Whippoorwill
Senior Registered
I wanted to share this story with you, it’s still very new and I’m afraid I’m still making sense of it all! Something triggered my memory in October and since then I seem to be remembering things in clearer detail. Where once I only had vague feelings about a couple of lives, now I have a definite impression of the life I lived directly before this one. I've gone into some detail here, about the process of uncovering it all, sorry if it's too much!
Since I was a very small child I’ve had this immense feeling of loss. Of someone being missing. I used to put it down to being an only child, longing for a sibling, but deep down I knew it wasn’t really that. It was an unhappy feeling, but not entirely unpleasant; tempered by the fact that there was such a knowledge of true love behind it all! And I’ll readily admit that it’s like nothing I’ve felt in this lifetime. As I reached the age of about thirteen I started to realize these feelings were for someone who’d left and had never come back. Someone I’d lost in a war. I always assumed it was WWII, because I’ve always loved/worn the clothes and hairstyles from that era.
Anyway, my father has become very interested in genealogy of late, mainly researching his side of the family, so I decided to look into my mother’s side. Her father (who died when I was six) was the youngest of eleven children. She seemed to recall him telling her that he had brothers who had fought in the First World War. I was interested to find them, but had no inkling about any past life. It was just curiosity. I had no idea of their names, but I found a few possible candidates, with the right surname in the right city, but one name in particular had a really strange effect on me. Thomas H. Just to read it gave me a strange sense of joy and sadness, butterflies in my stomach. It was a name I recognized somehow. I checked the address and he was the relative I was looking for. My great uncle, killed in 1916, aged 21.
After asking for confirmation it became clear to me that we’d been sweethearts and I asked where he had died and was told “the Somme”. It seemed an obvious answer and I thought the date would probably prove me wrong. But no, when I managed to find some detailed war records some time later, they said he was killed between the 1st -3rd of July, 1916. The first three days of the Somme. A lucky guess, I thought! I then asked for my name in this life and the word “Clara” popped into my head so clearly, like nothing ever had before. It’s not a name I’d ever given much thought to and I had no idea it was popular in the early 1900s. I couldn’t get a surname, so I smiled to myself, totally unconvinced, thinking that I was probably imagining the whole thing.
Now, the list I’d found him on was actually a forum post detailing local soldiers killed in action, who’d had their photographs published in the newspaper. It gave an exact date for each specific soldier. So, perhaps a week later, I went to the Local Studies Library to hunt down the photograph. It just wasn’t there. The ladies on the desk were incredibly helpful and I remember feeling so incredibly moved that so many people were saying Thomas' name that day. That people were searching for him and caring about him, almost a hundred years after he died. I really could’ve cried. I spent the afternoon in an odd mood. Sad, nostalgic, moved… I just felt like I wasn’t quite there. On the drive home in the car a surname just came to me. I knew it was Clara’s surname. It came to me in such a flash, just like before. When I got home I decided to check the 1911 census out of curiosity, to see if I could find her. I was almost positive that I wouldn’t find a trace of her and that I’d laugh at myself for being so foolish. So I typed her name into the search field and listed her place of residence as “Sheffield” thinking that was perhaps limiting things a little too much, but it was worth a shot. I clicked the search button.
And there she was! Not only living in Sheffield, but living in the small area of Attercliffe, just like Thomas! Only a few streets away from his home, in fact! I went through a range of emotions, stunned, elated, terrified. I think if I’d simply thought of the name and found it I wouldn’t have been so taken aback, but for the story to tie in so well to the feelings of loss that I’d experienced throughout my entire life, well, that was really something extraordinary. And banking on the fact that she never married, there was a Clara in the same city, born in the same month and year, who died in 1979. Three years before I was born. It all just fitted so well.
I think one of the first feelings to hit me, oddly enough, was “I’ve lost his letters!” It was a sick feeling of panic, as if I’d left the house wearing a precious necklace, only to find that it was no longer around my neck when I returned home. I just didn’t know what to do with myself, I was frantic. It was as though I’d lost him all over again; no letters, no mementos, nothing to hold on to! It was a horrible feeling and gave way to this awful sense of grief, somehow distant, but definitely mine. I started trawling eBay for WWI letters, hoping to find my name or his. I searched for regiment badges and buttons and medals. I felt like I had to replace the belongings I’d clung to during my previous life. It was madness.
I wondered why he wasn’t with me in this current life and was told that due to the trauma of his death, he wasn’t ready to reincarnate at the point that I was. His sudden death, combined with the anguish of having killed meant he needed extra time to heal and to reflect on his previous life. Instead he had chosen to support me as one of my guides.
So, it was all fitting into place and seeming so much more real. The only thing nagging at me was the age difference between Thomas and Clara. I suppose four years is perfectly acceptable, but when I checked Thomas’ sign-up papers I realized that he’d joined the army in 1915, at the age of nineteen, making Clara only fifteen. I wasn’t sure if this was an acceptable age difference, or if Clara would be considered old enough to begin a relationship, let alone with a man considered adult enough to go to war! It was really frustrating to have found such compelling evidence, only for everything to be undermined by such an insignificant thing as an age-gap! I scoured the internet for information on Edwardian dating etiquette, but I found nothing. In my desperation I wrote an email to an author I’d found online, who penned WWI romances and ran a website on Edwardian etiquette. I decided to be honest and tell her exactly why I was asking, assuming she’d think me mad and never reply. But she did. She very kindly told me that it would have been perfectly normal. Once a girl was old enough to leave school, she was considered old enough to court and think about marriage. Clara and Thomas were both from very poor backgrounds, with most children starting work at the age of twelve.
Since then I’ve tried to remember some details. The most interesting thing I saw was a grimy postcard. It was old, antique. I could see the cursive script on it, in thick-ish black ink. The only word I could read was Clara, although I believe it was addressed to someone else. But all my focus was being drawn to that name, halfway down the text. The strange thing was that the handwriting was much messier and looser than the example I’d seen on his sign-up papers, which was extraordinarily neat. I put it down to writing quickly, in less-than-ideal conditions, but was still a little thrown and disappointed by it. But then, a few days later, I found out that the sign-up papers I’d obtained were incorrect and belonged to someone else with the same name! When I compared the handwriting on Thomas’ actual papers, it was much more like the writing in my vision!
I’ve tried various techniques and seen a few glimpses of that life, but I’m so imaginative I can’t disregard the fact that I might just be romanticising! I seem to recall being at the dining table when I got the news that he’d been killed. A visit from his sister, perhaps. I can see the wallpaper and the large mirror hanging on the wall, the shine on the wood of the table, on the gaps between a crocheted tablecloth, all in perfect detail, the way your memory somehow takes a picture during a traumatic event. Flashbulb memory.
My impressions of the rest of Clara’s life are vague. The odd thing is that she’d have been living in the same part of the city as my mum, for over thirty years! I feel she never married and was looked after by her brother. I get the impression that she was very lonely, never entering into another relationship for fear of betraying Thomas. I’ve always had this strange fascination with my mum’s maiden name, desperately wishing it were mine and to this day I have an inexplicable fear of putting a ring on my left ring finger, I just can’t do it, can’t even try one on! I feel enormous guilt at being in relationships and can never settle. I’m still living at home because I can’t bring myself to move in with anyone, let alone marry! I also have a constant fear of bad news, every time the phone rings I panic, sure that someone has died (although I know Clara wouldn’t have had a phone, it’s just the way we convey news now!)
I just can’t imagine why I’d choose to live yet another life without him! I remember reading about Peter Cushing’s grief after losing his wife, Helen. He said that his life was spent simply waiting to be with her again, he was just wasting time. And that’s how I feel, to some extent. Perhaps regression might help me find my path, I'm sure there must be one. At present I’m just left with this overwhelming urge to know what it was like in the trenches, what he went through over there and exactly how he died (knowledge that was obviously unavailable and glossed over at the time!). I’ve been reading books about the Somme and trying to find out about his battalion. There’s a part of me that wants to know everything and part that can’t bear to hear it. It’s a very odd feeling.
Anyway, thanks for reading, I’m embarrassed that this was so lengthy!
Since I was a very small child I’ve had this immense feeling of loss. Of someone being missing. I used to put it down to being an only child, longing for a sibling, but deep down I knew it wasn’t really that. It was an unhappy feeling, but not entirely unpleasant; tempered by the fact that there was such a knowledge of true love behind it all! And I’ll readily admit that it’s like nothing I’ve felt in this lifetime. As I reached the age of about thirteen I started to realize these feelings were for someone who’d left and had never come back. Someone I’d lost in a war. I always assumed it was WWII, because I’ve always loved/worn the clothes and hairstyles from that era.
Anyway, my father has become very interested in genealogy of late, mainly researching his side of the family, so I decided to look into my mother’s side. Her father (who died when I was six) was the youngest of eleven children. She seemed to recall him telling her that he had brothers who had fought in the First World War. I was interested to find them, but had no inkling about any past life. It was just curiosity. I had no idea of their names, but I found a few possible candidates, with the right surname in the right city, but one name in particular had a really strange effect on me. Thomas H. Just to read it gave me a strange sense of joy and sadness, butterflies in my stomach. It was a name I recognized somehow. I checked the address and he was the relative I was looking for. My great uncle, killed in 1916, aged 21.
After asking for confirmation it became clear to me that we’d been sweethearts and I asked where he had died and was told “the Somme”. It seemed an obvious answer and I thought the date would probably prove me wrong. But no, when I managed to find some detailed war records some time later, they said he was killed between the 1st -3rd of July, 1916. The first three days of the Somme. A lucky guess, I thought! I then asked for my name in this life and the word “Clara” popped into my head so clearly, like nothing ever had before. It’s not a name I’d ever given much thought to and I had no idea it was popular in the early 1900s. I couldn’t get a surname, so I smiled to myself, totally unconvinced, thinking that I was probably imagining the whole thing.
Now, the list I’d found him on was actually a forum post detailing local soldiers killed in action, who’d had their photographs published in the newspaper. It gave an exact date for each specific soldier. So, perhaps a week later, I went to the Local Studies Library to hunt down the photograph. It just wasn’t there. The ladies on the desk were incredibly helpful and I remember feeling so incredibly moved that so many people were saying Thomas' name that day. That people were searching for him and caring about him, almost a hundred years after he died. I really could’ve cried. I spent the afternoon in an odd mood. Sad, nostalgic, moved… I just felt like I wasn’t quite there. On the drive home in the car a surname just came to me. I knew it was Clara’s surname. It came to me in such a flash, just like before. When I got home I decided to check the 1911 census out of curiosity, to see if I could find her. I was almost positive that I wouldn’t find a trace of her and that I’d laugh at myself for being so foolish. So I typed her name into the search field and listed her place of residence as “Sheffield” thinking that was perhaps limiting things a little too much, but it was worth a shot. I clicked the search button.
And there she was! Not only living in Sheffield, but living in the small area of Attercliffe, just like Thomas! Only a few streets away from his home, in fact! I went through a range of emotions, stunned, elated, terrified. I think if I’d simply thought of the name and found it I wouldn’t have been so taken aback, but for the story to tie in so well to the feelings of loss that I’d experienced throughout my entire life, well, that was really something extraordinary. And banking on the fact that she never married, there was a Clara in the same city, born in the same month and year, who died in 1979. Three years before I was born. It all just fitted so well.
I think one of the first feelings to hit me, oddly enough, was “I’ve lost his letters!” It was a sick feeling of panic, as if I’d left the house wearing a precious necklace, only to find that it was no longer around my neck when I returned home. I just didn’t know what to do with myself, I was frantic. It was as though I’d lost him all over again; no letters, no mementos, nothing to hold on to! It was a horrible feeling and gave way to this awful sense of grief, somehow distant, but definitely mine. I started trawling eBay for WWI letters, hoping to find my name or his. I searched for regiment badges and buttons and medals. I felt like I had to replace the belongings I’d clung to during my previous life. It was madness.
I wondered why he wasn’t with me in this current life and was told that due to the trauma of his death, he wasn’t ready to reincarnate at the point that I was. His sudden death, combined with the anguish of having killed meant he needed extra time to heal and to reflect on his previous life. Instead he had chosen to support me as one of my guides.
So, it was all fitting into place and seeming so much more real. The only thing nagging at me was the age difference between Thomas and Clara. I suppose four years is perfectly acceptable, but when I checked Thomas’ sign-up papers I realized that he’d joined the army in 1915, at the age of nineteen, making Clara only fifteen. I wasn’t sure if this was an acceptable age difference, or if Clara would be considered old enough to begin a relationship, let alone with a man considered adult enough to go to war! It was really frustrating to have found such compelling evidence, only for everything to be undermined by such an insignificant thing as an age-gap! I scoured the internet for information on Edwardian dating etiquette, but I found nothing. In my desperation I wrote an email to an author I’d found online, who penned WWI romances and ran a website on Edwardian etiquette. I decided to be honest and tell her exactly why I was asking, assuming she’d think me mad and never reply. But she did. She very kindly told me that it would have been perfectly normal. Once a girl was old enough to leave school, she was considered old enough to court and think about marriage. Clara and Thomas were both from very poor backgrounds, with most children starting work at the age of twelve.
Since then I’ve tried to remember some details. The most interesting thing I saw was a grimy postcard. It was old, antique. I could see the cursive script on it, in thick-ish black ink. The only word I could read was Clara, although I believe it was addressed to someone else. But all my focus was being drawn to that name, halfway down the text. The strange thing was that the handwriting was much messier and looser than the example I’d seen on his sign-up papers, which was extraordinarily neat. I put it down to writing quickly, in less-than-ideal conditions, but was still a little thrown and disappointed by it. But then, a few days later, I found out that the sign-up papers I’d obtained were incorrect and belonged to someone else with the same name! When I compared the handwriting on Thomas’ actual papers, it was much more like the writing in my vision!
I’ve tried various techniques and seen a few glimpses of that life, but I’m so imaginative I can’t disregard the fact that I might just be romanticising! I seem to recall being at the dining table when I got the news that he’d been killed. A visit from his sister, perhaps. I can see the wallpaper and the large mirror hanging on the wall, the shine on the wood of the table, on the gaps between a crocheted tablecloth, all in perfect detail, the way your memory somehow takes a picture during a traumatic event. Flashbulb memory.
My impressions of the rest of Clara’s life are vague. The odd thing is that she’d have been living in the same part of the city as my mum, for over thirty years! I feel she never married and was looked after by her brother. I get the impression that she was very lonely, never entering into another relationship for fear of betraying Thomas. I’ve always had this strange fascination with my mum’s maiden name, desperately wishing it were mine and to this day I have an inexplicable fear of putting a ring on my left ring finger, I just can’t do it, can’t even try one on! I feel enormous guilt at being in relationships and can never settle. I’m still living at home because I can’t bring myself to move in with anyone, let alone marry! I also have a constant fear of bad news, every time the phone rings I panic, sure that someone has died (although I know Clara wouldn’t have had a phone, it’s just the way we convey news now!)
I just can’t imagine why I’d choose to live yet another life without him! I remember reading about Peter Cushing’s grief after losing his wife, Helen. He said that his life was spent simply waiting to be with her again, he was just wasting time. And that’s how I feel, to some extent. Perhaps regression might help me find my path, I'm sure there must be one. At present I’m just left with this overwhelming urge to know what it was like in the trenches, what he went through over there and exactly how he died (knowledge that was obviously unavailable and glossed over at the time!). I’ve been reading books about the Somme and trying to find out about his battalion. There’s a part of me that wants to know everything and part that can’t bear to hear it. It’s a very odd feeling.
Anyway, thanks for reading, I’m embarrassed that this was so lengthy!
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. As you say, I do truly believe we'll be together again (as we have been before)! I have a good life, just with very little direction at present. But yes, I'm definitely aiming for regression, just holding out for the right person to help me!
