Katie Coutts - The Ghost Whisperer - A Real-Life Psychic’s Stories

TWO

Picture the Scene: My Own Ghostly Encounters

This is my favourite chapter. Some would say that’s because it involves talking about myself – and they are probably right. Here I describe experiences I have had personally. My diverse encounters range from seeing the ghosts of close family members to famous ghosts, such as Robert the Bruce, while at a haunted castle or while investigating a reported sighting. I try to convey these experiences vividly to you by describing what happened to me, what I saw and what I felt at the time.

The German Soldiers

A few years ago I made a trip to Neilston to visit my cousin and admire her new home. The house itself impressed me and, of course, she was as proud as Punch. We began walking towards the back garden, out through a large patio door. At first it was the size of the garden which struck me, but then, within a matter of seconds, another scene began to unfold in front of me.

I was amazed to see a whole troop of German soldiers. No one else could see them but they were so clear to me. To this day I cannot explain how I knew they were Germans – I simply knew they were. I also knew they were soldiers from the Second World War.

They seemed jovial and were happily chatting away with one another. I noticed they were busy making something, which looked quite intricate to me. I couldn’t see what it was but I could see them as clearly as the ‘real’ folk around me.

I told my cousin about this – she knows what I’m like and is never sceptical or unsure of anything I say anymore. She told me she would go to the local library the following day and find out if there was any explanation for this. Why were there so many soldiers here, all looking pretty relaxed and far from confrontational?

So intrigued was I and so desperate for an answer that I mentioned it in my column in the Sun newspaper. I invited readers to write to me with any explanation, if there was one, for what I had seen.

A few days later, my postbag was full. Apparently, although not held as prisoners, several German soldiers were punished and removed from war duties and placed in a farm behind the Neilston mill – a hessian mill. The soldiers were treated very humanely and fairly and were given duties such as making hessian slippers. If any of them misbehaved, they were moved on to a much less informal destination where I believe they weren’t treated with such privilege.

Most of them, however, were well behaved and caused the Neilston natives no concern at all. In fact, many became friends and some actually stayed on after the war and married local girls.

Indeed, one of the letters I received was from a reader in his 70s – a German. He had known many of the men serving in that area and was one of many who never returned to Germany.

I also received letters from locals who remembered the German soldiers, and a few letters from readers who were the children of local women and their German husbands.

I found out that most of the soldiers had now passed away but they must surely have remembered their war days and the town of Neilston with fondness. After all, it is Neilston they come back to, apparently preferring it to their own home towns.

Every time I visit my cousin, I make a point of going to the patio door and standing, just watching the German soldiers again. It never fails to amaze me each and every time.

My Captain

My own cottage is haunted by the spirit of the captain of a ship, which was once anchored out in the river Tay – the Mars Ship.

For many years, the familiar cry ‘Behave yoursel’ or ye’ll get sent tae Mars’ was the scourge of the male youth of Dundee. In this case, Mars was not a planet but a training ship that sat directly outside my house, docked on the river Tay. The ship was mainly used to house juvenile delinquents but I have subsequently found out it was also used for orphaned boys.

It has long since gone – many decades ago – but it is remembered still by the natives, its legend passing through the generations.

I’ll talk some more about the ship, its captain and its occupants later, but at this point I want to describe the first time I saw him. I wasn’t the first to see him – a couple of my clients saw him, months apart, and yet described where he was standing, what he was wearing and his physical appearance in the exact same words.

I had been eager to meet him but my first encounter was pretty scary. I’m fairly used to ghosts, as you can gather, but I have to be in the correct frame of mind, otherwise I jump out my skin just like everyone else. Well, the first time I saw him, that’s exactly what I did – I nearly jumped the height of myself with fright!

My office is directly opposite my bedroom. As I often do, I had been burning the midnight oil in my office. When I’d finished for the night, I began to walk from my office across to my bedroom. The hallway was in darkness and the only light came from the third-floor landing. Through the huge bay windows up there, a little light shone from the outside sensor light. It was by no means bright and yet, as I looked up, I saw the captain in all his glory, down to the clothes he was wearing and even the pockmarks he had on his face.

My house has three floors, and at the top is an open-plan, converted attic. The view from there is stunning. Since moving here, I’ve pet-named this area the ‘Mars attic’. The captain once owned my 300-year-old cottage, and legend has it that he had the huge bay window made especially so that he could sit and watch his boat – and, more importantly, those on board!

That night, I was not in a psychic frame of mind. I had been working on something entirely different in my office, so ghosts were the furthest thing from my mind. I blame this for my reaction, which was one of terror. I never made it as far as the bedroom for I turned on my heels back to my office. Once there, I found myself beginning to type frantically.

I wrote about what I had just seen, trying to conjure up the scene I had witnessed, and then sent it to my editor at the Sun . I just typed and typed and typed. I was acutely cold and, for some time, felt too afraid to leave my office.

I deliberately wasted no time sending the story to my editor as I felt it was important not to dwell on the experience and risk changing it. I wanted the readers to feel what I felt and to sense what I had sensed. Interfering with what I had written, after the event, would have spoiled this aim entirely.

The following Friday, the article duly appeared. It did make interesting reading and I received many phone calls about it. One of those phone calls was a little bit special, however. When I listened to what I was being told, even I had shivers down my spine.

The caller was a client whom I’d seen maybe twice or three times over the years. We’d had a meeting a few weeks prior to the article. The reason Isobel was calling was to tell me, almost hysterically, what had happened to her.

I use the Mars attic as a waiting area for my clients. It allows them the peaceful view of the river, and many admit it calms their nerves while waiting for their allocated appointment time.

Isobel was one such client. I was running approximately 30 minutes behind schedule that day and, as she waited, she sat gazing at the water. Her deep thoughts were disturbed by the footsteps of someone coming up the stairs. She automatically turned to look and was met by a man. The man sat down beside Isobel and they chatted for 10 minutes or so. They spoke mainly about the water, the weather, the view – general small talk. Isobel at this stage thought nothing of the situation she found herself in. The man was quiet but then Isobel was a talkative type.

Isobel knew I had an old friend, Bill, who stayed with us and looked after Athena (my little girl). She assumed Athena was having a nap and that Bill had come upstairs for some relaxation until she woke.