Wendy Marston - How I Proved Life After Death

HOW I PROVED LIFE AFTER DEATH

HOW I PROVED LIFE
AFTER DEATH

Wendy Marston

Book Guild Publishing

Sussex, England

First published in Great Britain in 2015 by
The Book Guild Ltd
The Werks
45 Church Road
Hove, BN3 2BE

Copyright Wendy Marston 2015

The right of Wendy Marston to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher or the author, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This book is a work of non-fiction based on the life, experiences and recollections of the author. In some cases names of people and places have been changed solely to protect the privacy of others. The author has stated to the publishers that, except in such minor respects not affecting the substantial accuracy of the work, the contents of this book are true.

The author and publishers do not dispense medical advice or assume responsibility for any health issues or actions discussed in this book. The advice of a medical doctor should always be sought regarding any medical condition.

Typesetting in Times by
Nat-Type, Cheshire

Printed in Great Britain by
CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

A catalogue record for this book is available from
The British Library.

ISBN 978 1 909984 74 5
ePub ISBN - 978 1 910508 42 8
Mobi ISBN - 978 1 910508 43 5

I would like to dedicate this book to Janice. Without your message from the spirit world I would never have put pen to paper.

Contents

London

If I hadnt accidentally locked myself in my bedroom all day, I may never have proved life after death.

It was 1965, and the place to be in the 1960s was said to be London. I shared a top-floor maisonette in Belsize Park with three other girls. We were a motley crew. Diane, slim and blonde, was a northern lass from the Lake District, who played hockey in her spare time. She was really the leader of the pack, freshly out of university and working in the Green Park area. Sophie was slim with short dark hair, and was brought up in France. She was the feisty one in the house, as the milkman found out to his cost when he was inconsistent with the milk deliveries. Margaret was short, not fat, but more rounded than the other two. Her hair was cut in a short bob which suited her, and she was so well turned out she always looked neat and sweet. We all worked in various office jobs. I was regarded as the lucky one, as I worked for a firm of solicitors in the City.

Our accommodation was spread over the top two floors of an elderly end of terrace house. All the houses were in rows, back to back, and it was very much flat-dwellers territory in those days. It was winter time, and all the other girls had left for work. As I didnt start work until ten oclock I had the last turn in the bathroom and, to keep the bedroom warm, shut the bedroom door while I dressed. On this particular day when I was ready for work, I pulled the door handle down to open the door, and then snap, I was left with the handle in my hand, and the door firmly shut. The door had been needing a good tug to get it to open for some time, but being young we hadnt reported it to the landlord, or given it a second thought.

I stared at the door for a minute or two, trying to come up with one of my cunning plans, but nothing I tried seemed to work. I tried fiddling the lock with a metal comb, trying to hook things through the little gap between the door and the floor, and then finally charging at the door with a chair. It was so tightly stuck in the frame that nothing I did would make it budge. I looked out of the window at the back of the building, I opened it and tried yelling Help! but everyone around had left for work long ago. I had no next-door neighbours as we were on the end of the terrace, and our own staircase was on the other side of the room. I contemplated knotting strips of sheet together, and lowering myself to the ground, but one look at the long drop to the ground made me realise that could end in disaster.

In those days we didnt have the luxury of mobile phones, and in the bedroom no landline phone, and certainly no television or radio. I knew Margaret would be the first one home at six oclock that evening, so I had to face the fact I was in for a thirsty, hungry, boring day. I looked at the wardrobe, and my chest of drawers, and decided I would give them a good old turn out. I took everything out, and began to rearrange things to keep my mind occupied, and away from thoughts of lovely cups of steaming hot coffee!

In a far corner I found a rather tatty paperback book. I cant remember the title, but I think it was written by a medium called Ena Twigg. I snuggled underneath my bed covers, and spent most of the day reading the book. That was the first seed that was firmly planted in my head about the Spirit World. It didnt answer all the questions I had kept asking the vicar at confirmation classes about what people did in heaven all day, but it did start me on a whole new train of thought.

Margarets key turned in the lock at six oclock and I have never been so grateful to hear that sound as I was that day. I started shouting, Margaret, Margaret, let me out! and banging my fist on the door. I was like a wild animal. I couldnt stop to explain to a poor bemused Margaret as I raced past her to get to the kitchen. I can remember opening a tin of mushroom soup at speed, and putting it in a pan on the gas hob. Mushroom soup had never tasted so good. Diane and Sophie came home, and the story of my imprisonment was met with howls of laughter.

The next day I had to face my boss, and all my office colleagues. The laughter started all over again. Colleagues told me how worried they had been, because they knew it wasnt like me: they knew I always phoned if I was ill.

One by one people were coming up to me saying, How did you manage without a toilet for a whole day?

My answer to that was, Next time you buy a waste paper bin, dont buy one of those basket type ones, make sure you get a tin one!

After lunch that day, and having relived the drama with the other girls in the office, I returned to my desk. There on my typewriter was a bar of very dark chocolate. It had a little note on it from my long-suffering boss, Mr Murrell, and it read Wendys Iron Ration.

My office was in the Chamber of Shipping building, and the solicitors I worked for were known as shipping solicitors. We shared the building with various other companies all connected with shipping.

At that time the secretarial team was made up of a couple of spinster ladies, a couple of older married ladies, and then there were about five of us young girls. The youngest, and most angelic-looking one of us, had short blonde hair and pale, very beautiful white skin. Named Geraldine she lived at home with her parents, and spent her weekends immersed in Salvation Army activities. She would often show us photos of herself wearing her Salvation Army bonnet, which she wore when attending meetings with other members of her family. Her face just screamed innocence.

We didnt have any kind of rest room, or kitchen, or indeed in those days not even a coffee machine. We were allowed a short break mid-morning to pop round the corner to the local coffee shop. We had our fairly regular times for walking round in little groups, and most of us younger girls, if we were not taking dictation, would walk round together.