Fifty Years a Medium – Chapter 11, 6/12 by Estelle Roberts

Later Mrs. Manning assured me that this was true. Often, in her grief, she would take her daughter’s photograph, kiss it and talk to it. Bessy, to show that she knew what was happening in her own home, said to her mother: “You were telling Father about his boots this morning, weren’t you, Ma?”

“That is quite right,” replied Mrs. Manning.
“You said they wanted mending, didn’t you, Ma?”
“I understand what you mean Bessy,” was the answer.

“My Ma, I called her Ma,” said Bessy. In repeating Bessy’s words to enable the stenographer to record them verbatim, I thought that Bessy once said “Mother.” She instantly corrected me by saying “Ma,” which was her usual greeting for her mother.

More evidence followed as Bessy referred to the beads that her mother was wearing, saying that these were once her property, and that she had worn them before she died. This, I later learned, was accurate.

“It was a big shock for you when Tommy was killed,” were Bessy’s last words to her mother. Red Cloud followed and said, “She brought the boy, Tommy, with her.” Then, as he so often did, he slipped another item of evidence into his next sentence: “Tommy is named after his father.”

When the séance was over, Mrs. Manning was weeping, but they were tears of joy, not sorrow. “I am the happiest woman in the world,” she said.

The following morning, before she returned to Blackburn, Estelle Roberts gave Mrs. Manning a private sitting at which, I later learned, Bessy continued to prove her identity with detail after detail, none of which the medium could have known. She sent messages to other members of the family, and one to her fiancé. “Tell Billy,” she said, “that I still remember the ring he sent me – the one I wore when I was buried.”

A few days later, Mrs. Manning sent me this letter, doubtless so that I could have her own testimony:
“I am writing this for the comfort of others, knowing I shall be ridiculed by some, laughed at by a few, but blessed by many. My only son, whom I adored, was killed by a motor. He was a dear little chap, who loved me very dearly. I was frantic – utterly crushed. I lost all hope. All my ambitions lay buried in his grave.

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