Part 5

DO I believe in ghosts? I did not until the War was on and my favourite brother was in it. He was stationed at Salonica. One day I was making cakes and had just stooped down to take a tin from the oven when it seemed that my brother bent over me and snatched one. At the same time there was a whisper “I am so hungry.” I dropped the cakes and turned round with “Oh, Ron!” but my hands met the empty space. A few days after we heard of my brother being killed in action.

Vision of Wounded Son

ONE night during the year 1915, whilst waiting up for my son who worked on the trams, and, in consequence, was often late, I thought I would while away the time by reading. When he came in and had supper and we were preparing for bed I suddenly became aware of a pair of muddy boots on the hearth rug. I looked at them again and again. Then I looked up and saw putties, then pants and belt; then there was a space where the body should have been. Still looking higher, I distinctly saw the head and face of my son George, who was then serving somewhere in France. All about his head were white bandages, and just by his ear was a large spot of blood. I believe I fainted, or something like it. My young son was frightened and called his father who had gone to bed. I told them, “If George gets hurt it will be in the head.” Five weeks later, on the 1st of June, word came that he was in hospital with a bullet wound in the head. The wound was exactly in the same place as I had seen the blood. My son George is still living and most happily married.

“His Spirit Took This Chance”

THE following incident happened one afternoon during the War, when I went to visit my husband’s mother. We were sitting in a room talking to some other members of the family when, suddenly, my husband's favourite sister came running downstairs calling out, “Mother, Dick has come home!” We rushed into the hall, expecting to see my husband, and were naturally very surprised, as we had had no intimation of an intended leave. However, the hall was empty except for my sister-in-law, who had just reached the foot of the stairs. She seemed quite convinced that she had seen him standing there, in full field equipment, and we searched the house to satisfy her that he had not come home.

We did not hear from my husband for many weeks after this and were very distressed, as we felt, after this strange event, that something very serious must have happened to him.

At last, we had news that he was a prisoner of war.

When he returned after the War we told him of this strange incident and gave him the exact time and day on which it happened.

Just at this time, it appears, he was captured by the Germans, one of whom struck him with a rifle, rendering him unconscious.

I sometimes think that his spirit took this chance of leaving the sickening horror, and, if only for so short a time, being near those he loved.

Walked with the Dead

DURING the Great War my sister was employed as nursery governess with a family living in M———. One of her duties was to meet the oldest child returning from school—and she was very frequently joined by her fiancé, whose regiment was stationed quite near. Eventually “Dick” was called to the front.

Six months passed, and, one day, my sister came to see me, looking terribly distressed. She informed me that she knew “Dick” had been killed. I advised her to get a good nerve tonic, thinking she was overwrought through not having heard from him for two weeks. She proceeded to tell me that during her usual walk to the school “Dick” had walked with her all the way.

However, little over a fortnight after this, my sister again came to see me. This time she handed me a letter she had just received from one of “Dick's” brother officers, stating that he had been killed. The date and hour given of “Dick's” death corresponded exactly with the day and hour that my sister declared he had walked with her.

The Phantom Soldier

WHILE my husband was serving in France during the Great War, I carried on our business as job master, and it often used to fall to my lot to drive the brave lads to and from the station. One lovely summer night I was driving a young lad to catch the midnight train which used to arrive at Waterloo about 4 a.m. He had come over from New Zealand when the call came (he emigrated a few years before the war) and he had just been home on leave to see his parents. I was driving an extremely quiet little pony in a governess car, and the young soldier and I were sitting opposite one another talking. I had just asked him if he intended settling down with his parents when the war was over or go back to New Zealand, and he replied he thought he would stay at home until his parents died. No sooner had he said this than the pony gave a most violent swerve, and, there, by the side of the soldier, outside the trap, was another soldier in the New Zealand uniform. The one I was driving shouted out: “That's a dirty trick to play, mate, the pony might have had us out. Do you want a lift to the station?” But the figure had vanished. A week later, the young fellow had paid the Great Sacrifice. Now, all three of us saw the figure, and I think the pony saw it first. When I got the pony to the station, he was trembling and sweating, yet I had not driven him hard. I often wondered if he saw more than the soldier and I saw.

An Unknown Visitor

I WISH to record an experience that befell me while I was on active service in France. It was during the Battles of the Somme in 1916. I was attached to a Lewis gun team in my regiment during the attacks on Ginchy and Guillemont. One night I was on my post, between the hours of ten and twelve, when I was relieved by the next sentry. I retired to an unoccupied dugout fifteen yards away to grasp a few hours sleep. I had just crawled in and dropped down to sleep when I was awakened by a voice calling me by my christian name. I sat up to ponder over it and, when I convinced myself that I was alone in the dugout, and no one within fifteen to twenty yards, I considered it was only imagination, so I dropped down again and, after a space of two minutes, I was called again by my name. Once more I took it to be sheer imagination, and again I lowered my head to sleep when, to my amazement, I was called the third time in a more distinct voice. This time I sat up and plainly saw a dim blue light going out of the dugout door.

I immediately arose and followed it outside, but no one could I see—only the occasional burst of the German shells. I shrugged my shoulders and went up to my sentry post to ease my mind of the matter. I had just walked about fifteen yards away when a German 5.9 shell landed in the dugout and blew it to pieces—a grand escape, and I attribute it to the warning of a friendly ghost. On another occasion when my life was in danger the same voice called again three times.

A Lover and a Sister

ONE day during the War, I was sitting reading, when suddenly I heard my fiancé (then in France) calling my name. I looked up and beheld him walking towards me, in a white shroud. I was horrified and called to him to go away, but his ice-cold hands touched my face and I fainted. He was killed that day, and his comrades said he was calling my name as he died. Again, in a vision, I saw my beloved sister (a nurse) lying dead in a ward. A few days later we met at our home. During tea I related my vision to her, describing the ward and even the flowers and ivy they had put on her. Everyone but mother laughed. My sister laughed till tears rolled down her cheeks and said “Oh! my dear, I’m too healthy to die; look at me.” And, indeed, she was a picture of health and happiness, and she was beloved by everyone. But, six weeks later, she lay dead exactly as I had seen her. Why I should see the two people I loved best like that I cannot say, but I cannot but believe in the supernatural.

A Brother's Smile

IN August of 1917 my brother was fighting in France for his King and country. One Sunday night I had gone to bed and just turned out the light and made a prayer for the safe-keeping of my brother who was fighting for us. When he appeared before me, bent over me and gave a lovely smile, and disappeared again.

Two days afterwards I received a letter to say he was killed in action at the hour he appeared to me.

Her Soldier Boy

ONE night during the War, I had seen all the family into bed and returned downstairs to put things right for the morning, and to pack the food for the workers. It was well on into the night as I sat at the table cutting the food. The lobby door seemed to open and my soldier boy stood there and said “Mother” in such a sad voice, then vanished. I could see him so plainly and he looked so sad that I felt upset and went to bed, but not to sleep. I felt he was in trouble. I came to know in a short time that he was that night lying out on the battle-field at Passchendaele seriously wounded. He received a M.M. We have the Testament that saved his life; it is shot through, but there happened to be a steel looking glass at the back, and this stopped the bullet.

A War Worker's Experience

Your ghost stories have prompted me to write and tell you of an experience which I had some years back and which Armistice Day has brought back to me very vividly.