When we, mortals go to the Cemetery to visit our loved ones, unbeknown to us we are greeted by many other spirits, all wishing to tell us their story, to show us their feelings and if they can, to touch us with their emotions.

Few of us can see and hear them. If we could all hear their stories and give them the time they required to convey their messages to us, I am positive we would all listen. As a Spiritual Medium I feel privileged to be able to do just that. There are more spirits than mortals and it is difficult for a Spiritual Medium to avoid them.

I specifically went to Highgate Cemetery to visit the old graves whose headstone inscriptions have been eroded and erased by the natural elements. Some of the headstones were so overgrown with creeping ivy and other natural flora, with just barely any signs that they were ever graves.

As I stood at such a grave, I noticed people strolling through the Cemetery reading the headstones, but nobody was stopping at the ones with toppled down headstones where the inscriptions had been erased by time. Maybe, they are only interesting to a Spiritual Medium who can see and hear these forgotten souls that were laid to rest all those years ago.

“I am a forgotten Soul”

These were the first words I heard. I felt humbled that it was so easy for me to communicate with such a soul. Although I could not see who it was that spoke, I sensed the spirits presence. It was a man who had died from Tuberculosis at the age of 41 in 1818. He told me his name was Richard Chambers.

“If I did not go, I would have been famous” he said. I asked him to explain further, I thought maybe I could verify him by doing some research later.

He very proudly said that he was a writer, and wrote children’s stories about animals in his spare time. However nothing was printed. His work was kept in a School.

Richard came from Shrewsbury where he worked in a Mill earning just 2 shillings a week for 11 years. His father died when he was 7 years old and his mother died when he was 13. He was then taken into care. He left care at the age of 14 and lived on the streets. Unable to afford accommodation he slept in a barn. Unfortunately one night the barn went up in flames. So, he decided to make his way down to London. He befriended an old lady who offered him a room to live in near the Docks. He found a job delivering kegs of beer and was earning 3 shilling a week now. At the age of 38 he fell ill and could no longer work.

I asked him who took care of his burial. “My lady friend, there was no service or gathering, just the priest” he said.
“Her name was Beth, she sold flowers in the streets”.I asked him if he could maybe tell me one of the stories he wrote. Although I was not able to take it down word for word it went something like this.

The Children, The Rabbit and The Woods
Once there were 3 children, Sally who was 8 years old, Mary 11 years old and Toby who was 6 years old. They lived with their parents just outside the woods. They would go into the woods to play and have imaginary tea parties. One day they saw a rabbit who had been shot by a hunter. As the rabbit was still alive, the children decided to take him home to look after it and bring it back to health. The rabbit family decided to leave the security of the forest and go to look for their little brother. They peered through the cottage window and could see their brother inside being cared for by the children. The rabbits could talk to the children only. They became friends. Once the children’s parents found out about the rabbit, they offered to help.

I realised it was not the greatest story I ever heard, but Richard was not as educated as he could have been if he had been born into a wealthy family. His education was basic and he expressed that when he sold his stories, he would be in a good financial position to marry his Beth. He would read his stories to the children in the town. Taking into consideration the year in which this story was written, I felt it had some merit.

It had taken a lot of energy for Richard to convey his story to me, it was very difficult for me to pick up all the words as he kept disappearing and reappearing, during our conversation due to his energy weakening.

As I slowly walked away I heard a woman say: “No one ever comes to see me; Cecilia once came” I looked to see who had spoken and saw the spirit of a lady , she told me she was only 42 years old when she died.

“How did you die?” I asked.

“He beat me and beat me till I had nothing left”.

“Who beat you?”

“Albert, my husband, he did this over a shilling”

“Why did you marry him?” I asked.

“The family arranged it, we were poor and we were all set up for life when I’d married.”

She explained that her husband who was very strict had beat her with his belt and Miles who was her husbands man servant looked on and did nothing to help her. She was not allowed out of the house without her husband. Her name was Catherine Lowe. On the day of her death in 1817, her husband had released his dogs on her and when she fell over and hit her head the dogs attacked her and tore her apart, limb from limb. They were blamed for her mutilation and no one else was accused or blamed for her death.

“We had 2 children, but on both times he raped me. He was an evil son of a bitch” she said. I was taken aback by the unexpected use of abusive language she had used. She obviously felt very strongly about his abusive behaviour towards her.

She informed me that her son Markus became a Lawyer and went to America and her daughter, Emily married at the age of 16 and died at 17 from illness in 1842. Walking on I heard a voice say “Ahh!, such sweet smelling bread” almost as if he was going to break into a song, bubbling over with high spirits.

This brought a smile to my face. I could actually smell freshly baked bread in the cemetery.

I looked down at the grave where I stood but there was nothing to tell me who it belonged to. “Is this your grave?” I asked, pointing to the ground in front of me.

He replied in his musical voice and told me his name was Charles and that he had died in 1850 after suffering from Cancer. It was in his family. He delivered freshly baked bread for a living by horse and cart in Camden. “I had a bit of an eye for the ladies and they had an eye for me” he continued.

“I met Mrs Angela Bains, I did love her, she stole my heart, but she was too rich for my blood.”

Charles was such a happy soul. He must have been a great person in life as well as in death. It was a pleasure to have spoken with him.

I moved on and immediately a form of a languid female appeared before me. She had straight black hair and was very pretty. “They had a choice to either save me or the baby, I’m glad they saved my baby” she said.

I asked her for her name to which she gladly informed me it was Mary Ellen. She passed over in 1929 and was only 30 years old. She described how she was bleeding heavily during childbirth and if they had pulled the baby out she would have lived but the baby would have died.

I asked her what happened to her child. She said “When the baby was born, it was deformed”.

After her husband Oliver, buried her, he put the baby in a home and moved away to Portsmouth where he secured a job loading cargo onto ships. Mary embroidered and sold her work for a living, her husband who was away for weeks on end, worked as a porter on the trains. I thanked her for taking the time to communicate with me and blessed her.

I felt so sad for her but sensed that she was happy with the choice that was made for her in choosing to save the baby’s life instead of hers.

I continued with my walk and came upon an area in the cemetery that looked very bleak. It started to rain and the weather became overcast so I took shelter under the trees. Whilst waiting for the showers to subside, I was beginning to feel uneasy, although I was reluctant to move away from the shelter.

I felt a presence but could see nothing around me. Then I heard a deep gravelled voice: “I enjoyed it, I’m the Carver”

Immediately I asked for protection from my guides and recited the Lords Prayer. I felt uneasy and sensed an evil entity around me. I could feel a burning sensation on my stomach. I opened my shirt and noticed a few red marks developing on my skin. I asked my guide to make him go away immediately.

Maggie (my guide) informed me that this spirit's father had died when he was very young. Although his father had passed on, he still lived alone with his mother. She was not a loving parent and would lock him away in the cellar. When she allowed him out she would beat him up and treated him like an animal.

As he grew up he became a misogynist and wanted to kill pregnant women. He killed 4 women and a man and truly believed they were whores regardless of whether they were married or not.

One pregnant woman was walking in the park with her husband, hand in hand and because they were together The Carver felt that he should kill them both.

He would buy meat from the Butchers shop and practice slashing it with a big knife. I now realised why he called himself The Carver. He was totally crazy! He died when he was 55-60 years old in 1870. I could not get a name for this man and to be honest I was not going to try.

After hearing all this I wanted to leave the cemetery and started walking towards the exit.

My friend who was with me veered off up a slope to take a photograph of a site that appeared to be interesting and on her way back, I could see the spirit of a woman with her hand on my friends shoulder carefully coming back down the slippery steep slope.

She seemed lost and was glad to see me, and without hesitation tried to communicate with me, but I could not understand her. She appeared to be dumb. She was making noises but at this point I could not make out what she was trying to say. I asked my guide for help as I desperately wanted to know why she came forward.

My guide told me her name was Eleni (Helen).

Her husband whose name was Morris went to Greece and brought her back with him in order to marry her. She was walking around searching for her children. They were taken away from her in 1880 by her husband, after he threw her out onto the streets. Her husband went out after they argued about what to call their son.

She wanted to call him Alexi and he insisted on calling him Louis. He returned home drunk, knocked her out and when she regained consciousness to her shock and horror she realised that he had cut her tongue out with a knife. When I heard of the gruesome deed I was horrified and realised why she could not talk to me.

I asked her how she survived when she was on the streets. I was informed that she begged for money from strangers to buy food. Unfortunately she only survived for 18 months on the streets before she died of pneumonia at the age of 33. Her parents who lived in Greece were totally unaware of her predicament and she had no means of getting in touch with them.

This poor wretched woman was definitely a lost and forgotten soul.

I asked my guides to help her and take her to the light so that she could be reunited with her children once again. Her face lit up at the mention of her children and she went willingly as she was led by the hand towards the light.

It was a very moving experience to witness and to know that she had passed over to the other side. The next day I asked my guide if she managed to meet up with her lost children and was assured that this was the case.

We should never underestimate ourselves, all the lives we have had on earth and the life as a soul, all add up to our wisdom. It is our own wisdom and knowledge we tune into for inspiration. We connect with our soul which is a record of all our experiences from our beginnings.

It was obvious to me that Eleni was a young soul who was not aware that she should go towards the light after death or that she could see her children once again.

Remember, next time you go to the Cemetery to visit your loved ones you will be surrounded by many spirits wishing to convey their messages of love, emotion and heartache. Stand there, close your eyes and listen with your ears and feel the emotions around you. Take a few moments and send your loving thoughts to them.

“We may be forgotten but our spirit lives on”
(Margret Simpson – Spirit guide)