Ghost of a Smile. Memories From a Medium's Life.

By Fiona Roberts

During a childhood dominated by a sometimes violent father, whose unpredictable mood swings were fuelled by alcohol, Fiona Roberts took comfort from the knowledge that the Spirit World was watching. She knew it. She could see 'them'.
Her first encounter with a spirit person came at the age of four, when a 'woman in black' appeared in front of her.
This book will bring comfort to those who would like to believe that there is no death, and that they will one day be reunited with their loved ones, human or animal.
"There has never been a time in my life when I did not know that there is a life after death, and indeed a life before life.
I grew up knowing that - no one had to tell me.
And I grew up knowing that it is possible for those who now live on in the Spirit World to contact us here in the material world.
I cherish the contact that I have had, throughout my life, with 'the other side'."
Fiona Roberts
'Ghost of a Smile' has been an Amazon BESTSELLER for over a year.

'Voices' Memories From a Medium's Life' is now published. A longer book than 'Ghost of a Smile'; 'Voices' contains anecdotes and stories of ghostly encounters, and examples and explanations of some of the more common psychic and mediumistic manifestations, plus of course accounts of interesting and memorable readings.
Also by Fiona Roberts:
'A Beard In Nepal' and 'A Beard In Nepal 2'. Published as Ebooks and paperbacks by John Hunt Publishing. Also Amazon Bestsellers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fiona Roberts
• Release date: Dec 1, 2011
• ISBN: 9781466145702

Fiona Roberts

I live in the north of England with my wonderful husband Tod.When I'm not working or writing, Tod and I grow vegetables, fruit and flowers on our allotments, and travel as much as we can.We recently returned to the village of Salle, high in the Everest Region of Nepal for a wonderful third reunion with the villagers and children. Absolutely great! (See our books 'A Beard in Nepal' for the story of our trips to that amazing country).I am also a working Medium/psychic, and have been involved in the world of the paranormal, psychics and clairvoyants for over 30 years. I give private readings and also write on the subject.Tod and I share our lives with a little flock of free range, ex battery chickens, and a rescued Jack Russel dog.Following the success of the bestselling 'A Beard In Nepal', 'A Beard In Nepal 2. Return to the Village' is now out. Both books have been published by John Hunt Publishing as paperbacks and eBooks.'A Beard in Nepal 3' is now out. This is the story of our third visit to the village, and also our adventures in India and Bhutan.Also by Fiona Roberts:'Ghost of a Smile. Memories from a Medium's Life'; 'Voices. Memories from a Medium's Life'; and 'The Curse. Memories from a Medium's Life'.PLEASE SEE ALL THE BOOK REVIEWS ON AMAZON, and excerpts on Spanglefish.com/fionaroberts

Book preview

GHOST OF A SMILE

Memories from a Medium’s Life

By FIONA ROBERTS

Copyright Fiona Roberts 2012

Smashwords Edition

Published on Smashwords

Formatted by eBooksMade4You

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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, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords and purchase your own copy.

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ALSO BY THIS AUTHOR:

‘VOICES’

Memories from a Medium’s Life

‘A BEARD IN NEPAL’

The story of the five months Fiona and Tod spent in a remote village high in the Himalayas of Nepal, attempting to teach English to the village children.

….a joy to read, funny, poignant and informative….

….incredibly well written….

….beautifully rendered scenery….laugh out loud humor….

….sheer experience on a page….

As always, fabulous! Just what I expected from Fiona Roberts..

I loved reading this book. It is very funny and at times I felt like I was in Nepal.

This book has inspired me in so many ways….

‘A BEARD IN NEPAL 2. RETURN TO THE VILLAGE’

….Fiona Roberts’ fans should rejoice; the eagerly awaited sequel to ‘A Beard In Nepal’ is out!

….sequels are a tricky thing to pull off but Fiona does so with brio….

….Fiona just HAD to write another book as the readers of her previous work ‘A Beard In Nepal’ couldn’t wait for some more instalments from her and Tod’s fantastic adventures….

….a real page-turner that brings joy to all its readers….

..wonderful, thought provoking book..

Another cracker!

Keep up to date with all Fiona Roberts’ books at

www.spanglefish.com/fionaroberts

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CHAPTER ONE

The passage of time wipes clean our path through life, but leaves in its wake a smattering of memories along the route we have passed. They stand out like islands in a clear blue ocean.

How strange and wonderful a thing is our memory. We take it for granted until it lets us down, we curse it for replaying scenes we would prefer to forget, and we wonder fretfully what kind of tricks it is capable of playing on us.

Our memories make us, in large part, what we become.

But what is your earliest memory?

Is it perhaps sitting alone in a play pen as a two year old? Or maybe watching a fascinating mobile dancing above your pram? You may perhaps remember a parent carrying you in their arms, and maybe you can recall the feeling of security and warmth that gave you.

Or do your memories start later in your life, when you were five or six years old? Perhaps they are unhappy, barely grasped memories of insecurity or fear.

Those situations which are either good or bad, strange or frightening, violent or loving, tend to imprint on our memory and remain there, usually accessible at will, for the rest of our lives. The dross of a humdrum day does not a memory make, but add a terrible shock of some kind, or a timely, handsome tax rebate, and you have your enduring memory.

I was never aware as a child that I was any different from my peers, or anyone else. It just didn’t occur to me that some of the people I saw, and some of the sounds I heard, were not perceived by everyone else.

However, I do remember my mother telling me on numerous occasions, and with something of a sneer in her tone,

You’re just like your Aunty May. She was odd too.

But I can’t remember what it was that I did or said to prompt my mother’s oft repeated, somewhat unpleasant retort. I know I felt that she was accusing me of something, something she disapproved of, but I never knew what it was. That feeling remained with me, firmly lodged between my mother and myself, like a splinter in sensitive skin, for the whole of her life.

I was too afraid of incurring Mum’s wrath to ask her who Aunty May had been, and what relationship she bore to me, if any. It was many years before I actually found that out.

However, unbeknown to my mother I had already made the acquaintance of the woman called Aunty May, and that was something else I was too afraid to tell her.

I must have been around five years old, and I remember following Mum in through the back door of our house, into the kitchen. I don’t recall now, but I assume she had met me after school for the fifteen minute walk back home.

The back doorstep was painted red and I always noticed it, every time I stepped on it. The spider webs of black cracks in the step seemed infinitely more attractive to me than the rest of the uniform red paint that covered it. I would linger, half in and half out of the back door, staring down at the step. My mother’s tut tutting would eventually propel me into the kitchen, where I would shut the door behind me by reaching the wooden knob on tip toe.

That day I was of course wearing my school uniform, and feeling hot in the chunky blue blazer. I don’t remember having any particular feelings one way or the other about the pale blue and white school dress, white ankle socks, and blazer that made up our summer uniform, but I wasn’t at all keen on the straw boater. The only detention I ever got at school was for taking the offending object off my head whilst in the street. That was certainly not the done thing in those days, and an hour after school spent writing ‘I must not remove my boater in the street’ made sure I didn’t do it again.

As I cast my mind back I remember clearly the 1950s style kitchen in our house in a northern suburb of Liverpool. It was a bright, south facing room, and the sunlight poured in through the windows over the sink for most of the day. The kitchen was perfectly square, and there was a green, wooden cabinet against one wall. Everyone seemed to have one of those kitchen cabinets in the 1950s and 60s, and the only variation you could find was the colour – they were either green or cream. It had glass doors at the top, and a pull-down table below them that always squeaked, even after I rubbed butter on the hinges. At the bottom there were two more cupboards. Everything you could ever need in a kitchen