Combine a few young married couples and a single or two - all hardworking farmers, living far from bright lights and city life; even far from the nightlife of larger country towns. Unless something special occurred-like a wedding, or funeral, or maybe a debutante's ball-we produced our own entertainment, along with our livelihoods. As a result, these fatal words were spoken-
"Let's have a séance next time", our friend Ellie daringly suggested. Her blue eyes danced with amusement, obviously picturing this unlikely crew indulging in such an exotic event. Unexpectedly, the idea was greeted with an enthusiastic response (which had little to do with liquid inspiration... I think).
A séance you ask? For the uninitiated, a séance is officially meant to be an attempt to communicate with the spirits of dead people, in order to ask all manner of questions about the past, the present, and even the future. Usually it is presided over and controlled with sensitivity and respect by a medium-a person experienced in such matters. That's the 'official' procedure. But this is the story of our inexperienced venture into the spectral world, and the bizarre way our supernatural story unfolded. As for the sceptics? They can make up their own minds.
A week or so later, our eerie event began innocently enough with eight questionable 'Knights of the Round Table' (well... it was night, and the table was round-but there the similarity ceased. There was not one expert in sight.
"I saw something weird in the sky once. Funny kinda lights, yer know," said one brave soul. Did I imagine the smallest quaver in Dave's usually gruff voice? He found no sympathetic ears in this crew-jeers and laughter greeted his somewhat reckless revelation.
"Oh yair. What'd yer see? Little green men in spaceships flying past the dunny?" Now there were howls of laughter as the red-faced Dave struggled to get his next words heard.
"Aw shaddup, you great bloody idiot." Dave spoke up strongly now. "It was lights way up in the sky, wasn't it? Too far away to see what it was. And before you say it-it was NOT a bloody plane, so yer can forget that one, too!"
A few possibilities were tossed back and forth, including one theory that it was the lights of a tractor out working a paddock. Dave's wife, Helen, agreed with the tractor concept. She thought it could be the great headlights of one going up over a rise, and reflecting off a cloud in the velvety night sky.
"It was NOT bloody tractor lights, either." The redness of embarrassment Dave's face wore was creeping around his neck as he started to get angry. "There was this ring of bloody lights just like a... er, like a... " he was struggling until his wife said, "... like a tiara, hon?"
"Yair, yair. That's it... right on the knocker, just like always, love." He leaned sideways and gave Helen a small hug and brushed her cheek with his lips-almost a kiss. This time his red face was due to a different embarrassment. He was like a small boy caught with his hand in the lolly jar.
Despite more laughter and jeering, this time a few heads nodded in agreement that the mysterious lights could possibly have been extra-terrestrial. Whatever the truth, it was unanimously decided that Dave should be elected spiritual leader of the séance. None of us were quite sure what his role would be, but it sounded good at the time.
Our mystical event took place in the Kitchen of a farmhouse, on a typically warm and balmy Australian evening. We, the stars of this paranormal drama, were bending our elbows as we were usually inclined to do in those days (and ever after). The instigator, our kind and dedicated Ellie, had cut up small squares of heavy paper, printed with all the letters of the alphabet and the numbers 0-9, a 'Yes', a 'No' and a question mark. These were carefully laid out in a large circle, with an upended glass positioned in the absolute centre. All the upturned drinking-type glasses were refilled, nibbles put to one side, and the time had come at last for the participants to have a practice run. Everyone didn't have to participate, but much booing and banter took place until everyone present bowed down to majority rule, and became involved.
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Old McLarsen had some Farms
Non-Fiction"You two become farmers? You must be kidding!" How little our friends really knew us. Sure, that's how life had been for the Secretary and the Building Supervisor... but those were the keywords - "had been". An opportunity had arisen to learn farmi...
