The Storyteller: Can your child speak to ghosts?

Just recently, I had the opportunity to reconnect with some childhood memories when I collected some of my old toys and games that had long been stored at a property I own in Paignton, with a view to selling them. Some are now fetching interesting amounts of money on eBay, especially some Pelham Puppets I’ve had for many years, one of which I purchased using a Debenhams’ voucher I was given for my appearance on the children’s TV show “Why Don’t You...,” which I filmed on my 12th birthday! I even found the t-shirt with my name on it that I wore on the day!

Amongst the treasures were Action Men and some sets of Airfix soldiers, both big and small versions, that I used to have hours of fun with, creating various scenarios for them to have battles in. Some ideas came from stuff I’d seen on TV; others were dredged up from the depths of my very vivid imagination. I once made up an epic adventure for some of the Royal Marine figures I had in my collection, resplendent in their black uniforms and pointed white headgear. I wrote this saga when I was at primary school, in the days when we were given free time to do what we wanted.

I chose to spend my time exercising my storytelling skills. Whenever I wanted to make sure my spellings were correct, I’d go to the teacher’s desk and ask her. One day, I happened to say to her that it was becoming hard work to continue it. “Why are you bothering then?” she replied, as it was my own choice to do it. The idea of not finishing it wasn’t an option...

I, personally, never conjured up any imaginary friends for myself; I had three siblings and plenty of real-life ones to keep me occupied, especially as it was my job to come up with all the games that we entertained ourselves with out in the streets...no computer games for us in those days! However, over the years, I have met several children that have had some...

A good friend of mine has a daughter called Emily. Now Emily was very nearly never born, as her mother, unbeknownst to us, at the time we met, was gravely ill and almost died, but, due to a bizarre sequence of serendipitous events, which I won’t go into here, she pulled through and went on to conceive a special child that they called Emily. From a young age, she was often found in her room, alone, playing and conversing with imaginary friends. She had older siblings but chose her own company. She would often astound her parents with knowledge of worldly things and family matters that no child her age should possess or be aware of.

In those formative years, they used to attend our Monday night meetings, and they would always be excited to share news of her latest exploits or utterances. My favourite story of Emily dates back to an incident that happened when she was out shopping one day with her dad. She was sitting in the shopping trolley at the checkout, and whilst her father was unloading everything onto the conveyor belt, a woman came to queue up behind them. She was a stranger, but Emily took one look at her and said, “Your name is Margaret, and they tell me you are a very nice lady.” The poor woman stared at Emily in shock, dropped her shopping, and fled.

It turned out her name was Margaret, and she couldn’t get away from this strange little girl quick enough! Over the years, after mixing with other children at school, her Emilyisms stopped, almost as though she was embarrassed to share them anymore, but, if she is as gifted as her mother is, I’m sure she is still in touch with spirits, and I’m led to believe that sometimes she has a look in her eye that suggests this to be true...

Another one-time member of TIP had a grandson, called Jack, who seemed to be older and wiser before his time. He too had an imaginary friend, from a very young age, who he called Alfie. Jack knew lots of details about Alfie, including his favourite football team.

One day, Jack and his grandparents were visiting family in London, as they were originally from the East End, and they found themselves in an area that they didn’t know. Suddenly, Jack shouted out excitedly, “That’s where Alfie lives!” as he pointed to a church with a large graveyard. Humouring his grandson, his grandfather stopped the car and allowed Jack to take him amongst the gravestones, as he was intrigued to see where this might lead.

Eventually, they came to a headstone of a young boy called Alfie, complete with a photograph of the poor lad, who had died so young, and he fit the description of Jack’s imaginary friend to a tee...even down to the football strip he was wearing, of the team that Jack said he had always supported...

Some years ago, I read a book called “The Children That Time Forgot” by Peter Harrison. In it, he lets children tell their own stories of potential past life experiences, events that shape how they act in this life, giving them knowledge that one so young shouldn’t have, and encounters with the spirit world, that would leave adults presuming they had an imaginary friend.

It really does make one pause for thought about the idea of reincarnation. Most intriguing and highly recommended.