RIP + David Farrant 1946 - 2019 +

The Human Touch Blog ~
David Farrant

Very Nearly Could Be True!

Not long ago Della and I hosted a small dinner party for friends which by happenstance featured an untypical mixture of business acquaintances and BPOS members.

Also in attendance was a dear friend whose name I shall not mention, suffice to say his reputation is well known in Occult circles and best left without further elaboration. It was an interesting, and rather exceptional evening – but I guess these Blogs usually are about exceptional circumstances – and so I thought it would be OK to share it with you all. OSo, here you go …

As gracious hosts, Della and myself of course supplied no small amount of fine wines and cocktails, which assured that the ensuing talk was lively and covered a multitude of topics far and wide. Eventually the conversation got around to the Kirklees Development Project that I, along with some of my guests, were so deeply involved with. I’m not sure who raised it, but the question came up of how the estate’s historical residents might view the current plans, to which my dear old Occultist friend quickly piped up,

“Well, why don’t we ask them?”
My friend assured me he’d assume full responsibility, so I put away any misgivings I had and consented to let him try. All of our guests agreeable, we doused the lights except for a few sacred candles, and gathered around a table to invoke the spirits of the long-departed residents of Kirklees Estate. Soon the the room was eerily silent except for the occasional distant cry of owls in Highgate Wood opposite, and my friend’s low, repetitive chanting. Nothing much happened for quite some time, and we were nearly about to give up, when all at once – the candles went out – and the room was plunged into utter blackness! A glowing orb of energy danced above our heads, a cacophony of voices emerging from it. A silky female voice quickly sorted itself out from the rest;
“David,” it giggled coyly, “Guten abend! Wie gehts? So sorry about that bloody silver lighter. If I knew it would cause such problems, I’d never have given it to you.”

I instantly recognized the voice as belonging to a person I’d had many deep, often personal conversations with in years past, yet I must admit I was shocked and somewhat unsettled to hear it coming from beyond the grave – or of more immediate concern – from the vicinity of the suddenly, eerily swinging chandelier!  Women land me in more trouble, it’s true. Just my lot in life, I suppose. “Your Ladyship?” I called out, tentatively. “Oh, never mind that toffee-nosed twaddle!” she shot back, “Call mich Margo.” I proceeded to assure “Margo” that I had suffered no real problems concerning her gift, aside from a bit of nonsense posted on Facebook by a mentally unstable individual or two. I also told her the local “Robin Hood society” that had been such a thorn in her side was largely disbanded and the ex-nurse who led it was thoroughly discredited by scandal. She enquired if the development of the estate was on track, saying that she was most happy with the Victorian design I’d selected for the decorative cast iron fencing.

By then my other dinner party guests guests had become a bit restless, protesting that Margo was “dominating” our impromptu seance with “shop talk” and they were anxious to see if other spirits were lurking about and could be contacted. One fellow (an old cricket team mate, rather brash and outspoken in the best of times) loudly demanded we try to “conjure up” the ghost of Robin Hood himself. Another insisted we attempt to contact King Arthur. “Quiet please, everyone!” warned my Occultist friend, “All this bickering is disturbing our fragile connection to the astral plane!”

But it was too late. Suddenly we heard a sound like thunder and the room itself seemed to shake. Abruptly, the lights in the flat came on, and we found ourselves sitting around the table, drinks in hand, as if nothing unusual had transpired. No one spoke a word about our experience, and indeed, I found myself wondering if had really happened at all. Then again, it very nearly could be – or indeed could be –  true that we had bridged the gap between this life and “the other side” and I alone had been selected to retain the memory of it!

Anyway, see you all again soon,


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1946 - 2019




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