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 ...

Chapter Two. Part I.

As mentioned in the previous chapter, there seemed to be a process taking place, something was evolving. 

It wasn’t that suddenly I had a list of questions that had never occurred to me before, in fact it was the opposite. Much of what I was beginning to ask about was subject matter I’d been mulling over in some form or another for years. 

Regardless of where this source of energy (and knowledge) was coming from, it was as though we’d stumbled upon some kind of interactive forum, and finally here was an opportunity to enter into serious discussion on these searching topics. 

Although this level and depth of discussion wasn’t at the forefront of my mind when we began doing this, it’s certainly feasible to suggest that the original motivation–that of pure curiosity–was a connective precursor. 

I don’t think I’m alone in that when faced with such a scenario, it’s very easy to think that whoever (or whatever) you’re talking to, knows much more–about absolutely everything–than you do. 

There is a sense that because you can’t see them, yet you imagine they are able to see you, that they are “all seeing” and have boundless knowledge and wisdom. 

This may well be a completely understandable way to think, but as we went on to discover, not necessarily an accurate one. 

Not everyone that came through could, or was best qualified to answer the questions put to them; this is where a “I know someone who can” scenario would  sometimes take place. Often, in response to one of our questions the glass would spell out the word “wait”, and then would slow to a halt. After an indeterminate amount of time - perhaps seconds, sometimes minutes later, we’d be talking to someone new, someone either better qualified to tackle that subject, or who was connected in some way to the issue or person we’d asked about. 

      

The words of Tanina, who would become a regular contact, still ring in my metaphorical ears; she stated, “you are the receiver of as much wisdom as you seek”. 

The characteristics and behaviour of the board seemed to correspond very much with the intentions of how it was being used. This, I believe is an essential point to bear in mind when trying to assess the Ouija’s merits or dangers - or when evaluating anything else, come to that. 

We all know that most of the time, what we put into something relates directly to what we get back - not just as an ethos, but also as a physical reality in life. But for some reason, many of us can tend to feel that the moment we take hold of a planchette(1), or place a finger on an upturned (or actually down-turned) glass, we imagine ourselves rendered powerless to invisible and imagined forces. 

1. A planchette is a small, usually heart-shaped flat piece of wood that one moves around on a board to spell out messages or answer questions. Paranormal advocates believe that the planchette is moved by some extra-normal force.

Of course, one of my considerations was whether those who express warnings or negative views on the ouija actually have a valid point or not. But I’ll revisit this subject later in the book.  

So as the nature of my questions changed, so did those who came through responding to those questions. Some of them became regular visitors with whom we’d enter into long and detailed dialogue over protracted periods of time. 

Before I knew it, it felt as though our sessions had absolutely nothing to do with the occult, and that they’d become more like a get-together - an opportunity to meet with friends.   

In the sessions that follow, Tanina comes through to us for a second time. We’d spoken with Tanina during one of our very early sessions, and though I can’t recall every detail of that first contact (or can locate any written record of it) I do recall being very impressed, not only with the speed of her delivery, but also with her quick and clever wit. With the first encounter being so stimulating and thought-provoking, I expressly asked if she would please come back and visit again, and this she did.

TBC ...

Chapter One. Part II.

Sunday 9th January 1994, continued ...

This last contact, Carl, gives an indication that already the level of conversation was beginning to move away from the fairly basic into areas I wouldn’t have anticipated. The concept that there were individuals on “the other side” that are talking about “us” was, well, intriguing to say the least. And even though my doubts about the authenticity of this entire experience were still strong, not only these new pieces of information, but the character and style in which they were being delivered caused me to question how it could ever have been thought up–in any way–by us. 


Something was evidently starting to happen, as you can see from the following three contacts - all part of the session that began with Carl. There were new surprises all the time by the random yet organised form of what was being delivered.


In the following conversation with Theresa, she even talks about Sam with us - the character we encountered three days earlier, who we’d found so amusing.

Back to the session ... 

Chapter One. Part I.

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 ...

To be continued ...

What Is The Glass Chronicles? Part II

We talked awhile, reassured one another and managed to confirm our mutual trust.

As the session progressed, the way in which the glass moved across the table’s surface increased in both smoothness and speed, and I continued to ask myself, "how on earth could this be happening?".

By this point I had a bit more confidence; whatever the pushing and pulling influence was, I felt I could at least eliminate any deliberate, or conscious intent from either of us. 

This first session left me very curious indeed. The glass had moved around in a manner that wasn’t at all easy to explain, and explanations were what I’d always wanted. 

I cannot actually recall anything in the way of a clear cut message that had been spelt out on that first evening, although a few words and one or two sketchy sentences did come through, and I remember thinking that it all seemed rather laboured. But more than anything else, it was the nature in which the glass moved that aroused my curiosity so much and that fuelled my desire to explore the whole thing further.


Our second session took place on New Year's Eve, and if the first one could be described as “interesting” then this one was nothing less than sensational!

It began in a similar manner to the first session - slowly, and sure enough there seemed to be, let’s say “contacts” coming through and speaking with us. Once again it was all taking place at various rates of what’s best described as “slowness”. But even though I describe it as slow, it’s important to point out that pretty much each contact had a marked character in the glass’ movement. For example, whatever the tempo was, it stayed consistent for each. The same went for whether the glass took a direct path towards each letter, or maybe a more circular route. Only when they were about to say goodbye was it usual for any noticeable decrease in tempo and speed, maybe as if they were running out of steam.   


But after some ten minutes, maybe fifteen, I can’t recall just how long, suddenly there was the most abrupt change, a burst of speed and fluency surpassing anything I could have anticipated or imagined. It truly was as though somebody had just barged straight into the room, speaking to us, almost shouting at us in a tone of haste and urgency. It was frantic. 

No matter what question I asked, we got an answer, a fast answer, and I knew that neither of us could be making up this conversation, certainly not with such apparent spontaneity.

Not only were we getting clear, fast and coherent answers, but also the mannerisms and terminology in what was spelt out to us did not belong to either Carol or myself.


Although we went into this whole thing with somewhat suspended expectations, I do wonder if, despite the sincere intent of complete and total “open-mindedness” it may actually be impossible–on some level–not to have the interference of stereotypical ideas of what happens in a “séance”. There could well be certain anticipated consequences in all this, things that you fear might happen, yet somewhat paradoxically, somewhere inside you’re also hoping that those things will occur. It’s as though they would act as a form of confirmation that “this” is really taking place, not to mention the desire for a little excitement, maybe. 

But at this point in the proceedings what I noticed more than anything else was how these actual events bore little if any relationship to any of the  expectations we might’ve had.

Thus far we had observed that a – Person? An Entity? A Spirit? - call it whatever you want – usually they would introduce themselves by giving us their first name, they would make some kind of a statement, and then they’d say goodbye. Then, there would be the odd one that might stick around a little longer and answer a few questions before signing off. 

They would usually have their very own, individual and often quite idiosyncratic way of greeting us, and later also of saying goodbye before the glass would then come to a standstill. 

There seemed to be no predictable length of time before the glass started up again, and what really struck me was the way in which the speed of the glass varied so contrastingly from one communication to another. At times it could be moving so fast that it was virtually impossible to keep up with the action and write down the letters being spelt out. Yet at other times the glass would move slower than a snail's pace.

It certainly appeared that the speed and the manner in which the glass moved reflected in some way the character and the energy of who, or what, we were speaking with at that time.

Neither of us had even come close to anticipating what was now taking place before our eyes, and which appeared to be gathering momentum. Nor did we realise that the best was yet to come.


Suddenly, the glass started to move at a sensational speed and – as Carol called each letter out to me, one-by-one – I scribbled the message down on paper, struggling to keep up with the pace at which things were happening. It was fast, frantic action. The glass even knocked the letters off the table at times, and occasionally it came to rest for just a moment before starting up again.


The only way it seemed we could exert any control, was by removing our fingers from the glass every few minutes. This afforded us time to briefly reflect, and it gave me a moment to draw lines between the almost unintelligible strings of letters on my notepaper, dividing them up into words and phrases.


Amazingly, perfect sentences were being formed, and the nature of what was spelled out to us bore all the hallmarks of my sister Brenda, speaking in the exact manner to which I had been accustomed  and using her own specific terms and expressions.


This was to me – the sceptic that I was – an earth-shattering experience.
We were wished a “Happy New Year” only seconds before the distant sound of fireworks could be heard coming from Preston Docks. I glanced up at the clock – the clock which we had previously been completely oblivious to – to see that it was indeed just midnight.


I’d always had a particularly strong disliking for the usual alcohol-fuelled over-sentimentality of New Year, but at that moment, I have to admit, I was reduced to tears.


Brenda died on February 2nd 1992, and since that time there had been many occasions when I'd felt a possible presence of my sister, but it wasn’t anything I’d necessarily have thought about too long, or would’ve  even described in those terms.

The way in which I would normally have assessed issues such as these – the supernatural, the metaphysical, and so on – would’ve been through a scientific and / or intellectual process; at least that’s what I’d be attempting to do. In this respect, I could’ve easily been accused of being a “left brain prisoner”, but it wasn’t in fact that I was a “disbeliever”, no, not at all. It was more an unwillingness to invest a belief in anything without my “own” version of proof, whether it be it on a scientific, or an intuitive level.


These days I’d actually put fewer eggs in the “seeing is believing” basket and instead prefer to think that “believing is seeing”. However, the paradox is that part of the thought process that led me to this belief-based consideration was, in fact, intellectual.

The subject of “belief” – a field worthy of study in its own right – with its many implications is something that holds the deepest interest for me, and when we first began our “séance sessions” it wasn’t easy to take what was happening at face value. To believe without question would have raised the issue of possible self-deception.


I also wondered what “proof” itself constituted. I mean, if I’d had witnessed a supernatural apparition, would that have put pay to my doubts? Well, I doubt it…


You see, one of the things this whole experience has taught me is that the so called “reasoning mind” will tick all the appropriate boxes it needs to; it can rationalise absolutely anything it chooses, if by default it already leans towards belief, or alternatively towards doubt.    


Outside of a purely scientific, or mechanistic belief system, one thing does seem evident: the part of the mind which asks “what is this all about?” is most likely not the part that's capable of coming up with an answer!


There are those who seem naturally inclined to follow what their intuition tells them, and I often wonder if this is because they have more of it (intuition) or if they just place a greater degree of trust in it?

So when I sensed the presence of my sister was I only imagining it, or was it my intuition telling me something that I needed to hear? What is the Ouija and where did the messages come from? Was it really Brenda and others speaking from "the other side" … or was it my subconscious mind being freed to express itself? Was it supernatural or psyche? Was it the extramundane or the ego? Or was it something else entirely? That's for each of us to decide for ourselves.

The Glass Chronicles is about questions, it’s a story, a course of events, that challenges our pre-conceptions and very much reassures at the same time. It opened my eyes, and helped my views to develop.

I would probably still describe myself as, let’s say a fluctuating skeptic (it’s a hard thing to shake off), but whether this is a hindrance or not is uncertain. Paradoxically, it could even be a more effective means of reaching others who are somewhat like-minded – those who cannot necessarily buy into the romantic realm of mysticism, rituals and crystal balls but who might just be fascinated by the notion of possibility.

What is The Glass Chronicles?

What is The Glass Chronicles?

Where did it come from?

What does it mean?

Although its beginnings could easily be seen as the moment a decision was taken to arrange an alphabet of hand written letters into a circle, and within the circle place a wine glass, it’s clear to me that The Glass Chronicles began long before that. Indeed, if I had to choose a starting point it would be four years earlier, well before my fingers ever went near an upturned glass (I will refer to the glass as being “upturned” even though it may be more accurately described as being “upside-down”).

It was the late nineteen eighties, and I’d completed a circle of another kind, I’d returned back to my hometown in the UK after an eventful if not turbulent spell in Southern California. There was much to reflect on; after all the time and energy I’d invested in the music business, first in London and then the States, all the building blocks and networking – the contacts, gigs, studios, fellow musicians, – it all seemed to count for very little. In fact I couldn’t quite comprehend where that time had gone, or much of what I’d done during that time. It was as if I’d had it pulled from beneath me - with one year moving into the next when I wasn’t looking – being carried like driftwood, waiting for a place to land.

When I did land, it was back in the North West of England. And although it might’ve been natural to feel some degree of defeat, I saw it much more as a new beginning, an opportunity to reinvent and regroup. And to be able to do all of this within the safety of my parents' home, and with very little pressure was fortunate, and I knew it

Looking for a way to get back on my feet I took to the phone and went in search of gigs, mainly in pubs and folk clubs. I gave guitar lessons, privately, and in the form of night school classes at the local college. I took out a loan, investing the money in recording equipment, and step-by-step the wheels of re-invention eventually began to turn.

Of course, once such wheels are in motion, invariably they’ll roll towards circumstances that are unanticipated, one of which was being asked to run an “open mic” night each week, first at a public house called The Unicorn, and then later at The Bull and Royal seven miles out of town. Back then no one ever used the term “open mic”, and instead my Tuesday evening soirees were called "Singers’ Nights"

The usual format went like this: I’d begin the evening with a few of my own songs to get things underway, then one by one I’d introduce the singers, guitarists, accordion players and the poets, anyone in fact who turned up with an instrument or had a voice and who aspired to perform to an often noisy, sometimes even rowdy audience. 

During such an evening in June 1992, mid-song and with guitar in hand, my attention was drawn towards the figure of a woman entering the pub through the main door to my right hand side. I continued to sing and take an odd glance over in her direction whilst trying not to let my interest appear too obvious.

On that occasion there seemed nothing out of the ordinary–I'd always had an eye for attractive women–but it didn’t take me all that long to realise that here was something a bit different, and there was more to this than met the eye.

Though not obvious at the time this was certainly no ordinary encounter. An unexpected journey was about to unfold, one that inspired the creation of a musical album, a stage production, and now these writings.

The evening may well have been fateful, but it certainly wasn’t straightforward; through a whole mixture of reasons, nerves not being the least, it was some time before we spoke. When we did speak I learnt that her name was Carol, and over the weeks that followed, Carol would turn up on Singers’ Nights with a degree of regularity that very pleasantly surprised me, repeatedly offering further opportunities to make up for any lack of initiative taken during that first night.

And this is where it begins to get very interesting; fate seemed to have a hand in bringing the two of us together, and it chose a method that to this day still leaves me scratching my head in wonderment.


There would always be a raffle on a Singers Night, with the tickets being picked out of a hat at the end of the evening. Usually it would be two, sometimes three prizes, all donated by the pub landlord, Harry. It was all pretty standard; the first prize would more often-than-not be a bottle of inexpensive German wine, and the second a box of chocolates. On buying her first raffle ticket Carol met with immediate success, and out she walked from the audience to claim her winnings. Just a stroke of good fortune, beginners luck perhaps, but it certainly didn’t go unnoticed amongst the crowd and the other raffle participants when, the following week this stroke of good fortune repeated itself. 

Not only did this occur again on her third visit, but to the astonishment of everyone, and herself included, she picked up both the first and second prizes.

Now, over the years I have heard these stories about the winning streaks that some people experience, and OK, this was only a raffle, but I’d never seen someone winning as consistently–and almost as predictably–as this. There were shouts of “fix!” from the audience on that third occasion as she once again walked to collect her prizes.

I made a point of getting others, rather than myself, to pick out the tickets but still she would win, and this repeated scenario brought us into contact with each other over and over again.

Though my logic told me this was nothing more than coincidence, my theory was put to the test in no uncertain terms on the one final night when her ticket came up. The first prize had already been won, when Chris, a friend and fellow artist, announced in complete jest, “Tonight’s second prize is a night out with Ken”. And yes, the next ticket was Carol’s!

It was as though we had no choice. We began to see each other, at which point her run of good fortune abruptly ended (in raffles, I stress) and during the months that followed we spent an increasing amount of time in each others company.

And so, from the summer of 1992 to the Christmas of 1993. Carol’s three children were away staying with their grandparents in Stoke-on-Trent; the two of us sat in the kitchen of her home, drinking wine and enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet. We were talking and–as the wine flowed–the subject matter moved naturally from the somewhat superficial to the philosophical. We began to discuss issues such as religion and life after death, subjects I'd spent a good deal of my life asking questions about, especially since the death of my sister Brenda almost two years earlier. 

During the course of our conversation we discovered that, as teenagers, we had both been involved with separate groups of friends who’d dabbled with what we then called the Ouija Board. More recently I’ve seen it described as the “Talking, or Spirit Board”, but our version was nothing more than a wine glass turned upside down on a smooth surface with a circle of letters surrounding it.

Many people are, of course, familiar with this process, and there are no end of opinions as to why a glass with fingers placed upon it would move about a table top, appearing to be controlled in some way by an invisible or “supernatural” force.

Carol and I discussed our teenage experiences and how we’d found them both exciting and sometimes a little frightening.

We shared the same feeling - the suspicion that everything was being orchestrated by one, or maybe more than one of the participants - basically that the glass was being deliberately pushed. With so many fingers involved it’s next to impossible to eliminate such a risk, and it does seem a quite natural thing to assume.

Although our conversation did interest me somewhat, I can't say that at that particular time I was especially fascinated by the “occult” or “paranormal” as such, certainly not in a dark or an eerie way.

Of the Ouija board, plenty of people out there certainly seem to condemn this practice, especially those who have what could be described as religious leanings. Some will tell you that the board attracts evil spirits and that there is a danger of becoming “possessed”. I've also heard it said that the board can end up controlling you, and can render you incapable of making a decision without consulting it first. 

But I was very much interested in what I’d call the realm of possibility, a "wanting to know"–in life as well as the Ouija Board–just what was real and what was not. It's probable that my interest in psychology and that my tendency towards self-examination had led me to consider that much of what we perceive as “real” in the outside world is very much an extension of our inner, subjective world. For years I’d carried this fascination toward the idea of eliminating or reducing as much misconception as possible, and trying to establish–if indeed it is possible to–what might or might not be true in life. 

This was pretty much the nature of our discussion in Carol’s kitchen that evening, and when eventually I suggested that we give the Ouija a try I did so thinking that in retrospect it might end up looking like a foolish idea.

The kitchen table had a smooth surface. We searched for a suitable glass. We cut out small squares of paper. We wrote a letter of the alphabet on each square and arranged them into a circle on the table and we placed the glass upside down in the centre. 

Sitting on opposite sides of the table, we each put a finger on the base of the upturned glass.

I wish I could describe the atmosphere as one of trepidation and suspense, or write of a kitchen that became strangely colder, or indeed convey a sense of drama that might send a chill down the spine, but if there was any drama at all it was outweighed by a feeling that we might be sat there like fools for quite some time, eventually deciding to throw the letters away and move onto some other topic altogether.

Nevertheless, feeling just a little foolish, I tried to find a way to begin."Is there anybody there?" I asked, predictably.

Then, with much feeling and with eyes closed, I continued: "Is there somebody who might like to communicate with us?". The minutes were passing and nothing was happening, but my determination to give this my best shot was growing. 

Then – eventually, slowly – the glass began to move. 

It was only for a few seconds, and then it came to rest again. I immediately looked with suspicion at Carol, but before I could say anything, she asked: "Were you pushing?".

I assured her that I was not – well, not knowingly. I even felt slightly defensive.

It is an odd feeling, thinking you might be doing something so overtly without realising you’re doing it, and stranger even, trying to convince yourself (not to mention others) that you’re not doing it.

Of course, a great number of people would automatically brand anything like this as nonsense, and that would certainly be the more likely view of those not experiencing it first hand. Others, such as many I’ve described these events to, and who’s reactions I’ve witnessed, appear to accept the idea at face value; that one is being spoken to, or contacted, by those in the realm of spirit. 

So this “one-thing-or-the-other” view is no less polarised than many other subjects that are perceived to have an element of gravity or controversy about them. But I found myself trying to consider all possible causes that might fall in-between these absolutes; the question: was it one mind, or were our two minds colluding in such a way to manufacture the movement of the glass? - was just one such consideration. 

Whether or not such unrelenting “questioning” or alternatively, unquestioned “acceptance” are indications of either “self doubt” or of “healthy curiosity”, I was eager at this time to know if Carol was as willing as I to exercise the same level of self-scrutiny. 

To be continued ...