EARLY INFANT MEMORIES

(Music by Daniel White)

In general, I'm not one who claims to have a good memory, and perhaps in some respects, mine tends to be more selective, which I am told is certainly the case as people get older. However, I have memories that go back to before I was born, some of which I would like to share with you in the following:-

I REMEMBER BEING BORN

Vividly, I remember being born in mum's womb. I distinctly remember my comfort zone rudely interrupted by a sudden urge to get out of there as quickly as possible, which resulted in a tremendous struggle. I also had a strong awareness that I was being helped by someone along the way. Inside it was warm also, quite dark, but not completely. At That stage I am not sure if my eyes were fully opened. Strangely however, I remember seeing, though dimly, in front and at the side of me. I was in a dark grey swirling narrow tunnel with fluid and mass pulsating around me, against which I fought and struggled with all my might to desperately get out. I was fully in touch with what was happening to me, and felt no fear, just an overwhelming sense of urgency. To this day I remember pushing with every ounce of strength, pushing and kicking to reach the opening as soon as possible. I felt as though I was fighting for my life. In fact, the more I neared the door to the outside world, the more desperate I became, and the harder I fought for dear life to make it.

Next I remember a bright light with people around me. I was now outside and felt both traumatised and relieved at the same time. Though it may sound strange, it felt like mission completed. To this day I can remember this remarkable encounter with birth. I am utterly convinced that my experience is no exception. Based on my own experience I know without a shadow of a doubt that babies are conscious even before delivery day.

I REMEMBER BEING BREAST FED

Mum tells me that she breast fed me for just three days, but afterward became too weak with no milk to continue. I was virtually born and remember clearly those first few days of being breast fed. I felt warm and secure in mum's arms, and enjoyed a wonderful sense of well being. The taste of mum's milk was like nectar from heaven, and was so amazing that I can only compare it to being far better than my very favourite meal, which these days is vegetable curry savoured with Palau rice.

All too soon however, my blissful encounter, came to an abrupt end.
Mum was standing in the living room holding me in her arms. As she rocked me to and fro, my tiny mouth searched for her milk, but alas, there was none.

I continued desperately to search, but to no avail. It is difficult to fully describe in words how I felt at that moment, but it was a sense of anguish and abandonment, and indescribable disappointment, not withstanding I was starving.

Next I remember being tucked up in bed feeling cold, miserable and extremely uncomfortable, rather like being shut up in a damp semi dark cupboard. Then a dummy on a bottle was pushed into my mouth (though I can't remember by whom) which was extremely unpleasant, and which I clearly remember spitting out before turning away from the awful taste. I can't remember anything else after this unhappy episode, though I must have screamed out a resounding yuck!

(foot note)
I strongly believe that those babies who are breast fed for too short a period suffer trauma even as I did.
My own children were breast fed for twelve months.
Undoubtedly, my own infant experience had some bearing on this.

TWO AMUSING INCIDENTS IN EARLY CHILDHOOD

I can remember being barely a few months old. We were in grandmother's living room. As I sat on Mum's lap I noticed with great interest, nearby a pot of tea and biscuits neatly laid on the table. Next thing, I was placed down on the floor, and left to my own devices. By now I was feeling quite hungry, so whilst Mum and Grandmother were busily chatting away I decided to go and help my self to some food. Crawling on hands and knees, I made my way towards the table legs. Not able to reach the goodies from ground level, I grabbed one corner of the table cloth, then with all might and strength, attempted to pull myself up to the table surface. As my tiny hand reached for a biscuit or two, the unthinkable happened, I suddenly lost my footing, and fell down with a mighty bump, bringing everything crashing down in its wake. Now the goodies were spread out not so neatly on the floor. The carpet, (fortunately not me) was drenched with hot tea. Shocked and shaken and rather wet with a dash of milk, I clutched the table cloth for dear life. My frock was covered in cream cake, and I looked a classic Miss messy muffin. After this I vaguely remember some commotion with mum scolding me whilst apologising profusely to grandmother for the unfortunate accident in her nice tidily kept home.

I can't remember ever taking the biscuit though.

BABIES HAVE ASPIRATIONS OTHER THAN FOOD AND DRINK

There is one thing I clearly remember looking forward to with an anticipation so intense and inspirational, it can only be described as driving ambition!

As a tiny tot, mum often used to encourage me to get on my feet to take my first few steps. I distinctly remember one particular day in my living room. Prompted by mum, and possessed by a strong desire and determination to walk, I set my sights on the wall at the far end of the room. Then proceeded to crawl forth boldly where no babe had gone before!

The excitement rose as I looked forward to ending up at that goal post on two feet tall. Unfortunately, extreme frustration took its toll as I repeatedly fell back down on the floor with a bump, only to end up at the goal post still on all fours! Alas, it was "mission unaccomplished!" Even so, a challenge not to be missed, anyhow, I just knew that one day I would make it. (Though a toddler I was nevertheless, very conscious of that fact at the time).

CUTTING TEETH

Another time, I remember, as though yesterday sitting on the living room floor cutting my teeth, I was crying with the pain, and someone was consoling me (possibly mum or my older sisters) saying that I would be fine once my teeth came through. I remember understanding perfectly what they were saying to me, and remember feeling that I just couldn't wait for that day to come. Meanwhile the agony continued and I had my little fist in my mouth trying my best to ease the pain and at the same time longing to have my promised teeth. Thankfully, although my memory recorded the pain of teething that day, I don't actually remember the pain itself.

Like a Mother who gives birth to a child - although they experienced at the time great pain, afterwards the pain can't be fully remembered in its former intensity.

TWO ANGEL COMPANIONS

I was a toddler of about eighteen months. It was a bright clear warm sunny day. Mum dressed me in a little floral starched crisp frock, which I recall possessed a delightful sweet fragrance of new pure cotton and fresh air. Next thing, mum took me on a bus to a friend's house where eventually I found myself in this room with a big conservatory attached. Mum and her friend were busily chatting away, then the mother asked her two little daughters who were present to take me in the garden to play. These two guardian angels then walked me along a long narrow garden path trimmed with brightly coloured flowers. They were on either side of me gently holding my hands so I wouldn't fall. Very soon we were at the bottom of the garden were there was a small shed. Inside were lots of toys which completely fascinated me. Before long the sisters introduced me one by one to their dolls and teddy bears, and I can remember a sense of great wonder and delight. As the sisters engaged in happy chatter, I noticed they had soft shoulder length brown hair with such kind gentle eyes and heart shaped faces. How I wanted to stay there for ever for it truly felt like heaven to behold such sweet angels and enjoy such an abundance of toys. Afterwards, I remember pleading with Mum to take me back to this lovely place, but, as Mum one day explained, times were hard. Her preoccupation with a large family took priority. Sadly, I never saw my angel companions again.

MEMORY OF DROWNING

How can I ever forget my experience of being on the brink of drowning? I must have been about two years old when my dear late sister Rita decided to take me to the outdoor swimming baths. I remember it being crowded, and terribly noisy with lots of screaming, shouting and splashing going on. After a quick splash in the shallow end , Rita asked if I would like to go with her on the water slide. I can remember feeling rather apprehensive and refusing, but Rita in her usual loving cheerful confident manner managed to reassure me it would be fun. Next thing I remember sitting on her lap and sliding down this water shoot at what seemed liked a frightening speed. Within seconds - we both ended up under water, whereupon Rita lost her grip and I was left struggling for dear life. Plunged into another world, I could hear a loud noise of bubbles echoing in my head. Tossed to and fro, I too felt like an underwater bubble gone mad and about to burst. I was caught up in a mass of swirling green rushing liquid that rushed madly through my ears, and through ammonia filled eyes, I could see white tiles of the swimming bath walls crazily swaying in motion with the water. It was all a bit scary but don't remember being too afraid. I can't remember how long I was left gasping for air, but before long Rita spotted a small figure drowning in the water, and desperately came swimming to the rescue.
Engulfing me with her one arm she took me safely up to the waters surface. Everything goes blank after this.

Lost in Lewis's store

On another occasion, It was Christmas and I can remember Rita taking me to see father Christmas at John Lewis's Store in Birmingham. We had to go to the very top floor where the puppet show was put on especially for children. What I saw that day was breathtaking to a small child of three (though I may have even been possibly two or two and a half.) I noticed the place was crowded with adults and children, all of whom were looking at a grand enormous stage that stretched full length of the wall and upon which giant size puppets danced and nodded on strings. Soon appeared the star of the show - a stunning puppet dressed in a smart navy blue and white sailor suit. Strangely, I noticed, that all the puppets kept coming and going, save a huge boat which steadfastly bounced upon vivid blue waves. Throughout, the song played "what shall we do with the drunken sailor" It was a magical moment, but then something occurred to break the spell. Suddenly, I found myself abandoned on the floor. I was terribly lost. The next moment I had been picked up by a stranger. I remember looking over his shoulder among the crowds and crying for my big sister. It was quite scary - for one thing I didn't like being lost, nor did I like being in the care of a strange man even though he kept reassuring me I would be all right. After what seemed like an eternity, my 11 year old sister, Rita, worriedly turned up, and took me straight home.

(Beloved Rita died at the age of fifty four years from lung cancer. Perhaps you would like to read "Ode to Rita" - a fitting tribute written by my sister Madge)

A LOVING VISITATION

The war was over, and we had moved away from the slums to a brand new house the other side of Birmingham, (thanks to Mum's campaigning efforts for better housing). The house was unfurnished, There was no money about and until things had improved we used orange boxes as furniture. At night, coats were thrown over the bed instead of blankets and lemonade bottles were filled with hot water to keep us warm during winter nights. In spite of such hardships, our new home was after all brand new and Mum and Dad were exceedingly grateful for a new start in life and better environment in which to raise their children. We were also blessed with lovely neighbours whom I still warmly remember with nostalgia. On our right was the Robinson family with three small children, Brenda, Alan and Carol; with whom I played though not often enough. To our left lived a dear elderly snow white haired couple - Mr & Mrs Tompkins who were Salvationists. I remember there back garden was a source of great fascination to me. They kept chickens and hens. I can recall standing at the garden fence hours on end completely mesmerised by these comical birds noisily clucking their heads off as they constantly pecked on the floor in search for grain. Then early each morning the Tompkins' cock would crow so loud that the whole neighbourhood was reminded of a new day. It was a cheery home coming sound which I loved to hear as a child. I can recall one particular day that stands out from the rest, and which became very special in a spiritual sense. By now I must have been aged about two and a half. Mum was busy in the kitchen washing up and doing different jobs. I can remember being with her and standing in the open doorway that overlooks the back garden. It was a glorious day, warm, cheerful and sunny. As I stood there looking out into our small V shaped garden listening to the birds, I found my eyes travelling up our garden tree, past its rich green branches then finally overhead into the vast ocean of pure blue sky. I noticed that the sky looked exceptionally luminous. For some reason I became focused on a particular spot in the sky from where emanated what I can only describe as waves of pure love and affection. Streams of love just continued to pour forth so that peace was all around me, and I felt greatly loved. I was captivated by a divine presence that was powerful, yet not in any way overwhelming, but exceedingly winsome and full of grace and gentleness. For a moment my eyes looked away to another part of the sky then when I returned my glance, the loving presence was still there blissfully engulfing me. I stood suspended for some time, looking up at this particular patch of blue sky at a person I couldn't see yet in whose love I was basking. Instinctively, in the smallness of my being knew this loving presence was a divine person.
Such a loving visitation served to strengthen me throughout an often difficult childhood - a heartwarming experience that remains with me to this day.

Anne Lillian White

FACE IN A DAFFODILL

I was about eighteen months when one day Mum was rushed into the local hospital for an emergency operation with stomach ulcers which had inadvertently burst. Quite, unexpectedly my oldest sister, just a mere child of ten, Maisie had the daunting responsibility thrust upon her to care for me.
Within a few days I was also rushed into hospital with acute gastric enteritis, and moved into the children's ward only yards from mum's bed. At this time Mum was not aware of my illness or that I was in the very same hospital. The story goes that as she lay there in her bed there appeared out of thin air a picture of a bright yellow daffodil. Within its centre appeared my face which she could see vividly. Shortly afterwards, much to mum's shock and dismay, a nurse turned up at her bedside and gave her the news that I had also, just, been admitted into hospital, whereupon mum remembered her vision. During my stay there, I recall being taken to mum's bedside by a nurse. Also I clearly remember being in my cot surrounded by kind nurses who smiled a lot and played with me. I don't remember being ill - just recall having a great time! illness,

Anne Lillian White

Infant memories of the oppressed

I was about ten years. Early one grey morning( such grey days were common in post war Birmingham) Mum took me on a bus to some destination or other. We were travelling through one of the town's back streets whereupon through the window I saw crowds of factory workers, side by hurriedly making their way to work. As if resigned to another long gruelling day they looked tired and distant. Their pale shell shocked faces said it all. No one spoke and they appeared switched to machine mode before even reaching the work place. An overwhelming sadness filled me. - I couldn't help thinking that these lovely dignified people shouldn't have to suffer such hardships" I felt sad and burdened, but I was very young and such things were beyond my control. Years later, during a college vocation, together with some fellow student friends I became a temporary factory worker at Birmingham Typhoo factory packing tea. Unlike earlier impressions, I noticed on the whole, factory workers seemed relatively contented, but then the aftermath of war had waned considerably and peace now reigned.

INSPIRATION AMID MONSTERS

I was about twelve. It was a foggy day and I remember travelling on the bus to town. I had read somewhere that families were being invited to emigrate to Australia for a mere ten pounds. Without my parents knowledge I was on a mission to Birmingham to collect the emigration documents in the hope that I could go home that day and persuade my parents to start a new life in a big a wonderful country. When suddenly my nostrils were filled with a strong obnoxious smell. Staring at me defiantly through the window towered the notorious gas works. These two obese monsters dominated the skies like brazen bullies that flaunted their stench indiscriminately, and without mercy. As the bus travelled on I soon became oblivious to everything about me. Deep in thought the sudden revelation came to me that I knew the answers to everything in existence, even the secrets of the universe.

It then seemed reasonable to access some of this knowledge - why allow it to be buried? - by far, a better option than focusing upon the ugly images that had previously marred my view For starters, I began thinking about how for example, how a scientific piece of machinery might work. The cause of earth's gravity or the workings of other things, like the planets and spheres. I felt quietly confident that the answers would come if I only probed my mind. There and then I resolved to launch an expedition into the depths of my mind. It didn't matter that I was on a bus. Suddenly It was like the reigns of a horse were firmly pulled, followed by " no go area!". At this point I felt some apprehension though not in any negative way - more like fear that comes from stepping back on the roadside from fast moving traffic. Calmly I decided to let things be for the time being. Even so the conviction of an inner universal knowledge remained with me for some years afterwards, but as time went on, it was gradually slipping from my grasp - or it seems that way now, in this life anyway.

Although such an experience may sound somewhat bizarre to some, I believe that other people have had a similar experience. Three of my sisters certainly have, so has my Mother. On reflection, however, I don't profess that such universal knowledge is now or was then within my grasp, yet perhaps it dwells within in all of us to some degree. Indeed, my experience at that time was very real.

POEMS/SONGS/STORIES ABOUT PEACE AND WAR (plus more infant memories):

(Back street music memories in a post war environment).

Again we are back in the slums of Birmingham. I'm several months old wearing a little cotton hat, and frock, stuck in a small pram.
(according to my late sister dear Madge who though she was only a young girl often looked after me and took me for walks). I remember dear Madge pushing me through the back streets slums where we lived. Weather wise, it was a beautiful and soulful day. The sky was clear blue, the sun seemed exceptionally bright as its warm silver rays fell mockingly upon the dismal grey surroundings in defiant contrast.

Embarking upon a dismal journey felt painfully tedious and I was stressed from head to tiny feet with boredom. (strangely, I don't remember seeing any people about. Perhaps it was very early in the morning.) For one thing the ugly scenery never changed. Everything appeared grey and colourless, every turn, every corner, was like the next one with endless rows of dismal and decadent streets skirted by decadent dismal pre war houses. On my travels, however, I happened to encounter something beautifully curious, which not only broke the monotony but left me with a deep and lasting impression - it was the sound of music, no, not in the mountains of Austria, but in the slums of Birmingham; As we approached yet another boring road, the music became pleasantly louder. Listening attentively, I could hear the song "Greensleeves". Though, naturally, I didn't know what it was called then. It was probably the very first time I had heard this piece as it wasn't familiar then. The haunting melody played on, probably from someone's radio or gramophone) and I remember it struck me as being terribly sad and beautiful, but even the lovely music echoing freely through the dense atmosphere, only served to intensify the prevailing oppressive and despondent atmosphere that consumed the very air itself.

Notwithstanding, a bright sunny day felt inappropriate in a place destined to be condemned. Certainly the impression I derived from my environment that day was - I didn't like it one bit. The above experiences reflect that from early infancy, and beyond, my capacity to observe my immediate environment, and derive intelligent impressions, thoughts, and feelings, from sights and sounds around me, is evident.

This must surely demonstrate that small children in general, are extremely aware and impressionable on a very conscious level, and that young babies - weeks, days, or even in the womb, are undoubtedly affected by their environment, responding to what actually happens to them and around them. Such infant experiences must be a key factor in their future well being, also resulting in future likes and dislikes.

Furthermore, since I responded so strongly to the music "Greensleeves" it is reasonable to assume that in general, all babies can respond to music, feeling different emotions like joy and sadness etc. My own experiences are living proof of this.
Perhaps the above rings some bells of your own.
Incidentally, the music "Greensleeves" still moves me, and I still find it a tad sad.

LOSS OR GAIN?

The war has just started
ALL And it seems there's no end to it all
The old and the young are taken
At the sound of the old trumpet call
Why do the innocent suffer
When the guilty seem to go free
Who started this war in the first place?
Certainly not you and me
Why do the dictators cause havoc?
And carry a heart full of led
Boasting "we're gaining the victory"
When all around people lie dead
and killing one man is a bore.
but we've plenty more weapons in store
We want to try out our new rockets,
Not to mention our numerous devices
The profits, the cake, that's left over
We aim to take a few slices
Though it means heart break for millions
Young boys at war in their teens
Who'd rather be at home with their mates
messing with bikes in new jeans
They've all been prepared for combat,
with war games impressed on their minds
Now it's for real, a sign of the times
Blood shed and fears take over
Many lie wounded and dead
Families' hearts beating faster
are afraid of the news being read
Dramatic foreboding newscasters,
ensuring no one misses out of the terrors
and foretold disasters, informing what war's all about.
Politicians giving diverse points of viewpoints
saying what ought to be done.
Better ask him in the desert, standing face to face.
He wouldn't have chosen this pathway
He sought not to kill or maim.
Now he sees death and destruction,
and's the one who lives with the shame.
Not dictators, politicians, nor governors
who stay at home and sit still
but the man in the street
who is somebody's son
and who happens to fit the bill.

POEM BY MADGE BRUNT

INFANT MEMORIES OF 2nd WORLD WAR ATTACK

It was the last world war. Dad was away in the Air force and a terrible blitz hit the area where we lived. Our home, as it was for so many other working class people in those days, was a small slum situated in the back streets of Birmingham. Despite my infancy - barely weeks old, I was very much aware that war was in progress and the screaming and wining of sirens filled me with dread. Nazi planes relentlessly flew overhead in droves swooping low like vultures in search of human prey. Our home was situated near the town, thus making us sitting ducks. I remember one particular day most distinctly. There was the usual loud eerie sound of sirens. Enemy planes screeched even louder as they approached our neighbourhood, followed by a constant barrage of gun shots. The silence that followed was just as eerie. There is one particular day I shall never forget, when such a harrowing silence was broken by my five year old brother. In that dreadful moment, suddenly he frantically burst into the house. Shaken and shocked he explained to mum how he was nearly shot by one of the planes that had decisively and ruthlessly pursued him. Having the presence of mind he quickly ran into our entry for shelter. As quick as lightening he had ducked down to avoid a bombardment of bullets. I clearly recall my sweet brave brother taking mum to the entry. As she nervously clutched me in her arms, he proudly showed her the exact spot of a single bullet hole in the wall which he had so cleverly dodged. Quite Vividly, I remember this entire incident as though it were only yesterday - even now in my mind's eye I can still see the cruel gaping hole in the wall that nearly took my brother's life. Naturally Mum was deeply relieved that my brother was safe and well. Though just a babe in her arms, so was I.

It is incredible but surely not unique that someone just weeks old, and who can neither walk nor talk, nevertheless can be so extremely aware and concerned about what is happening around them. In some remarkable way, and endorsed by own experience, I believe babies have a great intuitive and intelligent awareness. Such detailed memories of my own early childhood conceivably reflect a level of consciousness that can't be exclusive.

HISTORY UNRECORDED


Dad (Henry)	Mum (Annie)

All the words contained herein can not describe the wonderful qualities with which my Mum was endowed. A gentle, sensitive and highly intelligent person, and devoted mother and housewife who's quick wit and candid manner combined with a strong caring character not only inspired everyone that met her, but also gained her much admiration and respect. The following story clearly reflects this.

Like Dad, Mum was born in the slums of Aston into a very large family. Her Mother was a strict, rather large dominant woman with lovely red hair and a fiery temper. On the contrary grandad Daniel was a fun loving little man with a terrific sense of humour and a gentle disposition. His hair was so black it shone inky blue, and his very dark eyes would always twinkle with laughter as though he was constantly enjoying some secret joke. Mum loved him to bits and remembers how he worked in the local factory making Jaws harps. Smiling with pride and amusement, mum used to tell us how he loved to dance and frequently entertained his work mates during break times. They would often say "come on Dan, do us one of your dances". He generally responded with his favourite little number, an Arabian camel dance with head hands and feet to the right, then head hands and feet to the left, performed with riveting rhythm and stylish precision. During the summer grandad would take mum, then a child of five years with him on fishing trips where at the waters edge she enjoyed endless hours of tranquil moments, chasing butterflies or just lazily nestling in the long grass watching grandad fish. Time inevitably takes its course and eventually Mum grew into a beautiful young lady and met a local lad who was to be her future husband.

In those days it was not unusual to marry young, hence, mum and dad married at the tender age of seventeen. For a while they lived in rented accommodation, then finally moved to a slum in Edgbaston where the real struggles started. Bringing up eight children was tough going, and my parents experienced hardships first hand. It was during these times of poor living conditions that Mum became increasingly aware of her plight and that of others. Conditions naturally worsened when the second world broke out, and suddenly there were impending air raids to contend with. Dad was called away to the Air force, and my older sisters were evacuated to Wales along with countless other British children. Now with a little more time on her hands, mum worked at the ammunition factory. During this period she became increasingly concerned by the social misery around her, inevitably worsened by the war. An event which only served to strengthen her resolve to try to and bring about change that might improve her lot in life, and that of others. Joining the Women's socialist party seemed to be a pointer in the right direction, and It wasn't long before she became an active member. Fired with enthusiasm and determination so typical of her character, she invited other fellow members in the party to join her in a march to London with a petition for better housing conditions. Such a resolve was daunting seeing that she was a devoted Mother, and it would mean leaving her young children behind in the midst of a perilous war. The battle was not only raging around her but within. Torn between her social conscious and the desire to be with her children presented the most painful decision she would possibly ever have to make, yet she felt she had to do something. After much deliberation and soul searching, Mum soon set up an action team with like minded members.

That memorial day seven hundred brave women with banners set off on their long march to London. Mum, earnestly clutching hers, led the way.

The march went off peaceably with no scuffles. The journey took three whole days, during which time they slept rough on the roadside with many a good Samaritan offering them food and drink on the way. Finally, weary and worn, the women reached their destination. At the house of commons the leading delegate was invited inside the inner court to meet the chief housing minister George Young at which point mum handed over their petition. A brief discussion took place between them whereupon mum made her earnest appeal on behalf of her comrades and other unfortunate families who shared the same plight. Though brief, the meeting had gone exceedingly well and she returned armed with the good report to her fellow marches who were eagerly awaiting news of the outcome.

Mission now accomplished! then another three days on the road until finally, the tired, but happy mums returned to their families. Mum was extremely relieved to find her children safe and well.

Within a matter of months mum was able to enjoy the fruits of her sacrifice. Together with other families she was given a brand new house in a better location of Birmingham.

To date history and the present will have it that poor housing remains an issue. Needless to say, dear mum was a leading pioneer of her day in bringing about change. In the very midst of war - standing shoulder to shoulder with other woman who shared her vision, a daunting task was undertaken. Mum become the forerunner of significant change and at the same time inspired others take up their cross and march for a better quality of life for themselves and future generations. The pebble which she and her brave colleagues did throw upon the waters had created ripples of change that significantly affected lives past and present, and influenced a more progressive attitude towards housing the poor in today's society. Yet sadly, through the corridors of time, their deeds, have eluded the history books, only to vanish into obscurity as though it never happened. To this day, I am still bewildered as to why an event of such historical importance engineered by seven hundred woman, has escaped the historians and public eye.

(I welcome any comments, perhaps a member of your family was involved in the above in some way).
By daughter Anne Lillian White

REVELATION: OUTSIDE THE UNIVERSE

I would like to share an experience, which some may call a vision, or a dream, that I had recently in 1997. I seemed to be half awake and half asleep as I lay in bed, whereupon I suddenly found myself looking into deep black space. As I glanced to the side of me I saw a tubular shaped capsule. The capsule was on the edge of space, or to be more accurate, outside very space itself, since there where no stars visible. In fact there was nothing around the capsule, just total darkness. Inside I could hear a great deal of excitement going on, and noticed a group of people from different countries wearing space uniforms. They had travelled as far as they could through space and had finally reached its end and beyond. Now in total darkness with no heavenly bodies to light their path or surround them, they found themselves looking across a vast expanse of what can only be described as black nothingness. In the far distance - trillions of light years away, the sight was breathtakingly awesome. Hanging densely in the immense blackness was a huge vortex of stars. They (so was I) were gazing at the entire universe contained into one great huge cluster! Physically, they had travelled to the very ends of space itself and for the very first time "mission impossible" had unequivocally taken on a new dimension of reality. I can't put into words, their excitement, but it was electric! For the very first time the universe was at their fingertips. As they excitedly laughed and chatted to each other over this marvellous discovery, I could feel their joy! Long after this revelation, I couldn't stop thinking about it. At first I wondered who I should contact about my vision, but not being a scientist, I wondered how people might react. They might think I was wasting their time, but now, I am privileged to share my experience with everyone.

By Anne Lillian White

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