A Tale of two lives.

Annabella’s  and George's Story.

This story was from a past life regression with Angela Coote, held on 31^st. August 2007. I was taken through a relaxation meditation, then as I became more deeply relaxed, I was asked to imagine being in a large archive room or library.

This library seemed to have hundreds and thousands of books on shelves. Some were sectioned by each century. I came to a section without dates. I started to look for a book with my name on it. I found a large heavy book, that needed me to use both hands to move it. It was approximately 12 inches in length, and about 3 inches or more in depth. It had a black spine, the cover being brown leather. My name was written in gold down the spine. The writing looked handwritten, rather than typed.

I placed this large book on a table and started to read it. There were photographs of my current life. As I continued looking through the pages, the photographs became unfamiliar.

I started looking at a photograph of a rural scene. It appeared in sepia tones, or black and white. There were trees at the edge of a field. The trees were “wind-blown” or stunted and they all appeared to point in a similar direction.

There were large haystacks in the field, with ladders against them. Genteel ladies wearing Edwarian clothes and with parasols sat on blankets. It was a social event, something like a harvest picnic, or Sunday school outing. I feel we are some where in Colchester.

I’m holding a lady’s hand. Her name is Edwina. I think she is my nursemaid or nanny. Either she is tall or I’m very small. Edwina is wearing dark colours, with a long skirt, boots with buttons and a white shirt. I’m wearing a white dress and pinafore. I think my name is Annabella, Edwina calls me Bel, which I like.

I am very unwell and have been poorly for some time. I’m holding a small brown teddy bear with one ear. I think the teddy belonged to my brother Isac I also have a small doll. It has a china head, hands and feet, with a soft body. Her face is painted and she has dark hair.

I’m about two or three, I’m not able to count candles on a cake yet.

I’m back at home, some time has passed. I’m in a big high bed with a brass bedstead. The room has high ceilings, with big windows. There are long dark curtains either side of the two windows. A fire is lit in the room I can see big flames in the fireplace. I can hear a crackling sound every now and again.

My father is there. Daddy is tall with dark hair and a wide moustache. Mummy is sitting by the fire sewing. She’s crying , although I think she’s trying not to.

I’m very hot. Sweat is pouring off me. Edwina is bathing me with a cloth. More blankets are added to the ones already over me. I feel like there is a big weight on me. I have been coughing, my throat is sore and my head hurts.

I am surrounded by an intense bright white light. Hands take mine and lead me through the light. There is no fear, I feel pure emotion and joy.

I’m aware tears are pouring down my face, but I’m not able to move my hands.

The next thing, I seem to be back in the room with the many books. I continue looking at the book that I was previously looking at.

I stop at another sepia tinted photo. This one is of an old fashioned shoe shop. The sign says “Finnegan’s Shoe Repairs and quality Shoes” There is another sign outside the shop shaped like a lady’s Victorian boot. I feel that I am somewhere in or near Manchester. There is a man outside the shop. He is smiling. He has a stocky build. His hair is receding. It is brown and greased  back. He is wearing an off white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He is wearing a brown leather apron.

The man’s name is Albert. He is in his late fifties. He originally inherited the shop from his father, who passed over twenty years ago. Albert looked after his mother – my sister, until she died. Albert has worked in this shop for many years. He lives in a room above the shop. This place is his whole life. I don’t think he has ever travelled more than ten miles from here.

Albert has never been able to read. He is very well versed in what is going on in the area and knows all the comings and goings of the local people.

When people come to either buy shoes or have theirs repaired,  Albert has a tea ritual. There is a big copper kettle on a range at the back of the shop, behind a curtain. Albert would make people feel welcome, then he would make them a cup of tea in exchange for news of what was happening in the world.

I’m Albert’s uncle George. I’m 78 or there abouts. I pass the time with Albert regularly. He is like a son to me and is also the only living relative left. I walk with a stick. I have arthritis in both hands. They are big, wrinkled hands that are very knobbly, with deformed fingers.

 I was a farriar. I shoed horses for many years. “Hosses were my life. All that bloody banging were what did for me hands.”

I’m wearing long, thick trousers. My boots are heavy  with hob-nails. I wear a rough shirt and waist coat with a thick, dark jacket. I wear a flat cap and have a warm scarf wrapped around me neck.

“I am a widow. My wife Mary Elizabeth Brown were a farm lass. I met her when she brought animals – pigs and chickens to market. I lived near the market. She brought her hoss to me to have it’s shoes done. She were lovely, my Mary was . We had two bairns  (babies). They both died when they were little, poor little beggars.”

Mary died a while ago, so now I spend most of my days with Albert. The area I live in is a very busy place. The houses are very close to each other. The streets and alleyways are narrow. We call this area “The Middens”. It is not a nice place , but the people who live there look out for each other.

I’m taken to the time of my passing. I think I’ve had a stroke, I can’t move my left side. I have difficulty in talking.

Bright white light surrounded me again. Mary was there. She looked just like she did when I met her. She looked lovely and was smiling at me, then took my hand. I was aware of crying, but no sadness, again an amazing sense of pure joy.

June Bentley-Mackay  13/04/11