“In heaven an angel is nobody in particular”
George Bernard Shaw

She was a petite brunette wearing a dark blue 1940s-style skirt. She looked radiant – so radiant in fact that I could clearly see white light shining all around her. This, coupled with her gentle smile made her look so happy, so full of life – there’s simply no other way to put it. That’s the ironic thing about it: she’d been dead for more than three decades and yet she looked so full of life. It sounds strange, I know, but it’s a fact that no one looks more alive than when they’re dead.

She was called Pixie.

* * *

It was late afternoon one perfect summer’s day in early 1980, though to an Englishman virtually every day in Australia seems like summer. The sky was that kind of intense shade of blue you don’t seem to get in the northern hemisphere, and the heat was all-embracing yet strangely unoppressive.

Perth is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever been to – a harmonious blend of old and new, busy and quiet, leafy and cosmopolitan – and I enjoyed the short walk from where I was staying to the house of… let’s call her Mrs Smith.

I was on a lecture tour and Mrs Smith was a friend of the man who had kindly agreed to be my driver. She had expressed a serious interest in The Aetherius Society, the spiritual organisation I was working for (and still do work for – over a quarter of a century later).

That’s why I was going to meet her – to answer her metaphysical questions.

She lived in a large, attractive, terraced house in a pleasant middle-class suburb. I rang the bell. She invited me in through a smart hallway to a well-furnished sitting-room, where we sat down and started chatting about all kinds of spiritual matters of interest to us both.

Between sips of tea, and the munching of biscuits, I became aware of the image of a young woman. It was blurred at first, but became steadily clearer, more defined; it was a little like looking through binoculars which are being adjusted to the right setting. At first I thought it must be my imagination, as you would, but pictures in the imagination flicker and fade, whereas this became stronger and stronger.

My eyes were open. I could see her standing on my left. She looked as real as when you look at anyone else – there was nothing “ghostly” about her. She wasn’t see-through like a hologram.

But nevertheless somehow I knew that I was looking at her clairvoyantly; that my ability to see her was dependent upon my state of mind.

Then a name came to me. She didn’t say it out loud. It just came to me.

I don’t remember the exact words, but the conversation with Mrs Smith went something like this:

“I’m sorry, but does the name ‘Pixie’ mean anything to you?” I asked.

Mrs Smith looked at me, shocked.

“Well yes, actually it does, she was my best friend, whatever made you ask that?!”

“She’s here.” I replied calmly.

“What do you mean? She’s been dead for years!” She retorted, with a tinge of sadness in her voice.

“Yes, I know. She’s wearing old-fashioned clothes – a dark-blue skirt – forties-style. She’s got a message for you.”

Her expression brightened as she realised what was happening.

“What… from the ‘other side’, you mean? Well… Goodness me! This is amazing! Forties you say… yes, that would make sense, she died during the war, you see… how is she?”

“She’s fine. She wants you to know she still cares for you – and she looks out for you.”

“Like a guardian angel?”

“Yes.”

Pixie told me a few more things, which I duly related to Mrs Smith, who was deeply moved and extremely impressed at my mediumistic abilities.

The only problem was: I wasn’t a medium.

I walked out of the house totally stunned by what had seemed so normal and natural at the time. Actually the fact that it had seemed so normal and natural at the time made it seem all the more unbelievable and strange to me afterwards. I was virtually pinching myself in disbelief, expecting to wake up at any moment.

It wasn’t that I was a sceptic of this kind of thing – on the contrary, I believed in it very much. I just didn’t know that I could do it.

It never occurs to a toddler when they’re excitedly taking their first steps that one day they’ll be able to run a mile.