‘Not Yet, Not Yet’

Lamp

If precognition is an individual experiencing a forewarning of things yet to pass, what of those times when the warning seems to come from an outside agency?

Many people believe in the idea that there is some greater force watching over us, a force that is capable of intervening with our lives. Indeed, unscrupulous individuals posing as mediums, psychics and soothsayers have had great success over the years in separating people from their money on the pretence of communicating with said force.

But modern examples of such supernatural intervention are few and far between.

But not unheard of.

PubEpping

8th May 2015

Robert Bilson is a tall, middle-aged gentleman, with a wide smile and hair the colour of snow. He is currently employed as an administrator for the NHS, but twenty years ago he worked for a different branch of the civil service.

We meet in the George & Dragon pub in Epping. After apologising profusely for his lateness, even though it was a mere ten minutes, we take a seat at a table in the old games room. Over a pint or two of real ale, Mr Bilson shares his memories of an event that occurred just over two decades ago.

‘I was working for the Revenue at the time, in their old offices in South Norwood. I think they used to be army barracks or something. They certainly felt like it. The building was pretty cramped, lots of interconnected rooms that always smelt like damp. We called it ‘the Labyrinth’.

‘I used to stay behind after everyone else had gone. I’d just been through a pretty bad break-up at the time, I’ll spare you the gory details, but I liked the peace and quiet. It let me get things done.

‘One night, I think it was a Tuesday, I was working away, typing up some records, when I noticed a sound. It was strange. Whenever I typed, I could hear the clacking of keys. Not just mine, but sort of ‘underneath’ mine, if that makes any sense. It sounded like it was coming from down the corridor, but I couldn’t get a handle on it, as it only seemed to happen when my fingers were on the keyboard.

‘I started thinking it was just an echo. But there was something different about that sound. Every few seconds there was a muffled ‘ding’ and then, like a sliding sound.

‘I recognised it. It’s the noise the carriage bell return on a typewriter makes.

‘I didn’t know anyone in the building who used one of those. But, like I said, it was an old office, and there were some eccentric types that worked there. I figured it was one of the older members of staff. People like what they like, I guess. Old habits and all that.

‘I carried on with my reports, maybe another hour or so, the muffled ding on the typewriter carrying on as well.

‘When I packed my things up, I realised I was going to have find whoever this other person was who was working late and let them know that they’d have to lock up.

‘I did a circuit of the whole building and could not find another soul. Perhaps they’d snuck out? I thought it was a little rude that they’d not said anything, but oh well.

‘As I went to the front door I passed one of the offices that were just off the main corridor. It was dimly lit, but I’m sure, absolutely sure, that I saw someone in there.  It was a guy in a pinstripe suit and a bowler hat. He had his back to me and he seemed to be on the phone.

‘I only caught a glimpse of him, because I was walking quite quickly and hadn’t expected to see anyone. I stepped back, did like a double take, but the room was empty.

‘I turned the light on, but nope. Not a soul to be seen. And the other weird thing? There was no phone in that room, not even a socket in the wall for one.’

These types of sighting are not uncommon. Indeed, there is an argument that certain buildings can retain a memory of the souls that dwell within them, and that an individual’s routine, if repeated often enough, can somehow leave an imprint on the very surroundings, an imprint that can be played back if certain conditions are met. But these imprints are just recordings; capable of being replayed, but incapable of interaction.

But what happened next in South Norwood argues against that idea in this instance.

Mr Bilson continues.

‘I’ll admit I was a little spooked, so I locked up and got out of there sharpish. I got in my car and drove out of the car park.

‘Now the end of the road that the office was on was known for being badly lit. A lamppost had been knocked down a few years ago and had never been replaced, and it was pretty dark that night.

‘As I slowed down at the end of the road, getting ready for the turn, I heard a voice, a male voice, clear as a bell. It sounded like it was right in my ear.

‘It said ‘not yet, not yet’. 

‘I froze. The car came to a dead stop and I just sat there, gripping the wheel.

‘Suddenly, in front of me, a big black van with no lights screamed past, tyres squealing, the lot.

‘I didn’t recognise the voice, and I had no idea where it came from. But I know this: if it hadn’t spoken, if I hadn’t stopped and had just carried on going, that van would’ve taken me out completely. I’d be dead.

‘I’ll tell you something else too. I don’t believe in ghosts, or angels or spirits. But something or someone saved my life that night.’ 

Mr Bilson says he worked late in that same building many nights after that. He never heard the clacking of the typewriter or saw the shade of the man in the pinstripe suit and bowler hat ever again.

But he was always sure to stop at the end of that particular road and double check it was clear, even after the broken streetlamp was finally replaced.

Stop

Is it possible that Mr Bilson somehow unknowingly picked up on the danger around him – the lack of light, the sound of the van approaching, even the vibration of the vehicle through the earth itself – and some part of his subconscious manifested the voice to warn him?

This is not unheard of, and the fact the words sounded directly in his ear rather than coming from somewhere else lends weight to this idea.

However, this theory does not explain the sound of the typewriter that Mr Bilson heard, nor the figure he briefly glimpsed in the dark office just before he left.

Mr Bilson did note that the building always had a damp smell, and it is not unknown for the spores of certain types of toxic mould to have psychoactive effects. Studies recently undertaken at Clarkson University in New York at least suggest this is possible, although it is interesting to note that I could find no record of any other incidents of this nature occurring in or around the premises.

Typewriter

Whoever the mysterious individual with the penchant for typewriters was, perhaps more than just his routine remained behind in the building. Perhaps part of his soul lingered there too, keeping an eye out for the staff that stayed behind after hours.

Whatever the explanation, something unusual occurred that dark night in South Norwood, and, whatever it was, it saved Mr Bilson’s life on that particularly gloomy evening.

Dr Thomas Gotobed 

‘Spooky Action at a Distance’

Swirl

Precognition is a curious thing, defined as a forewarning, or even a memory, of events that have not yet come to pass. There are many examples dotted through history of individuals somehow briefly opening a window through time and peering into the future.

In April 1912, one Anne Ward, a maid for the wealthy Cardeza family, refused to board the doomed ship the RMS Titanic with her employers, claiming she’d experienced a dream the night before foretelling a terrible tragedy. The Cardezas went on without her. History records in detail how that journey ended.

Famed British Prime Minister Winston Churchill is also believed to have had such an experience one evening during the Blitz. Apparently Churchill ordered his staff to ‘put dinner on a hot plate in the dining room’ and then head down to the air raid shelter. Shortly afterwards, a bomb struck the house, completely destroying the kitchen.

Even President Abraham Lincoln is said to have seen his own assassination in a dream, although he was powerless to prevent it.

Now, it is entirely possible that stories were just mundane events that have become twisted and exaggerated through the lens of time. However, it is also possible that these examples are just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, and only remembered because of the famous individuals and events involved. Perhaps many similar things have been experienced by so called ‘regular’ people, and these events, due to their nature, go unreported.

I recently had the good fortune to be introduced by an acquaintance to a very credible witness to such an event, one Dr James Hancock.

Trees

May 11th 2014

I meet Dr Hancock in a busy wine bar at Heathrow Airport. A highly respected heart surgeon, he is on his way to a conference in Geneva, and London is just a stopover. Although he is understandably tired from the first leg of his journey, I find him to be pleasant company.

A serious and sober individual, he comes across as highly intelligent, and not someone who would let his imagination get the better of him.

We both agree that a bar in an airport is not the best place to discuss such matters as what he experienced one day on the winding, wooded roads of California ten years ago, but discuss them we do.

The following is his account.

‘It was 2004, springtime, spring break actually, and I was in my last year of medical school. Aneek, my girlfriend at the time, was desperate to do one of the famous American road trips, so we decided to travel from Three Rivers all the way to Fresno, following a route that her Uncle had recommended to us. We’d hired a vintage Oldsmobile for the journey, a real beautiful ride, and the first day was plain sailing all the way. 

We stopped off at one of the state parks and had a great afternoon just looking around. It truly was breath-taking. We camped there that night then hit the road again the next day.

We’d agreed to take turns driving. That afternoon, Aneek was behind the wheel and I was in the passenger seat. It was a bright day, real sunny, and we were headed down a small winding road through the woods, these amazing giant trees on either side of us.

We’d been arguing the previous day over which radio station to listen to. Nothing serious. It was kind of a running joke by that point. Aneek liked the oldies stations, but I wanted to listen to something a bit more up to date, you know. A Smokey Robinson song had been on, and it was just coming to an end.

I remember the last line clearly. ‘Cause I’m really sad…’’

He rather quietly and flatly sings those words.

‘As it faded out, I reached for the dial to switch the station.

Then it happened.’

What happened?

‘One moment I was awake, and then suddenly everything felt different. The only way I can describe it is that it was like I was in a dream. Everything had this weird sheen to it, like a shimmer. No, that’s not the best way to describe it. I’m not sure I know the best way. Do you know when oil sits on water? All the surfaces I could see, the dash, the windshield, even the road outside, they all looked like that, almost glistening in the sunshine. Glossy, I guess. 

That’s not an ideal description, but it’s the best I’ve got. As I’ve said, everything felt like a dream.

I watched as a car came speeding ‘round a bend up ahead, too fast to stop. Then it hit us, head on.

Then I was outside the car, above it, looking down. I watched in slow motion as the two cars collided and crumpled like cardboard. There were two teenage boys in the other car, and the one on the passenger side came flying through the windshield. I watched the driver’s head slam into the steering wheel. The front of our car buckled. The impact was so great it caused the steering column of the Oldsmobile to slam into Aneek’s chest and head, and I watched as the whiplash effect caused my neck, the neck of the version of me below me, however you want to put it, to snap forward and back again real violently. A similar thing happened to the driver of the other car.

I saw it all, in horrific detail, even though it was just a split second. There was blood everywhere, and I knew, I just knew, that all four of us, Aneek and me, the two kids, we were all a goner. Done for. 

Suddenly I was back in the car, in the passenger side, listening to that last line of the Smokey Robinson fade away again.

‘Cause I’m really sad…’’

He sings those words again, but quieter this time.

‘Everything was back to normal. The weird sheen had gone.

I shouted at Aneek to pull over. She was scared, but she didn’t argue. Just as we were coming to a stop, a car, the same car that I had just seen, came tearing ‘round the corner. There were two teenage lads in the front, struggling to keep control as they took the bend.

They just missed us.

 It took a while for Aneek to calm down. Hell, it took me a while to calm down. She kept asking me how I knew to stop, but I couldn’t explain it. It took me a while to put it into words.

We found a motel that night and travelled home the next day.

I’m aware of how all this sounds.

I’ve never experienced anything like that ever again.

And I’m not a lunatic. Trust me. ’

I tell him that this is exactly the kind of thing a lunatic might say.

He glares at me for a moment before breaking into a broad grin and pouring himself another glass of wine.

Ripple

I found Dr Hancock to be most convincing, and it is obvious that something happened to him that sunny Californian evening. Did he somehow foresee the grisly fate that awaited him on that winding back road? Was there some unknown force at work that decided he should be given a chance to avert that fate? Or is it possible that the ramifications of certain major events in a person’s life can somehow echo both forward and backwards through time, like ripples in a pond, travelling outwards in all directions?

The quantum theory of physics does seem to suggest that it may at least be possible for time to run in more than one direction.

Perhaps future research will reveal Einstein’s famed spooky action at a distance to be even spookier than we presently imagine.

Dr Thomas Gotobed 

I must admit that I’m struggling to get my head ’round this a bit, physics was never my strong point at school. The good doctor has mentioned time travel before, but I suspect that this is something different. 

I’m actually looking up heart surgeons in the US by the name of Dr Hancock. If I can find the right guy, maybe he can shed some light on Dr Gotobed’s whereabouts. Fingers crossed! – C.R.