The following words are from an internationally recognised Professor... one of many who requested I 'put pen to paper and share my unusual life story.'
"Yesterday I did nothing other than read... read your gripping, fascinating account of how you discovered your own psychic abilities and how you coped with those people who both rejected and (warmly) accepted you. In fact, I went to bed far too late, because I could not stop until I had finished reading the very last page.
If you ran away from school so much, how did you acquire this first-rate narrative ability?
Your capacity of story telling is quite extraordinary. Instance after instance is told in a most compelling manner, even (or especially?) when it concerns animals, such as the story of your relationship with the dog Tiger and his sad death by bait poisoning.
The ways in which you increasingly, throughout your life, have been able to open up to a Spirit dimension is both comforting and enviable to someone such as me who at times tried but failed. I am very pleased to learn that others, too, are hoping that you will make the grippingly told story of your exceptional talent and physical/spiritual experiences available to a large readership."
My last conversation with my Father might best explain my life and my qualification for writing the autobiography. Perhaps 'Gift' might be more appropriate.
"You have an amazing gift my Girl," said he with kindness, having spent the entire four days of Easter talking to family and friends, long since dead, outlined on a wall behind my shoulders! Talked and talked about 'his past' and a life I could not have known anything of. "Make sure you use it wisely."
Mother interrupted here and, with scathing tongue, said: "Just make sure none of 'our friends' know what you do! They might think we are peculiar too!" My Dad, nearly ninety five and not long to live, turned with sadness etched across his wise old face and said softly: "I should have left her in the gutter where I found her!"
