I’m beginning with some of our very earliest sessions. When we first began “doing the board”–as we’d often refer to it–the type of questions we’d ask, naturally reflected the newness of the experience, focusing on little more than just who this contact, this person, would’ve been and what they might’ve done in their mortal life. I wanted to know things like where they lived, when they lived, and of course, when they died.
I also looked for any possible way that proof could be established as to their authenticity; was there an address I could check? Where there any relations I could find? Perhaps some words we could pass on to loved ones?
Initially we were not all that organised, and it took a little time before a system was developed by which each of these sessions would be methodically saved in the order they took place. Nevertheless, apart from a small handful of sessions that seemed to have disappeared into the ether I ended up with somewhere between four to five hundred A4 pages of scribbled text in my possession, some of which is difficult to understand, some which is challenging, and a significant amount of which I’d describe as inspirational and enlightening.
All of these sessions, I have to admit, were written out in a rather “one-way” manner. By this I mean that although the question and answer process was usually natural and spontaneous, the questions were often involved, thought-out and lengthy. Add to this the usually swift response from the glass (often even pre-empting the end of a question), and you’ll have some idea of how difficult it was to write down absolutely everything (other than the glass’ action) without effecting the general flow of events.
To some extent this has presented an element of difficulty in recalling some of what was asked in the heat of those moments.
Before I go any further I should explain a little about the nature of these sessions, and about the roles the two of us, Carol and I, assumed as they took place.
We both would have the fingers of our right hands resting on the base of the glass, although whether it was the left or the right hand didn’t seem to matter and had no effect on the outcome. Likewise, it didn’t seem to matter which finger, or how many fingers. Only the lightest of touch was required.
Almost exclusively, I’d be the one writing down the letters as the glass moved around the board or table top. Sometimes the glass would just touch each letter as it glided about in such a way which left no doubt as to what the precise wording of the message was. At other times it would keep us guessing, as it moved ambiguously into the spaces between the letters. Depending on who it was we were dealing with, it might even sit momentarily directly over the top of each letter, as if in an act of deliberateness.
Occasionally we would swap roles with Carol doing the writing and me calling the letters out, but this never worked so well. I’ll go back to this point again later in more detail.
Unless our contact was particularly slow, or maybe low in energy, it was difficult keeping an eye on where the glass was moving to and jotting the letters down at the same time, so I depended on Carol to speak (or shout) each one to me.
Through a combination of bad hearing or questionable pronunciation, I’d sometimes write down a “B” instead of a “P”, or an “M” instead of “N”. Combine this with a glass that was not always pinpoint accurate (landing, as I stated above or in-between letters) and the job of deciphering at the end could be a challenge. But these were all things that we got better at with time.
To give a better idea of these points, I’ll not only document many edited versions of our sessions but I’ll also dedicate some space to a selection of (scanned) original notes that illustrate just how our interactions were recorded as events unfolded and evolved.
I’m beginning with what may have been only our third, maybe fourth session; it’s the earliest one I have in my possession. And as I look through the original notes I see there was a conversation with “Violet”, who’d spelt out: Boston, Massachusetts when asked where she’d lived. The next contact was Ena, and after came the first one I’ve selected, below.
Anything from the board, that the glass has spelt out is in upper-case and represented with a 'glass' symbol. Anything I, or we, ask or remark on is symbolised with a 'talking head'.
Of course, as I look through the pages, very often the answers explain the questions, yet equally there are also a good number of un-recallable points that lie within the smooth continuum of exchanges that would’ve taken place at the time.
The symbols are self-explanatory.
Now, let the sessions begin ...
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