Fifty Years a Medium – Chapter 13, 12/13 by Estelle Roberts

Looking back, I realize what a sad and tragic moment this must have been for “Polly.” Her son, Ronald, a brilliant young man with a distinguished parliamentary career before him, had shortly before been killed in action. Meanwhile her younger son, Tony, was reported missing. There was, however, reason to believe that Tony had not been killed but was a prisoner-of-war and, mother-like, Polly clung heroically to this hope.

These were the circumstances which led to Polly’s visit to me. For the details of our sitting I quote Barbara Cartland’s own account:

There was still no news of Tony. Polly had written to every Lincolnshire man who was a prisoner; she was in constant touch with the Red Cross; and Jim Thomas, at the War Office, was doing everything possible – but they could learn nothing definite. There was still hope – in fact several men wrote that they had heard that Captain Cartland had been taken a prisoner.

Perhaps – Polly thought – he was wounded, too ill to write. She would lie awake at night hearing the roar of the German aeroplanes overhead and torturing herself with visions of Tony in hospital, Tony being badly treated, Tony unhappy and in pain.

Barbara begged her to go and see a clairvoyant. She had been to a medium who was absolutely certain that Tony was on “the earth plane,” as she put it.
“She says he is in a German hospital,” Barbara related. “But do go to one yourself. It will be much clearer with you because you are his mother.”

Polly was persuaded and made an appointment with Estelle Roberts, the famous medium, who had astonished many sceptics by her amazing powers. She lived at Esher. Polly did not give her own name – she made the appointment as a Mrs. Hamilton.

Estelle Roberts received her in a charmingly furnished, flower-filled sitting room with windows opening on to the garden. They sat down in armchairs opposite each other and talked for a moment of the weather and the journey from London. Suddenly Mrs. Roberts said:

“You have come to consult me about your sons – they are both here beside me.”
“Not both,” Polly said quickly, “One is a prisoner.” Estelle Roberts shook her head.

“No, they are together. The youngest one – he is wearing a button-hole – tells me that he was killed the day before his brother. Now they are both talking together; they have so much they want to say to you.”