There is a Path

For much of my life, I have looked within and paused to seek the truth. I have wondered why there is so much greed. What is in the mind of the dictator? Why are there not more people working for peace and caring and sharing? Then I saw the path.

Donald Hatch

There is a Path

Copyright D o n a l d H a t c h The right of Donald Hatch to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers. Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library. ISBN 9781849632874 www.austinmacauley.com First Published (2013) Austin & Macauley Publishers Ltd. 25 Canada Square Canary Wharf London E14 5LB

Printed & Bound in Great Britain

CHAPTER ONE
The First Steps

Don Im here. The voice rang out loud and clear. There was no doubt in my mind, it came from someone or something present with me in the bedroom. I was startled, I knew there was someone present. I blew out the candle, jumped into bed and pulled the sheets over my head. Whatever it was I prayed it would go away, and indeed I heard no more that night. To set the scene, I was seventeen years old and had just changed into my pyjamas. As the lighting in my parents home was by gas, and that on the ground floor only, candles were used upstairs after dark. I was serving an apprenticeship as a joiner in Tilbury docks and the following day, when I arrived at work, I explained what had happened to the man I was working with. He was a kind and loveable man named Bill Wilson. He had part of one leg missing, yet I never heard him complain; I held him in great affection. He listened quietly to what I had to say, then told me to repeat my story to the man at the far end of the workshop. When the opportunity came, the foreman being out of sight, I approached this man and told him of my experience. He said, quite matter of factly, It was a spirit trying to contact you. I had met my first Spiritualist and although I dare not say so, I did not think much of his opinion. Some days passed, I can no longer remember how many, when arriving home from work one evening my mother met me as I opened the door. Tears were streaming down her

cheeks and when I saw my father in the same state, I felt that terrible sensation of loss that comes when we discover for the first time that our parents are also vulnerable and weak. She held out a telegram for me to read and as I looked down I understood the horror felt by so many at that time. We regret to inform you My brother Charlie had been killed in action on the 23rd March 1942, three days before his twentieth birthday. My parents hearts were shattered. They had prayed in vain, yet their second son was dead. My oldest brother was also in the services, having joined the Royal Navy before war started. Charlie had been a member of the Territorial Army and was called to active service as soon as war was declared. It is only with the maturing of the years and taking some of lifes hard knocks that has made it possible for me to understand what my parents went through. My dad took part in some of the terrible battles of the 1914-18 war and was himself wounded. I am sure he must have had many thoughts of horror of what could happen to his sons. Mum, with that great inner strength possessed by so many women in those and similar circumstances, must nevertheless have been torn apart as she watched her sons go to war. For myself, I just could not believe I would not see Charlie again. He was talented, had a good singing voice and was quite an athlete; everything a younger brother could look up to. I thought the world of my oldest brother too but he was just as tough as the Rock of Gibraltar. Life carried on, as it has to, as we struggled to come to terms with our loss in our different ways. Millions of course were going through similar experiences. What a waste, the darkest of shadows on the humanity of humankind. I did not grieve so much, I just felt numb, with a sense of disbelief that lasted a very long time.

Often my thoughts went back to the voice that called my name. Could it have been my brother? Was Reg Rowthorn, the man who told me it was a spirit, right? As a youngster I was brought up in the Church of England but talk of an afterlife, as I remember it, had been quite vague and wrapped up in a lot of conditions. I had, however, heard a voice, of that I had no doubt at all. But was it really Charlie? If it was, how could he speak to me? I had, the morning following my experience, told my parents what I had heard but they appeared uncertain and made little comment. However, after the news of my brothers death they asked me to tell them again and we talked of the possibility of life after death. Could it have been him? It was very difficult to be objective as grief clouded our thoughts. Some weeks later, certainly within two months of my brothers passing, events took a more dramatic turn. Mum and dad were in the habit, usually several times a week, of going out for an evening walk; often down to the River Thames, less than a mile away. I normally spent my evenings at home, I was an avid reader at the time, with Marx my Alsatian dog sitting quietly by my side. On one such occasion I heard the unmistakeable sound of crockery rattling in the adjoining kitchen. I put down my book and listened, thinking it might have been caused by a low flying aircraft, but I heard nothing. I got up and crossed to the kitchen door. As I opened it there was a loud clatter from the open dresser immediately to my right, which certainly made me jump. I turned the light on, stared at the dresser and looked around the room but everything appeared normal. There was no further disturbance that evening and after my initial curiosity I dismissed it from my mind. From that moment on, however, whenever I was alone under similar circumstances, the pattern would be repeated. If I opened the kitchen door it would stop. If I ignored it and carried on reading the clattering would sometimes last as long as twenty minutes. I noticed too, immediately before anything

started to happen, Marx would sit up with the hackles rising on the back of his neck. I was becoming unnerved and the reaction of my dog, who was supposed to be the fearless one, did not help at all. I had told my dad what was happening but he, being very down to earth, decided that there was a perfectly normal explanation. I suspect he also thought I had too vivid an imagination. Whatever he thought, there was soon reason for him to think again for they walked in one evening right in the middle of the disturbance. The sound stopped as I said, Dad its been happening again. Without a word he crossed to the kitchen door, opened it, and stepped back in surprise as there was a great burst of sound from the crockery on the shelves. From that moment something within my parents began to change. No other would have detected it but I sensed a feeling of hope; rather like a drowning man who had given up trying to save himself, seeing someone hurrying down the bank towards him. I think we all began to feel something very important had started to happen in our lives, that something outside of ourselves had taken a hand in our affairs. My mother was a lapsed Roman Catholic and my father a lapsed socialist. I believe they considered religion surplus to requirements, certainly as having no practical value, especially as they had brought up three children in the twenties when the nation was rich and the workers were poor.

THOUGHTS ON A LAKESIDE HILL

CHAPTER TWO
My Search Begins

I wondered if my local library had any books that would throw some light on the strange events that had come into my life. On the following Saturday I made my way to the library feeling very unsure of myself. I was helped by the person in charge after a rather confused, but obviously not too confusing, statement. I was led to a particular section and found there were just a few books that might be of use and soon saw a book written by Sir Oliver Lodge. It was titled Raymond and told the story of this scientists investigations after the death of his son who was killed in the 1914-18 war. I took the book home and settled down to a serious read and in the following days went over some statements a number of times. The author, as an eminent scientist, stated that he had had communication from his deceased son. He had sat with and tested a number of prominent mediums and was convinced of Raymonds intelligent survival of death. There was no question of my respect for this great man but I found it very difficult to believe, even after my own experiences, that following death we lived in another world and could communicate with those we had left behind. I discovered there was a church, The Grays Christian Spiritualist Church, several miles from where I lived and started attending the Sunday evening services. On occasions I received a message from the visiting medium but there was never any mention of my brother. However, I well remember when I was told of a Jewish person I had known. I denied the statement several times until the

demonstrator leaned forward towards me and said, Joey the Jew. I was astounded. I had forgotten the boyhood friend I had lived next to many years earlier in Dagenham. He had died in an accident but I was unaware of this fact until my oldest brother Arthur visited the family some time later. There were other similar incidents, which, as they accumulated and I kept notes of them, began to turn my mind to a possible acceptance of what I was being told. How could a medium, a stranger to me, know about my personal life, about relatives and friends, some passed and unknown to me? My parents were often able to verify these statements and so of course they too began to wonder. It is strange how what we often call coincidence occurs and makes someone wonder or perhaps take a second look. Mum and dad were returning home from London by train and were having a conversation with a man sharing their compartment. They told him they had lost a son in the war and he promptly gave them some facts that he could not have known and which touched them deeply. He also advised them to contact a medium in London whose name was Ronald Strong and told them his address. They made an appointment to see Mr Strong as soon as they could and were quite excited about the prospect. When the day came to travel to London I told them to give him no information whatsoever, not even the purpose of their visit and to take notes of what they were told. When they returned home that evening I could see by their faces how wonderful the sitting had been for them. We were to learn later how respected Ronald Strong was as a medium and how he helped and comforted so many people. He made the following statements: You have had son killed, he is telling me his name is Charlie. I see a bomb hitting a ship. He is holding up a pocket watch and saying how sorry he is that it is broken. He speaks of a brother who has something to do with aircraft. Also of a younger brother who is aware of his

presence. As he stands before me he is smiling and I can see a tooth missing in the front of his mouth. Many other things were said of course but it was the statements concerning my brother that really mattered to us and they were amazingly accurate. The name was correct. Charlie was an anti-aircraft gunner in the Royal Artillery and with a comrade manned a gun on the stern of a merchant ship. My father had given him a present of a pocket watch. I was certainly aware of the presence that made itself from time to time. Regarding the other items, confirmation came in due course. I was no longer at home when my brothers fellow gunner, who had survived, came to visit my parents. He told of how their ship, the Clan Campbell, which was in a convoy crossing the Mediterranean Sea, was sunk by enemy aircraft. Also that he had lost a tooth whilst in Alexandria just before they sailed on that last fateful voyage. My oldest brother, Arthur, as they learned later, had been posted to an aircraft carrier and had duties on the flight deck. If it is appreciated that the sitting my parents had with Ronald Strong took place during the war and he could not possibly have got the information from any other source, it adds up to good evidence of the survival of the human personality after death. But what form did that survival take, was the personality and intelligence a permanent part of that existence? My journey had only just begun but a framework appeared to be emerging, a standard against which I could measure my experiences and possible evidence. Most Saturday afternoons I would walk to Tilbury Riverside Station and catch the ferry to Gravesend, a town I loved to visit and wander around. It became a fairly common occurrence, whilst I was changing to go out, to mentally see someone I knew at a particular spot on the journey I would be taking. I was amazed and amused to meet this person exactly where I had seen them; it seemed some psychic ability was unfolding within me.

I made the decision to change the physical direction of my life and volunteered to join the Royal Marines; I was accepted and it was not long before I was posted to Lympstone barracks in Devon. After basic training I was sent to a camp on Dalditch Common. During the war years the Psychic News, the weekly Spiritualist newspaper founded and edited by Maurice Barbanell, would send, on request, to service personnel a parcel of psychic books. I duly applied and when they arrived I was overjoyed at the generosity. If I remember correctly I received eight books. I passed them around among my pals and they caused many a lively discussion. Many years later I had the pleasure of meeting Mr Barbanell. He opened the new Grays Spiritualist Centre in 1971 and I was able to remind him and thank him for that wonderful act. He himself was touched by the link it formed. There were occasions when I was serving overseas that I was able to describe places before we arrived at them. I remember walking with a friend along the main street in Kowloon, the mainland part of Hong Kong. The war of course had ended by then. I described to him what we would see around the corner when we arrived at the next turning and on the right and so it was. He used to call me an old witch, something I greatly resented as I was only twenty. With the passage of time and by the grace of someone or other my demob number came up and I sailed for England, home and a civilian life, which for a time was quite difficult to come to terms with.

Bird, bee, majestic tree, What formed your sinless symmetry? Is your purpose less than mine, Is your creator less divine? Is your expression less than mans, Or a different part of the same great plan? If the thought that gave you life Gave form to man, why the strife? Why the guilt, why the greed, Did not the creator create the need? In planning did he not provide, That all needs should be satisfied? What then separates you from me? But a thought born of disharmony. Born in pride, born in fear, Never when the mind is clear. Ego demanding I want to be, There the first loss of liberty. One day struggling man will see Deep within the golden key. Beyond the thought, beyond the mind, Beyond the striving the voice divine Will speak, Be still, be free, You already possess your harmony. If I am perfection why pray to me To change divine mans destiny? How can you serve if you know not the plan? Lest your service be from the outward man. Look within, and you will see My form, as in bird, bee, majestic tree.