Arthur & George

belt, he has a message – a woman, a mother, three children, one of them passed and is with her now – elderly gentleman bald head was a doctor not far from here a dark grey suit passed suddenly after a dreadful accident – a baby, yes, a little girl taken away by influenza she misses her two brothers Bob is one of them and her parents – Stop it! Stop it!’ – Mrs Roberts suddenly shouts, and with her arms outstretched seems to push back at the spirits crowding behind her – ‘There are too many of them, their voices are confused, a middle-aged man in a dark overcoat who spent much of his life in Africa – he has a message – there is a white-haired grandmother who shares your anxiety and wants you to know –’
    George listens to the crowd of spirits being given fleeting description. The impression is that they are all clamouring for attention, fighting to convey their messages. A facetious if logical question comes into George’s mind, from where he cannot tell, unless as a reaction to all this unwonted intensity. If these are indeed the spirits of Englishmen and Englishwomen who have passed over into the next world, surely they would know how to form a proper queue? If they have been promoted to a higher state, why have they been reduced to such an importunate rabble? He does not think he will share this thought with his immediate neighbours, who are now leaning forwards and gripping the brass rail.
    ‘– a man in a double-breasted suit between twenty-five and thirty who has a message – a girl, no, sisters, who suddenly passed – an elderly gentleman, over seventy, who lived in Hertfordshire –’
    The roll-call continues, and sometimes a brief description will draw a gasp from a distant part of the hall. The sense of anticipation around him is feverish and overwrought; there is also something fearful to it. George wonders what it must be like to be picked out in the presence of thousands by a departed member of your family. He wonders if most would not prefer it to happen in the privacy of a dark and curtained seance room. Or, possibly, not at all.
    Mrs Roberts goes quiet again. It is as if the competing babble behind and around her has also subsided for the moment. Then suddenly the medium flings out her right arm and points to the back of the stalls, on the other side of the hall to George. ‘Yes, there! I see him! I see the spirit form of a young soldier. He is looking for someone. He is looking for a gentleman with hardly any hair.’
    George, like everyone else with a view across the hall, peers intently, half expecting the spirit form to be visible, half trying to identify the man with little hair. Mrs Roberts raises her hand to shelter her eyes, as if the arc lights are interfering with her perception of the spirit form.
    ‘He looks to be about twenty-four. In khaki uniform. Upright, well built, a small moustache. Mouth droops a little at the corners. He passed suddenly.’
    Mrs Roberts pauses, and tilts her head downwards, rather as counsel might do when taking a note from the solicitor at his side.
    ‘He gives 1916 as the year of his passing. He distinctly calls you “Uncle”. Yes, “Uncle Fred”.’
    A bald-headed man at the back of the stalls rises to his feet, nods, and just as suddenly sits down, as if he is not sure of the etiquette.
    ‘He speaks of a brother Charles,’ the medium continues. ‘Is that correct? He wants to know if you have Aunt Lillian with you. Do you understand?’
    The man stays in his seat this time, nodding vigorously.
    ‘He tells me that there was an anniversary, the birthday of a brother. Some anxiety in the home. There is no need for it. The message continues –’ and then Mrs Roberts suddenly lurches forward, as if violently propelled from behind. She spins round and cries, ‘All
right
!’ She seems to be pushing back. ‘All
right
! I say.’
    But when she turns to face the arena again, it is clear that contact with the soldier has been broken. The medium places her hands over her face, fingers pressed against forehead, thumbs beneath her ears, as if trying to recover the necessary equilibrium. Finally, she takes her hands away and stretches her arms out.
    This time the spirit is of a woman, aged between twenty-five and thirty, whose name begins with a J. She was promoted while giving birth to a little girl, who passed over at the same time. Mrs Roberts is scanning the front of the arena, following the progress of a mother with a spirit