Part 8

WHEN war broke out my brother was amongst those who answered the call. One night I saw my mother (who died just before the war) standing at the foot of my bed holding out her arms and looking straight past me. I turned my head and saw my brother come through the closed door and walk into my mother’s arms, and they both disappeared. At the time I thought, “How could a living being walk through a closed door.” The next morning I got the news that my brother had been killed in action.

WALSALL

A CLOSE friend of mine fought throughout the greater part of the late war without receiving a scratch. Some few months previous to the end of hostilities, he was selected for a commission, and was subsequently transferred to England to undergo the necessary training for a second-lieutenant. He was granted the position and, very shortly after, was drafted over to France. One night, when going into action, he was suddenly taken seriously ill and was carried back to hospital. During one evening, I, for some reason had to go to my bedroom, and, when about half-way on the stair-case, I distinctly saw, on the landing, a military officer standing to attention. I thought at first it was mere fancy, but, on going a few steps farther, I was thoroughly convinced that at no time had I seen a soldier so real. Then the vision vanished, as quick as thought, into the bedroom. I followed, but, after switching on the light, I failed to find anyone in the room save myself.

Next day we received the sad news that this young officer had died from sickness, three days after Armistice was signed.

PORT ERIN

IN October, 1916, I returned from Liverpool (where I had been working), for a few weeks holiday at my own home. Early one morning (between two and three o'clock), I was awakened by hearing singing in my bedroom. I knew the voice quite well—it was that of a young man who had been brought up in the same street as I, and had been educated at the same school. He was singing a verse of a hymn, quite loud and heartily. I got no more sleep that night and was very upset, as I knew this boy was fighting in France. A few days after, I met his sister and she told me they had had word to say that her brother was missing. A couple of weeks went by and word came to say that he had been killed.

NORWICH

IN October, 1917, I was staying with my four little children in a village near Lowestoft. My husband, a skipper of a steam drifter, was at sea. On the night of October 7th, I was awakened by a loud bang. At the same time the bed seemed floating on water. I looked up to see my husband bending over me, and he seemed to put cold, wet hands on each side of my face, then disappeared. Two days afterwards, I was informed that his vessel had struck a mine and was lost with all hands, about the time he appeared to me. Three or four months after, I again saw my husband, this time looking through the window. He had with him another man who was a great chum of his. He also was a skipper. A few days later, I was told that at the same time as I saw them this man went down with his ship in the channel raid.

BOLTON

AT 6:30 on the evening of the 15th April, 1917, during a German raid on our trenches on the Ploegsteert Front, my chum was killed at my side. As mutually arranged in case of such an event, I wrote his people. Ten days afterwards I received a letter from my chum’s sister, in which was stated that her mother died the same evening that he was killed. She died at 10 p.m.

At 8 p.m. the mother had called the family to her room. She then told them that Billy (the son) had appeared to her and told her that he had been “knocked out,” but would meet her very shortly.

OLDHAM

ONE evening during the late war I sat reading when I felt someone blow in my neck. I was just about to turn round when I heard a scream coming from upstairs. I went to see the reason, and, to my surprise, I saw my little girl sitting up in bed terrified. I took her in my arms and asked her what was the matter. She still looked afraid of a something, and said, “Look, mama,” and, pointing to a corner of the room, added, “There's daddy; a man up that tree has shot him; I saw him do it, and now my daddy is dead.” She fainted in my arms as she repeated “dead.” I ran to give her a drink to revive her, thinking it was just a nightmare she had had. Eventually, she fell asleep. The following week, I had news that my husband had been killed in action. On making inquiries, I found he had been shot by a sniper who was posted in a tree, and at the same hour as he had appeared to my little girl.

BARNSTAPLE, DEVON

IN August, 1916, my husband was sent to France. The following year I received a letter from him saying he would be home on leave, and I was to expect him any day. This was August 10th, 1917. I started to get in extra things and to prepare for his home-coming. I heard nothing more, but three nights after receiving his letter, I went to bed as usual, and about midnight, I heard my husband call my name. I sat up in bed, and there he was standing at the foot of the bed in his uniform with his arms outstretched in welcome. I couldn't sleep afterwards. In the morning I went home and told my parents what I had seen. I saw them look at each other. Then my mother said he had come to her the same night and asked her to look after us (I had one little girl). Four days later, I had a letter from the War Office saying my husband had been missing since midnight on the 22nd of August (later, presumed killed on that date). I can't understand it, but the vision is as clear to me now as it was nine years ago. You see, he came home to see us before going to a better home, and I’ve kept the memory of it to this day.

KENT

I ALWAYS doubted if people really saw ghosts or apparitions till my experience during the war in 1916.

My son was in France and I was awakened one morning between one and two by a terrific noise like an explosion. I thought it was an air-raid, and, as I glanced towards the foot of the bed, I saw the image of my son looking very ill and begrimed with mud. He quickly vanished, and the next moment I heard his footsteps coming towards the house, and his voice distinctly calling me. I hurried down to let him in, but no one was there. I heard, a few days later, that my son was missing after an engagement when the wood was blown up and only a few survived; and it happened on the same date and about the same time as I had my awful experience.

SURBITON

IN December, 1917, my aunt, who lives in the country, stood looking out of her window, when she saw, walking up the path leading to her house, the figure of a man in khaki, with his kit on his back. She instantly decided that it must be the husband of her next-door neighbour, home on leave, and wondered why the lady had not mentioned the matter. However, as the man approached, it was with a feeling of great shock that she recognised her own young brother, who was an ambulance bearer at the front. His face was drawn and ghastly, as though he were suffering agonies. On seeing my aunt, he stretched out his arms, and she saw, as he got nearer, that he was a shadowy figure, and not flesh and blood. Thoroughly unnerved, she backed into her sitting-room, followed by the form of her brother. Right around her table she walked—still followed; then, gradually, he disappeared from sight.

Shortly afterwards, a telegram arrived, announcing the death of this brother, which occurred on the battlefield just before he appeared to my aunt—his favourite sister.

WARWICK

ONE night during the Great War, my mother saw her son, who was at that time out in France, standing some distance away from her. He seemed to be in some terrible trouble. My father, who is rather superstitious, said bad news would follow. A few days later, we received a letter from the chaplain, to say my brother had died from severe wounds a few days before, and we feel sure it happened the night he appeared to mother.

OXFORD

DURING the war, my husband was serving in France with the Tank Corps, and it was during this time that I had my one and only experience of the “uncanny,” although I actually saw nothing. I awoke one morning, just at dawn (three o'clock) with the feeling that someone had entered my room, and said to me “Will is in danger.” I thought I must have been dreaming. I tried to go to sleep again, but found it impossible. Each time I shut my eyes, I seemed to feel a presence in the room, and to be conscious of the certain deadly peril of my husband. I got up, after a time, and made myself a cup of tea, and, by the aid of a book tried to get some more sleep. Things were no better, however; my mind refused to dwell on what I was trying to read, so I gave it up and lay just thinking until five o'clock. At that time, quite suddenly, the weight seemed to be lifted from my mind, and I was quite convinced that all was well. I just turned over and went to sleep quite happily.

A few days afterwards, in my hubby's next letter, I read that on that particular morning, he had been “over the top” for just those two hours (in a "before breakfast stunt," he called it), and they were the worst two hours he had experienced since he had been out there.

YORKSHIRE

DURING the war, in the year 1916, I was in the fighting line round Armentiers in France, and on the 13th February in the same year three of our gunners were killed, including my devoted pal whom it was my painful duty to bury. Time passed on and one night, after I had been relieved from sentry duty, I went into the dugout, lit the candle, and prepared for a sleep. I was getting into my bed, which I had made of sandbags, and was going to light a cigarette, when the vision of my pal came and sat beside me and said, "I am not dead yet, Jack.” The candle was still burning and he was life itself. I could see his lighted cigarette as the vision faded away in the corner of the dugout. I called out to my sleeping pals and told them all about it and they said I looked like somebody scared. I should not like to have such an experience again. I was wide awake, and the light was lit all through the experience.