Life after Death [antikvár]

INTRODUCTIONOn the grey, drizzly winter's afternoon of 20 January 1966 I found my way to a row of identical brick houses in the West London suburb of Acton. I was going to do an interview for my paper with Ena Twigg, already one of the most successful mediums in Britain and about to become the most famous.After an hour of answering questions, she broke off to make tea. The clatter of crockery from a kitchen across the hall was suddenly overlaid by Mrs Twigg's voice raised in ardent conversation.There was no one else in the house when I arrived. When she returned pushing a trolley, I asked her if she'd had a visitor.'Your mother has just arrived,' she said. 'She wants to speak to you.'My mother had died, of cancer, almost exactly a year before.'She says,* Mrs Twigg announced, 'that you were very close. She's just behind you.'I glanced nervously round and saw nothing.'She's tapping your shoulder,' continued Mrs Twigg. *Now she's kissing you on the forehead.'I felt nothing.A stream of information followed. About my mother, myself and my family. Ahnost all of it correct. Then: 'She's brought your wife's father whom she knew so well and liked so much.'My wife's father, a Dutchman, had died in Holland, also of cancer, three weeks after my mother.'She says,' she announced, 'you have within that little house the opportunity to do a great work.'I looked blank.'You are going to Worthing.'I had never been to Worthing and never thought of visiting it