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We investigate: Is there life after death?
GETTING in touch with dead relatives may not be everyone's ideal way to spend a Friday night, but that's what happens at Perth Green Community Centre in Jarrow.
We went along, to see what it's all about.
Just like David Duchovny's character, Agent Fox Mulder in the TV show The X-Files, I want to believe.
I want to believe that, after we die, that's not it. Game Over. Kaput.
It seems such an awful waste of all the wisdom we gain in our years spent on earth.
For it all to be over in the blink of an eye ... surely not!
Having never been a religious person – I'd call myself a reluctant agnostic – I sometimes feel jealous of people who have faith.
It must be nice to believe that when you die, you go somewhere, be it Heaven, Jannah or the Elysian Fields.
Having interviewed members of the Perth Green Spiritualist Group (PGSG) in September, my interest had been piqued in their belief that, in fact, we don't die at all.
They believe our souls merely leave our bodies to return to the spirit world from whence we all came.
It might seem kooky to some of you, but this is no underground movement.
Across the UK there are 340 Spiritualists' National Union 'churches', with an estimated 40,000 followers.
For our journey into the 'Summerland' as Native Americans call it, we were in the back room of Perth Green Community Centre in Jarrow.
Our guide for the evening? Irene Wilson, 65, from Horden, County Durham.
A qualified certificate holder from the Spiritual National Union, she has been a medium for more than 20 years.
Before the evening session began, I was eager to find out why the mum-of-three had such an affinity for the 'other side'.
"I've always had spirits around me since I was four years old, and they're with us all the time," she said.
"I never switch off. It's lovely. I wake up in the morning and I ask 'Are you there?' and they say 'Oh no, she's here again'. It gives you a lot of comfort."
The session, which had about 25 people present, started with her asking the guest spirit for the night – who rather conveniently was a bloke they all seemed to know called Gordon Higginson – whether it's OK for us to take photographs and a video.
Thankfully, this one-time president of the spiritualist union was no Luddite, and readily agreed.
Though Gordon is the main spirit, Irene let on there were various others all around the room just waiting to get the nod to come on down.
It's nice to know that even in the afterlife, there's a very British sense of queuing decorum.
The proceedings started with the 'table levitation', on which Irene and three volunteers from the audience laid their hands.
As Irene gently encouraged Gordon to get rocking, the telephone desk began to clatter about, gently at first, and later quite violently.
Swallowing my scepticism, I then joined them on the table.
Though I experienced none of their sensations of "my fingers sinking into the wood" as one lady put it, after a while I did get a slight warm feeling in my shoulders.
This I attributed more to being hunched down low, rather than spirits coursing through me.
As the table continued to move around violently – not levitate – I looked for the telltale white half moons at the end of people's fingernails, which indicate someone is pulling something towards themselves.
Though my eyes had adapted to the dark conditions necessary for the session, it was still impossible to see whether Irene or any of the others were giving the spirits a hand. I certainly wasn't.
Irene – using the motion of the table much like Morse code – went on to tell a member of the audience called Barbera that her mum was present and wanted her to not worry so much.
Part of me sighed in disappointment, as these 'messages' always seem to be of the same non-specific bland nature, ie, "Don't worry, I'm in a better place now."
Why don't they ever tell say anything useful, such as the winner of tomorrow's 4.20 at Haydock?
To my surprise, when Irene left the table it kept on rocking.
For this to happen I figured there were three possible reasons: firstly Irene had colluded with a 'plant' in the audience. Again I don't see the point of this.
We were in a community centre, not Wembley Arena, and the returns – both financial and psychological – for such a deception were hardly worth the effort.
Secondly, there was a genuine spirit in the room.
Finally, the participants were unconsciously rocking the table as they wanted to be a spirit present. Ever the sceptic, I plumped for the latter.
Meanwhile, Irene had decamped to a hastily assembled booth, made of a dividing screen with a curtain over it, which acted as a 'portal' through which spirits could enter her.
The red tablelamp she used to illuminate her face gave it a ghoulish appearance much like when, as a kid, you hold a torch under your chin.
Why red? It's supposed to attract spirits. Hmm, I'll say this though: It makes great theatre.
While some of the women in the room begin to gasp, saying they could see her visage transmogrifying into the shape or expression of other people, my friend Ali and I were sadly unable to see any of this.
A few of the audience then said they began to feel their hearts pounding and stomachs churning. Again we felt nowt.
Remaining mute throughout, Irene indicated by scratching her chin that the spirit within her wanted to speak to someone with a beard.
Of the five men present, I was the only one too lazy to have not shaved, so up I went.
After asking the spirit a few questions, I figured it had to be my grandmother Violet, who died this time last year.
Though I did most of the hard work, offering her closed questions which could be answered with a nod or shake of the head, I did get a peculiar sense that I was actually holding hands with 'Violet'.
Surprisingly, my gran then went on to give me her usual admonishment that I should stop drinking so much.
This has particular resonance in our family, as we have a somewhat tragic history where alcohol is concerned.
Beyond that she revealed nothing revelatory, which would truly have convinced me I'd had a genuine experience with a spirit.
However, part of me felt like I had on some level communicated with Violet.
Maybe it was just me wanting it to be her, as I miss her so much. I'm not sure.
To end the night, there was a raffle drawn by group member Lilian Pickford-Miller.
"The prize goes to number 666. No, only joking, it's 444," she laughed.
Ho, ho. Spiritualists' humour.
Don't let this fool you though. They really do take this stuff seriously, as PGSG founder Jim Billeany, 55, informed me afterwards.
"Everyone gets their proof one way or the other. Unless you actually experience it for yourself, you will never know. Seeing is believing."
I saw, but do I now believe? I want to, but, for now, I'm going to say ... I just don't know. Sorry!
The group meets every Tuesday night at 7pm. For details, call Jim on 420 4279.
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Saturday 04 February 2012
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