had missed our sessions; it was all very new and exciting. 

There were more and more pressing questions I felt I needed to ask, and every time I had a response to one enquiry it would then seem to prompt further questions. Much of what came from the board I found to be thought-provoking and absorbing, and I took its words seriously. Yet paradoxically, at the same time, there was still a reluctance to see these words as the actual truth. Consequently I expended a good deal of energy trying to catch it out, or to get whomever we were speaking with to contradict themselves. 

I suppose my reasoning was that if I could succeed in this, then there would be some form of comfort found in proving my “rationale”–the one I was so well acquainted with–to be correct. On the one hand, there was a strange mixture of doubt, and on the other, a hunger to find out more. Yet, as already stated, I must’ve certainly been giving the glass at least a modicum of credence in the first place, or I wouldn’t have been doing this. 

It did take me some time to learn, but in the end it really didn’t matter who or what it was - more often than not it just was smarter (and much faster) than me, and if I actually was going to be smart about this I’d quit spending so much time trying to expose all the assumed fakery.

TBC ...

Chapter Two. Part III

Chapter Two continued ...

Finding the superlatives to describe the wonder of this ever developing scenario we’d stumbled upon–without repetition–is difficult to say the least. And another thing, had we indeed stumbled upon it? That’s the way it looked to me, though it wouldn’t be all that long before we are told there was quite a bit more to this than meets the mortal eye.

Continuing to explore, and to get ever deeper into some utterly fascinating areas, my stubborn reluctance to shed any form of scepticism stayed firmly in place. But through all this, one unavoidable fact was striking me across the face again and again, and this was how so many, in fact virtually all of the answers being given, and indeed the interactions taking place - not just between us and them but also in the way they spoke about each other, bore no relationship to what we could have expected or been able to predict. 

I kept asking, “where is this all coming from?”

Although our sessions were certainly taking on a more meaningful direction, we would still get, out of the blue, something happen that would change all of this. Were these people, these spirits exactly who they stated they were? Or was it one individual taking on the guise of many? At times it felt as though we were being messed with a little. Nevertheless, neither of us ever felt threatened, in fact often it was downright amusing. 

Next are two examples that, even though hard to take seriously, add extra dimension to my view of this experience that we were having on the ouija board. Firstly, these characters were so off the wall that we couldn’t of made “it”, or “them”, up - certainly not with such ease and speed. So unless there was some quite remarkable unconscious process taking place, the indication would be that the source was outside of ourselves - even though it was coming through us. 

Secondly, if it were something (an energy, a force) capable of taking on any guise it chose to, what kind of doubt in my mind or question mark does that place over some of the characters whom I found so enlightening? 

So as we continued our session, here is what followed the previous three contacts during that same evening:

It's hard to take a conversation like this very seriously. Someone called “Brian” who apparently managed '“Notts” (naturally, I presumed it was Nottingham Forest he was talking about) and with that kind of attitude why didn't he just say his name was Brian Clough, and be done with it. 

For those who are not familiar with the real Brian Clough, at that time, he was alive, well and still residing on this mortal plane. 

When I first documented this session, here is what I wrote:

"Are we concocting this scenario; was it coming from the subconscious mind of one of us, or the both of us? If this is the case, what would explain the actual form or conciseness of the conversation? How many more subconscious characters might be waiting in line, and in what order will the unconscious decide they appear? 

If it wasn’t our minds creating this, it’s then natural you ask - who is it? - and why would they choose to be so flippant? Perhaps it was just a bit of light hearted fun, or maybe something more sinister than that? Regardless, I never have a sense there could ever be a physical, or should I say an “actual” threat - that the only perceived threat would come from within oneself. It’s about what you think is happening more than anything else. 

 There are many real dangers in life that most of us accept without question; driving or being a pedestrian possibly carrying the greatest risks. Yet I can’t recall one paranormal fatality to speak of - an area to which considerable fear is so often attached." 

Although the above points might be credible, there were certainly times when an element of mischief became apparent on the part of those we spoke with, a subject I’ll discuss further in a later session.

Chapter Two. Part II.

Chapter Two continued ...

This same evening, Brenda came through to us in a manner that gave the impression that she was sneaking a quick visit. The conversation went like this:

Then, after the briefest of pauses the glass took off at considerable speed. This always meant one thing - that Brenda was back. 

As I've previously stated, each conversation that took place seemed to have its very own set of characteristics. It wasn’t just a case of speed and fluency, there were distinctive nuances of mannerism and feel in the movement of the glass. One thing was certain, no one else moved, or perhaps I should say influenced the glass with the speed that Brenda could. It was very difficult at times to keep up with her. 

I couldn’t actually watch what was happening on the board and at the same time write the letters down that the glass was spelling out. In fact, just writing the letters out as they were being spoken to me by Carol was difficult enough. 

My right hand would rest on the glass while I held the pen with my left. Often, due to the speed of events, my hand would  part company from the glass, and immediately everything would just come to a sudden halt.                    

             

When we originally made our first contact with Brenda she spoke to us in a manner that had a powerful ring of familiarity about it, though some of her expressions were not ones I necessarily had a clear recollection of. 

She would often use the word: “course” (of course) in response to a question, and by now this had become something of a trade mark. That one word became her introduction; her way of letting us know exactly who we were speaking to.

TBC ...