Curious Coincidences, Brain Readings or Encounters of a Spiritual Nature?

“Priez pour moi,” Valerie continued.

When Florence asked her, in French, why they had to pray for her, Valerie answered: “Because I have sinned much…”

And that was the last thing she said.

A tune of the time of Elizabeth I

There was a spirit who called himself Charlie. He said his full name was Stephen Charles Bernard Abbot. He had been a monk of great literary achievements, who had embraced monastic life in the reign of Queen Mary. He was killed for political reasons during the reign of Elizabeth and had been “earth bound” ever since.

One night, Charlie asked them to sing – but he objected greatly to the somewhat vulgar refrain of the song “Champagne Charlie”,  and asked for something more serious.

Florence started singing: “Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon.”

“This is as bad as the other!” Charlie said. “Drunken roisterers used to sing this song in the streets in Elizabeth’s time…”

“You must be mistaken, Charlie!” Florence answered. “It’s a well-known Scotch air.”

“It’s no more Scotch than I am,” Charlie said. “It’s a tune of Elizabeth’s time. Ask Brinley Richards.”

Mr. Richards was the great authority on the origin of National Ballads, and Florence knew him well. She applied to him for the information, and he said that Charlie was right – but Mr. Richards himself had not been aware of the fact until he had searched in the British Museum an old manuscript for it…

I cannot speak Welsh!

A young artist of the name of Courtney visited the home circle. One evening, when Florence sat alone with him at the table, a number of consonants was rapped out. Florence thought it to be nonsense, but Mr. Courtney appeared much interested and begged her to proceed. 

When the communication was finished, he said this was the most wonderful thing he had ever heard. His father had been at the table, talking to him in Welsh. “He talked to me about my birth-place and our relatives in Wales.”

“I didn’t know you were a Welshman,” Florence said.

He replied that his real name was Powell; he had only adopted the name of Courtney for professional purposes.

“This was all news to me,” Florence concluded. “And had it not been so… I cannot speak Welsh.”

Cover of There Is No Death

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There Is No Death, by Florence Marryat

At My First Seance, I Saw the Faces of the Dead

There Is No Death in Bruges-la-Morte

There Is No Death is being published fully online here: GhostWritings.