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I can vividly recall one night when I must have been about fourteen years old and I could sense someone or something in my room. It was around midnight and I was definitely awake and fully conscious, when all of a sudden I heard a voice emanating from somewhere inside my head – it felt as though I was actually talking to myself.
The voice said, ‘If you think of happy, enjoyable things, then you will relax.’ As quick as a flash I began to think of what made me happy, what I enjoyed most. I loved football; my favourite team being Kilmarnock, or Killie as they’re more popularly known, and our bitter rivals were another local team – Ayr United. I thought about Killie playing Ayr United, but it had to be an away game…Ayr United at their own turf – Somerset Park!
Surprisingly, I began to relax; the fear had temporarily subsided. But hang on – I could still sense someone in the room. What else did I like? I loved video games; my favourite being a game in my local amusement arcade called Phoenix. I imagined I was playing Phoenix and again I began to relax. It was working. ‘Ayr United, Somerset, Phoenix,’ I murmured to myself. I repeated it and it felt weirdly comforting. I then repeated the strange chant sixteen times, my favourite number was four – four times four being the ultimate protection!
My prayer of protection was now set in stone. It was a mixture of complete and utter mumblings, which made absolutely no sense to man or beast. But, you know what? It worked! The bad dreams stopped, just as long as I remembered my bedtime prayer. I can recall a few occasions when I forgot my prayer, God knows why, and of course my bad dreams would return and I would subsequently realise why.
I still presently say ‘Ayr United, Somerset, Phoenix’ each night before going to sleep. I’ve often thought of updating to ‘Big boobs, Budweiser, Sky Sports’, but that would just be plain silly! However, I am now aware that it’s not just simply bad dreams but very real experiences.
I can recall one other night not too long ago when I had one of these ‘experiences’. By now I knew exactly who was attacking me as I had previously plucked up the courage to look at him. I awoke suddenly as I usually did and my wife Anne was already awake and staring into space. Her eyes had a distinct look of disbelief and I calmly asked her if she was OK. She turned to face me, the pupils of her eyes still bulging from the sockets. ‘I saw someone standing over you,’ she whispered. I quickly told her not to worry about it and that we should just go back to sleep.
The next morning we discussed the previous night’s traumatic event. I asked Anne if the person she saw was dressed as an eighteenth century gentleman with long dark hair and a beard. She again looked at me with those disbelieving eyes, before reluctantly nodding in agreement. It was time to sort out this menace once and for all. He was about to get a taste of his own medicine. I will tell you later just how I dealt with this character. Oh, and if you happen to be wondering about the man with the horns sticking out of his head, well he is in fact an American Indian Medicine Man. I wonder who that could be!
The rest of my childhood was ironically pretty normal for a lad growing up in Kilmarnock. As I mentioned earlier, I supported Kilmarnock, but being only twenty miles from Glasgow, most of my friends supported Rangers or Celtic. Kilmarnock was a major industrial town in the seventies and industry attracted workers seeking good affordable housing away from the big city. My friends were all from Glasgow and being either ‘one side of the religious fence or the other’ it was very much a love-hate relationship for most of us – especially for the Killie fan stuck in the middle.
However, there was a great camaraderie between all the families living in my housing estate. There were no two-car families, most households had only one parent working as far as I know, and everybody rented their house from the local council. But they were good times as the 1970s were a relatively peaceful decade. There were no organised gangs roaming the streets, yet the kids were far tougher than they are nowadays. Adults could walk the streets at night without fear of being assaulted or even killed – yet the standard of living was much lower than it is today.
When I used to perform spirit readings, very often spirits would visually come through to me dressed in the style of the seventies. You know – long hair, flared trousers, hideous floral patterned garments etc. Spirits will always try to convey a loving, peaceful scenario when making contact. They certainly wouldn’t wish to show themselves when they were ill, depressed or having their £250,000 house repossessed!
Of course, society has changed immensely since the seventies. The cost of living is now so much cheaper and with the technological boom we can easily purchase amazing consumer products that would have seemed totally inconceivable in the 1970s. We can easily travel to luxurious foreign destinations, we can affordably run one or more cars per family, and we can even contemplate private health care and send our children to private education. We may even own several properties since banks and building societies will now lend you 95 times your annual wage, top it up by £50,000 per child, add £25,000 if your surname ends in ‘Y’ and give you a fantastic interest rate of only 5 per cent, provided you take out their home insurance and multiple credit card facility.
So why is the world an unhappy place? Why are people killing each other over a disputed parking space? Why are we injecting ourselves with mind-altering substances when a bottle of cider costs less than a bag of four apples?
I think we all know the answers to these questions, but unfortunately we’re afraid to admit the truth. The reason is that we are actually all guilty in some way of allowing this situation to arise. We are all greedy of wanting more for our families and for ourselves. We work over forty hours per week and then have the audacity to complain when we feel absolutely exhausted. We don’t allow ourselves time to unwind, or time to enjoy what free time we have. We sit in front of a television set watching news documentaries and reality shows that paint a morally disturbing picture of how our world is developing, yet we do nothing about it apart from moan.
Now thanks indirectly to the ‘politically correct brigade’ and over-submissive politicians, we have a society that allows the acceptance of violence and abuse to govern our lives. We can either hide behind the curtains or run to a safer domain, thus eventually creating a divided society where each party hates the other because of circumstances inevitably created by our own misgivings.
These days you only have to switch on a television news programme, any news programme on any day, and you are brainwashed with tales of abuse, corruption, and violence. It’s extremely difficult to escape from the media, eventually you start to feel the pain and horror of the poor individual whose home has been devastated by a flood, or the poor girl who has just broken up with Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor! I personally know of several mediums who will categorically not watch any news programme whatsoever as it horribly affects their energy.
And here lies the problem – negative activity creates negative energy. People who used to live together harmoniously in the seventies are nowadays less tolerant of each other. There is no socialising, unless it’s on ‘Facebook’ or ‘Twitter’, and communities very rarely thrive, they merely exist.
So where am I going with this? What’s my point? My point is merely that, yes we are open to attack from spirits, and it can be extremely frightening, but we are far more at risk from attack from the physical world in which we live in. After all, when was the last time you switched on News at Ten and found that an evil spirit had attacked someone?
The best way to protect yourself from negative energy is to imagine a golden ball of light coming down from above your head and surrounding you in a protective force field. Then imagine that this light is impregnable and protects you from all physical and spiritual harm. You must believe that you are protected and your guides will ensure that this powerful seal cannot be broken. I urge you to try this out – it really works.
I’ve seen gangs of youths walk across the street to avoid me. OK, maybe I hadn’t washed for three days, but hey they probably hadn’t either! The trick is to remove any fears and doubts and your confidence will grow, your aura will expand and your sex life will improve! Or so I’m told!
And if all else fails you could always march along the street shouting ‘Ayr United, Somerset, Phoenix’ at the top of your voice. Rest assured the gangs won’t dare mess with you and chances are that even the police will give you a wide berth – till eventually those men with white coats turn up.
Chapter 4
THE EIGHTIES – THE TEENAGE YEARS
I went to James Hamilton Academy in Kilmarnock from 1979 to 1983. I hated it and nothing vaguely spiritual happened to me there, although I did get five ‘O’ Grades, only one of which attained a pass mark – Arithmetic. In my first year at school, I was in the top three in my class, but I fell out with one of the teachers in year two and started to rebel against the education system. I was a teenager! They should have made me study!
Actually, this is one of the big problems with teenagers. Everybody hates them and it’s not their fault!
I left school at sixteen and joined a Government Youth Training Scheme. I worked for forty-two hours a week and earned £25. These days I would need to emigrate to China to earn that kind of money. Still, it was a good learning curve for me. If you don’t put the effort in at school you work for peanuts and then get dumped at the end of the year for some other rebel without a clue.
It was during this first working year that I would often stay with my grandfather at the weekend. I can’t remember why exactly this commenced but we were both creatures of habit and we enjoyed each other’s company. My grandfather had lived alone since my grandmother passed to spirit in 1980. My mother was devastated by the loss of my grandmother and suffered terrible depression for many years after. I never really sensed my grandmother in spirit, but this was possibly due to the fact that I wasn’t very spiritually active at this time.
My grandfather was later introduced to a lady that my mother knew, and the dirty old devil asked her to marry him. They were married shortly afterwards on New Year’s Eve, but sadly I rather lost touch with my grandfather after that. He was married for just over a year when his wife died suddenly. He suffered emotionally afterwards and it was only about a year later before he himself passed over to spirit. I remember vividly the telephone ringing at two in the morning and my mother rushing to answer it. I knew what was coming, and I think she did too. We had been there before when my grandmother suffered a stroke. My grandfather spoke softly and calmly – ‘I think I’ve had a wee heart attack.’
My mother, father and sister all rushed off to the hospital after phoning for an ambulance. I decided to stay in the house – I still don’t know why, and the others never really questioned it.
I sat downstairs for a while, contemplating what was about to happen, but for some reason I knew full well what the outcome would be. Suddenly I heard a familiar voice say, ‘I’m all right now, David.’ I sat quietly, waiting for the arrival of my distraught family.
To my surprise they all returned in good spirits – no pun intended! I looked at my mother and she whispered, ‘He’s had a heart attack, but the doctor says he should be OK.’ I just looked at her and nodded. Had I been imagining the voice? Intuitively, I knew I hadn’t.
About fifteen minutes later there was a knock at our front door. My mother rushed to answer it. My uncle was standing there, shaking his head. My grandfather had died just after they left the hospital, after suffering a second, more severe heart attack. Apparently, at about the same time as I heard his voice in my lounge.
I never mentioned this to family till many years later. It didn’t seem important at the time. Fortunately my mother coped with the loss of her father much better than when her mother had died. For me, this was the first real occasion that I had communicated directly with spirit.
I’ve since found that when major events happen in my life I will always have a strong spiritual connection. Most people do. It’s just a case of recognising the signs and believing in your instincts.
In the summer of 1986, my mother, father and sister decided to take a week’s holiday in Spain. This was a traumatic time for me as I was now nineteen years old and fairly independent, so naturally I preferred to holiday with my friends. However, I was now about to stay in my big old house, with all the spooks, for a full week – all by myself! I felt both excited and terrified at the same time.
My first night came around in a flash. It was a beautiful summer’s evening and the sun didn’t set until almost ten o’clock. I went to bed apprehensively after two cans of strong lager. I remember lying in my bed thinking, ‘If anything comes in my room tonight, I’ll run out of this house naked to escape from it.’ I was deadly serious, no point in getting dressed while I’m being butchered by the ghost of Rob Roy!
Around 2am, I suddenly awoke. Fortunately it wasn’t the ‘witching hour’, but clearly something powerful was in my room. As usual I felt as if I was completely paralysed – but surprisingly on this occasion it wasn’t due to fear. I also felt an incredibly strong energy force to my right hand side and as I tried to turn my head to investigate the source of this unknown power, the force pushed my head back to its original position.
Amazingly, I then felt extremely relaxed and my eyes began to slowly close. It almost felt as though I had just been given an anaesthetic. As my eyes closed shut, I suddenly felt the force move swiftly from its original position on my right hand side, then fly over my head, before moving off out the door to my left. Almost immediately I fell into a deep and wonderful sleep.
When I awoke the next morning I felt fantastic. I had enjoyed the best night’s sleep of my life. I remembered vividly everything about the previous night’s events and couldn’t believe that I wasn’t terrified of the strange happening that had taken place. The complete opposite was in fact true. Whatever was present in that room was absolutely divine in nature and in all my life since that night, I have yet to experience again such a feeling of pure contentment. If there are angels in this world then I most certainly met one that night.
I finished my year in the labour camp of Youth Training back in 1984 and embarked on another training scheme at the end of that year. With few qualifications and very little real get up and go, I was starting to drift aimlessly towards a life of scrimping and scraping just to get by. I would visit the local job centre once or twice a week in order to give my conscience a small but nevertheless necessary boost, and on one such occasion, accompanied by my friend Kevan, yes Kevan with an ‘A’, I noticed a job advert for ‘Postal Officers’ with the Post Office.
‘I’ve already applied for that,’ remarked Kevan. ‘You have to sit an unbelievably tough aptitude test, and you need five “O” Grades just to even get past the initial selection process,’ he added sarcastically.
This was like a red rag to a bull. I didn’t honestly think I had much chance of getting an interview for this position, never mind the actual job – but don’t tell me not to apply because my prized ‘O’ levels were not of a suitable calibre! Fortunately, when I read the advert a second time it didn’t say that your five ‘O’ Grades must be passes. I was in, and after submitting my application form I was invited to sit the dreaded aptitude test.
There were at least another fifty people sitting this test, all vying for only three available jobs. Kevan had mentioned to me beforehand that nobody managed to finish the test when he had previously sat his ill-fated attempt. He also added smugly that he knew of at least three people who had multiple higher qualifications than me, and that they would probably get the jobs.
However, this wasn’t a test of academic ability or of how hard you were prepared to work to achieve your goals. No, this was an arithmetic test – and I was lightning fast at arithmetic. I was Carol Vorderman, without the legs – again, apologies if we’ve gone global!
I once sat an arithmetic test in primary school. It was the same test for the whole school, from age five to twelve. We were instructed to get friends and family to sponsor us with each correct answer receiving a specific amount of sponsorship money. I was third in the whole school, even though I was only in Primary four. I was feeling really chuffed with myself until I found out that because I only had two sponsors, my mum and dad, I raised less money than the class dunce, who must have been sponsored by the entire population of China. Still, my teacher was impressed by my arithmetic abilities, if clearly not by my marketing skills.
The Post Office aptitude test would last for thirty minutes. After ten minutes my head had surfaced, and as I gazed around the room it was evident that I was the only person who had finished. I had twenty minutes remaining and decided to double-check my answers. I only found two answers that needed to be amended. I was then convinced that I had every answer correct. I sat for the next fifteen minutes watching my fellow competitors chip away at their task, before the adjudicator announced that the given time had elapsed. There were muffled groans as the other applicants realised that they had fallen short of the required standard. I walked home feeling that I must have done enough for an interview, but that I’d probably mess up if it got to that stage.
I received a call that same afternoon from someone at the Post Office informing me that ‘Obviously you know that you passed the test, would you come for an interview next week?’ I had in fact been for several interviews recently and got absolutely nowhere, so I did not share too much optimism about being successful this time in a job that paid far more money than any of the others. However, as I walked into that interview room and was formally introduced to the two interviewers from the Post Office, I intuitively knew before a word had even been spoken that I would be offered the job. In fact, I could have jumped on the knee of either man, smacked him in the face with a wet fish, while singing Dixie – and still have got the job. I didn’t bother with Dixie, but I did get that job.
When I told Kevan about my success I could see he was both surprised and a bit jealous. Kevan was the opposite of me. He was a hard worker and showed great determination to succeed. He suffered from an illness that often held him back, but eventually he would recover and move down to Manchester, becoming both very successful and wealthy. I, on the other hand, would work for the Post Office for the next twenty years.
At first it was a difficult job, but it was a valued profession and I felt privileged to be a part of such a well thought-of organisation. Latterly, though, the job became a nightmare and I became embarrassed by how it was being run. In fact, the rumour was that you could murder your own mother and still get a job with the Post Office.
I worked at the Post Office counter and met some amazing people in my time there. I also met some right nutters!
Still, as an eighteen-year-old single guy, earning over £100 per week in 1985, I had the world at my feet.
Unfortunately, there was one particular thing blocking any potential spiritual development. I had been introduced to alcohol. I would drink four nights a week – Thursday to Sunday. I had nothing else to spend my hard-earned cash on and I decided to live the good life!
My teenage years were coming to an end, roll on the nineties. Somehow I had managed to land a decent job, despite that decadent spell in my teenage years. I could now start to be positive about my life for the first time in five years. Job Done!
Chapter 5
THE NINETIES – A TIME FOR CHANGE
The start of the nineties brought very little change to my fast-becoming-decadent lifestyle. I was still going out four nights a week for excessive amounts of alcohol, and I had even endured a two week drinking binge in Ibiza that culminated in yours truly spending a night in the cells for being drunk and disorderly.
In Kilmarnock, I would regularly go out on a Thursday night with my friend Bobby. Friday night was usually with Cameron, Saturday night with Fraser and Sunday night with whoever could still stand. Kevan with an ‘A’ would often join us on a Saturday, although he didn’t drink alcohol. Kevan’s job was to get us all home safely, and of course to inform us of what we got up to the previous evening! Occasionally, Bobby, Fraser and I would also go to our local pub on a Monday, Tuesday or Wednesday, if we were bored. I got bored very easily. I remember scouring the pubs of Kilmarnock with Fraser one Christmas Day, pleading with landlords to let us in out of the wind and rain.
It had to stop and eventually it did – we met women. I never really had many girlfriends in my twenties. I would flirt with pretty office workers when they visited my workplace, but if I met them in the pub I usually completely embarrassed myself due to being drunk.
However Fraser started dating a girl that we used to socialise with and thankfully my alcohol intake started to decrease since my drinking accomplice was otherwise engaged! Fraser and I used to drink for seven hours solid on a Saturday night until we actually started to sober up, before eventually crawling home to our respective pits.
It was shortly afterwards that I met my wife to be, Anne. Anne studied at college with Bobby and we used to talk occasionally in the pub. Eventually I plucked up the courage to ask her out.
I had finally met someone that I wanted to get to know better. We started to see each other three or four times a week and very soon became inseparable. I was happier than I had ever been and there was no booze involved – well, only the occasional vodka or two.
While we were dating, Anne suggested that we get a Tarot card reading. A certain psychic had previously told Anne that she would meet a guy called David with a sister called Susan. Guess my sister’s name? – go on! It’s Angela! – No it really is Susan!
I was a bit sceptical at first. This woman seemed too good to be true. I was worried that she might be the kind of medium who will tell you warts and all: ‘You’re going to have three kids, one will die in a car crash, one will become a transvestite, and the other will end up in prison.’
I was first to receive a reading. I deliberately kept my answers brief to gauge the psychic’s reaction. She commented that I was difficult to read and couldn’t really see much, although she did say that I would pass my driving test, which, to be fair, I was actually about to sit just a week later. Mind you, Anne’s car was outside with ‘L’ plates on – what a cynic I am! Meanwhile Anne received her reading and then rather oddly refused to tell me anything about it.
The next day Anne informed me that the Tarot reader thought she would die in ‘a crushing of metal’, but that it wouldn’t happen for a long time. I was horrified that she had been told this. To me, this was bad mediumship. You don’t tell a client how she is going to die, no matter the circumstances. Furthermore, no spirit would ever divulge this sort of information. Why would they wish to frighten their loved one?
I told Anne that I thought it was nonsense and she smiled approvingly, although I knew that she still believed the medium to be correct. After all, if you tell someone the name of the person they are going to marry, and get it spot on, then you will have inherited a strange power over that person – the power to frighten and to manipulate.