I was tiny, I've had an affinity with the Great War
(1914-18) and I believe I was a young soldier who died
in the Somme area of France in 1916. The name I was
known by was Jamie, short for James. I died of wounds
after being shot by a chap from our own side whom I
caught mistreating a prisoner of war, near the Beaumont
of my earliest memories is a vision I had of a WWI Field
Hospital. I had it when I was 2 years old and I could
describe it in the correct words even then. I've had
several war poems published, and totally baffled a Writers'
Convention once when they invited me to speak; they
didn't realize that I was a young woman because they
were expecting an old man.
soon as I knew people could go an visit the war graves,
I wanted to do so and, when I was 17, I finally had
the chance. When I walked into the huge cemetery at
Tyne Cot, I felt a great welcoming warmth, and a voice
said to me, "At last, you've come back to see us!" It
was a wonderful feeling, and I'm sure that, although
the cemetery is in Belgium, I have several friends buried
there who died later in the war.
I write war poetry, draw pictures of soldiers and have
a number of "see-throughs" as pals. I wouldn't want
to be without them. "See-throughs" are spirits of soldiers
who, I've discovered, I can talk to. It's what the soldiers
called themselves when I first began speaking with them,
as opposed to the rest of us who are "solids."
ones I know refer to themselves that way as opposed
to being "dead," because they're still alive but on
a different level. They're keen not to be called mere
ghosts because they have the ability to think and move
around as they wish, whereas ghosts are stuck in a place
or routine. I feel honoured that God has allowed me
to 'talk' with them.
Posted March 24, 2012