Sally Morgan - Healing Spirits

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First published 2009

Copyright Sally Morgan, 2009

All rights reserved

The moral right of the author has been asserted

Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publishers prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

ISBN: 978-0-14-193110-4

PENGUIN BOOKS

Star of the popular ITV series Star Psychic and showbiz medium du jour, Sally Morgan is the countrys most accurate and respected psychic. Her memoir, My Psychic Life, was a Sunday Times top ten bestseller.

To spirit world for a lifetime of knowledge.

To Unc-Unc and Rita for a lifetime of love.

To Yvonne and Christine for a lifetime of friendship.

Thank you all especially Andrew, whose help, guidance and patience show me the way.

Not forgetting Penguin, thank you for allowing me to put my thoughts and spiritual adventures on paper. I am for ever grateful.

Youre one of those, arent you? she said. One of those people who see things? Her name was Pat, an Irish nurse who worked on the same ward as I did. She was a lovely woman, a brilliant nurse.

I was twenty-eight and working at the South London Hospital for Women, a very old hospital. Its no longer there, replaced by flats now, I think but it had started life as what they called a lying-in hospital. They dont have them these days, of course, but back in the 1800s when you had a baby you stayed in hospital for ten days, which was your lying-in period. Can you believe that? Nowadays, they turf you out five minutes after youve given birth. Then, you had almost two weeks in which to recover from your ordeal and you did it in a women-only environment, in these huge, cavernous, Victorian wards lined with steel beds; stern-looking matrons clip-clopping up and down dispensing rebukes quietness was insisted upon plus maybe the odd spoonful of castor oil here and there.

By 1979, it was different. There was no lying-in any more. No longer was the ward used to help ease new life into the world. Now, it was part of the oncology unit and women came here to live out their last moments, before they were taken by the cancer. It was still quiet on the ward, but for a different reason. Death has the effect of cloaking a place with stillness.

And it was quiet that day, too, as I arrived for my shift, taking over from Pat. I walked through the ward towards the nurses station at the far end. There, a curtain was drawn around one of the beds, and as I passed I suddenly had one of my knowings thats what I call them, my knowings and I realized I knew almost all there was to know about the person behind the curtain. I knew it was a woman, of course, but I found I had a sense of what she looked like, and of her name. Most of all I knew that she was close

Oh, really, very close. She had moments to live.

Id not long been working on the oncology ward. Because of my ability Id always had what you might call a close relationship with death; it didnt scare me. Id never seen anybody die before, though. Not right before my eyes.

I came to a halt in front of Pat, who looked up, a greeting on her lips, about to hand me the nurses report, which keeps you abreast of all thats going on in the ward. I didnt need to read the nurses report for this particular woman, though, I knew just what Pat would say, that

Shes about to die, I said to Pat, indicating the curtain.

She looked at me sharply, eyes narrowing. How do you know?

I always used to feel a certain way in those circumstances. A pride in my ability, plus a little embarrassment a sort of social embarrassment, I suppose. I dont feel it much any more, of course. But I used to, back then. I used to get it a lot.

I just do, I said (yes, feeling that familiar pride-embarrassment twinge), I just know.

Which is when she said, Youre one of those, arent you ?

Yes, I replied, yes, I suppose I am.

Pat nodded. She smiled slightly. I dont know whether she believed in what I do or not; after all, there are plenty who dont. But Pat was a nurse and along with poor rates of pay and a strong stomach, nurses have one thing in common: an open mind. You know why? Because nurses have seen everything. They have seen things that defy belief, that just dont make sense. Theyve witnessed tragedy and miracle in equal measure. Nurses dont scoff or sneer. They know far, far better than to do that.

Well, she said, Im afraid youre probably right. She was given her Bromptons in the early hours, not long after her family brought her in. Her name is Anne. Shall we take a look?

It wasnt castor oil that was dispensed on this ward any more. It was Bromptons Mixture. This is what they used to have in the old days, for the terminally ill. It was a morphine-based medicine that was administered to a dying patient on a spoon, a very, very strong dose of morphine, a fatal amount the idea being to gently ease the dying cancer patient into death. They called it Bromptons Mixture because it was made at the Royal Brompton Hospital, where it was invented in the 1920s for use on patients with tuberculosis. I dont think its used much nowadays.

With a swish, Pat drew back the curtain and we stepped inside. She turned to pull the curtain closed swish, swish screening us off from the rest of the ward. I got my first look at Anne. She lay, silent and still, on the bed, the sheet barely rising and falling as she breathed her very last breaths. Pat moved to one side of the bed, I moved to the other, so that we were on either side of her.

At the end of her bed sat a man. He looked at me and I at him.

Pat didnt see him, of course; he was in spirit. He was Annes husband, I knew.

I was about to learn something very, very important about the ways of death and of the spirit world.

Call me psychic, but I think I know why youre reading this book. Or one of the reasons at least. Because unless youve accidentally picked me up thinking Im the latest Harry Potter (and if you did then you might want to think about a trip to the optician), youll know a little bit about me. Im a medium. If you want to call me a psychic, go ahead and be my guest; medium, psychic, its all the same to me. But what it boils down to is this: I talk to the dead. And because of that I get asked one question more than any other. By clients, by those who come to my shows, by people who stop me in the street because they recognize me off the telly and, yes, by people who read my books.