TWISTED

Is anybody there?

Joyce McGonnagle, although now aged 94 and living in a twilight home for the bewildered on the south coast of England, was once feted in Psychic circles. She fell out of favour in 1952 following the infamous “ghost pigeon” scandal, but is still remembered for her startling predictions, becoming briefly known in the 1940′s as Nostradamus in a petticoat.

However closer examination of these predictions, have left room for some doubt. For instance she claimed she foresaw the rise of Hitler and the Nazis and a cataclysmic world war, although that claim was made in 1946. When this was pointed out to her she had an explanation for this inconvenient fact, stating she actually predicted it in 1932 when still a child, but the letter she wrote to the London Psychical Phenomenon Society containing the prediction, got lost in the post.

Her assertion that she foresaw the destruction of two mighty towers, were on further examination, actually predictions about the Eifel Tower and the Leaning Tower of Pisa, which she said would both fall on the same day, following earthquakes. Her last public utterances were in 2010 when she predicted that one day man would walk on the moon, there would be a female British Prime Minister and a Black President in the White house. No one had the heart to tell her.

But now she is back and claiming that the dead, far from being silent are regularly sending her messages from the beyond. She also claims to have a spirit guide who channels these messages, a Red Indian named “Little Chopper”. No one quite knows how he came by that name, but it is believed not to be a reference to his war axe. He never produced any off-spring and may have been a comedian or tribe jester, as apparently all the squaws used to laugh when they saw him heading their way. He died at the battle of The Little Bighorn. Irony writ more than large I think. Aah the mysteries of indigenous folklore I guess we’ll never know the full story, unless Joyce asks him of course.

Anyway, through necessarily clandestine means I have obtained some of these other wordly communications, and will post some of them for your amazement and entertainment. I will leave you to ponder whether you think they are genuine life after death communications or merely fantasy and wishful thinking.

Apart from receiving Psychic tweets from the dead, Joyce McGonnagle also holds more traditional seances. These are conducted in her room at Wanderingmind acres, her care home for the bewildered in Eastbourne. I have been able to obtain a tape of one such seance conducted recently and I will reproduce it for you here, to judge for yourself whether you believe in her powers.

To set the scene let me describe the venue and atmosphere.

The small room is illuminated by one flickering candle. On the gramophone a crackling old vinyl album is playing the song Cherry Ripe. Present in the room is Joyce, an eldely retired Major, Norbert Grant OBE. and Noreen Smee-Phipps Tucker, a retired member of the diplomatic service. Standing by the door is Joyce’s assistant, Prince Mphulama (Sonny) Mandongo, he is actually an orderly at the home and called Sonny by everyone apart from from Joyce who insists on calling him by his full name and title, but omitting the Sonny.

The recording.

‘I am addressing the spirit world by channeling my psychic powers through my spirit guide, Little Chopper, he is near I can smell him. Oh Little Chopper will you channel me through to the spirit world ohh,ohhh please channel me now.’

‘How’

‘Don’t worry he always says that, a little joke between us. Red Indians have a strange and rather ironic sense of humour.’

‘Is anybody there?’

‘Yes’

‘What is your name?’

‘Norbert;’

‘That is a coincidence, for in this very room we have a Norbert, perhaps your message from the afterlife is for him?’

‘What is your surname?’

‘Grant OBE’

‘Look, we are here to conduct a psychic reading, perhaps reveal a manifestation or open a portal to the mystic plain, so please be quiet Major Grant.’

‘Sorry.’

‘Is anybody there?’

‘Yes’

‘Aah a female spirit. What is your name?’

‘Noreen Smee-Phipps Tucker.’

For fuck’s sake, put the lights on please Prince Mphulama Mandongo and get these two old buffoons out of here, and make sure they have both paid the agreed fee before they leave.

The tape ends.

Hmm food for thought I think you’ll agree.