The Past Life Recall of Gwen McDonald

This is an extraordinary past life story, and interestingly, it involves a dream. Gwen McDonald's story began in the 1970s. A friend of Gwen's had heard of me and wished to undergo age regression to a past life. About the same time Gwen had a dream which was significant, but not understood at that time. She dreamed that her father (who had previously died) came to her and took her to meet a man. She stood in the office of this man who was tall with dark hair, and who had some type of electrical equipment behind a large leather chair. Her father leaned forward and put her hand into this man's hand, but she withdrew it. Her father again took her hand and again put it in the man's hand as if to say, "Trust him."

Gwen's friend, June, talked Gwen into keeping her company when she came to see me for the first time. Unlike most, she had come to specifically ask about past life memory. I asked if they both would like to try, as there were two chairs and I could test them both at the same time. Gwen seemed reluctant at first; it was not something she believed in or had thought about doing. I was looking for research subjects at the time. She agreed and I tested them both for their ability for trance and regression and both turned out to be good subjects. Gwen proved to be a particularly good subject, so I asked her if she would like to be involved in research. She said that she would think about it and let me know. Gwen had not come to be hypnotized, or to recall a past life, nor had she expected that she would be asked to. One thing she had definitely not expected was to have talked of a past life while under hypnosis. She had agreed to come as a companion to June but not to take part herself. When she left she was confused.

Unknown to me at the time, my office looked the same as the one that Gwen had seen in her dream. She had recognized this upon first entering the room. Among other things, I had electrical equipment behind a large, leather chair and personally fitted the description of the man in her dream, being fairly tall and having dark hair at the time. Gwen wasn't keen on the idea at first, and wasn't comfortable with the idea, but felt that the dream was an indication that she should participate. As it turned out, it was the best thing that could have happened.

Gwen under hypnosis gave me information about a home she lived in during the 18th century. She talked of the people she knew and the villages that were around the area. In the first transcript she spoke of a man named James Mackenzie (who she didn't like), and his son, Nicholas (who used to annoy her). She recalled Bessie, the woman who looked after her, and her father, Adam Duncan. She also talked of the servants who lived in the house at the back of theirs and who served James Mackenzie, the man who seemed to have control over the surrounding houses and land.

When first taken back to that life she described how she was picking lemon balm which was to be used for the making of a hot drink. While in real life Gwen was sitting in my office in a state of hypnosis, in her mind, Gwen was back in the 18th century. Mackenzie had been complaining that the balm they had wasn't fresh, so she went to pick some more. Gwen seemed to be very involved in what she was doing, so I talked to her as if I was a

friend just passing the time of day. I asked her where she was.

"In the wood, pickin' balm.

"What do you see?"

"Mackenzie, 'e be complainin' again, nothin's fresh, nothin's fresh, Nicholas is laughin'. Raven will devour all the Mackenzies and the Falcon's Rood will do naught to help. "

"Tell me about your father."

"Adam Duncan."

"Does he have any friends?"

"Lord Panmure, 'e be General now."

"Who is the King?"

"George...'e be addled."

"What was Mackenzie wearing when you spoke to him this morning?

"Oh, damask! Pale, pale blue satin flowers, big cuffs, white satin breeches, white stockings, and oo ... ribbons ... on the side of 'is stockings, oo 'e be fancy, waistcoat wi' diamond studs for 'is buttons, it's nothin' but the best for 'im. A ring on 'is finger 'e brought back from the islands, it be jade! "

"Where is Mackenzie from?"

"'e be Scotsman, 'e not Scots really, 'e took the name Mackenzie, 'is wife, she be poorly. Nicholas Mackenzie 'as taken Eagle as 'is name, so the curse won't touch 'im. The curse was put on the Mackenzie clan by the Brahan Seer. Isabella Mackenzie, she burnt 'im at the stake. No matter, the raven will devour all the Mackenzies and all of Falcon's Rood will do naught to stop this."

I questioned Gwen about the life and noted the details, keeping a recording of the actual dialogue. The next thing to do was to take her back further to see what other lives she could recall. She recalled one in Canada, one in Turkey, two in Australia, three in England, one in Ireland, one in Egypt, and one that pre-dated history. Superficial checking showed that many of the details were correct for those which could be checked.

For our research, we chose the English life of 1780. Gwen had never been to the area where the life was lived and had never really shown an interest in the place or its products, except for a set of English plates she owned with pictures of a traditional English hunt scene printed on them. The first step was to gain an understanding of the life as she could

best remember it, and to have her recall the death that brought the life to an end, so we began our research in earnest, and made tapes of all trance sessions which were later transcribed to paper.

The life in Somerset that Gwen recalled was a colorful one, telling me of days gone by of which I had little knowledge. The first benefit of our research was to acquaint me with aspects of Great Britain, with some British history, and the way of life experienced by the people of Somerset in the 18th century. I was made aware of some of the events of that time, and of the people, their dress, their habits, and their style of living. Gwen talked of quaint things such as making a drink from lemon balm, how they dried the hares in a special room at the back of the house, and of old fashioned recipes, utensils, and cooking methods. Checking her recall made me more aware of British history.

That first major research session proved more interesting than was expected, as did all of the sessions that followed. Gwen gave us details about the people she had known and met in that life, about events that had transpired, and the incidents she had been involved in or had heard of. We gained descriptions of clothes, people, habits, and descriptions of the area and villages that she knew.

Once I had ascertained that the information Gwen provided was accurate from a historical standpoint, I embarked on a search which was to prove for me, the most intriguing piece of research I had ever undertaken. During the course of many trance sessions Gwen went back to relive many of the highlights of that life. The following account of Gwen's 18th century life story, is taken in part, word for word, from the transcript of Gwen's recall. Before I get to the evidence for its reality, one needs to understand the life she recalled.

"Now you will feel yourself drifting into a deeper trance, into a deeper and deeper trance, and you will begin to feel yourself being drawn through time and space, back to the time of that previous life, back to the place where you lived and back to being that person once again. Once you feel yourself back at that time I want you to tell me where you are and what you see."

"A path ... goin' to Carlotta's."

"Who is Carlotta?"

"She is a gypsy ... lives in the wood."

"Where do you live?"

"In cottage ... Rose Cottage it be. It be small not big ... with thatched roof. There be dryin' room out back ... and a tallet. "

"In what country do you live?"

"England. "

"What part of England?"

"Not far from big stones."

"Tell me the names of the surrounding villages."

"Alford, Blawerton, Stone Chapel, West Bradley, East Pennard. There be barn at East Pennard, the village where Bessie's cousin Sara lives."

"What year is it?"

"1780"

Gwen's life in Somerset, England, commenced in 1765, and ended in 1782 as a result of pneumonia. Her father was Adam Duncan. Her stepmother was called Bessie. Gwen also recalled Bessie's grandfather, an old man by the name of Dobbs, who filled her head with fables and stories.

I asked Gwen under hypnosis to recall the time before the life in Somerset began, when she was preparing to be born to her new parents.

"Before I was born I knew who I was to be born to. I knew the lady I was to be born to was to have twins."

Gwen recalled knowing who her mother and father would be and seemed to move back to that time.

"The lady I'm to be born to is to have twins, a boy and a girl. She can't have twins, but she's having twins ... a brother and a sister. The lady is unhappy. I see my father, he's a big man ... he's having troubles, too. I don't think they're married. I think she's married, but I don't think they're married. Her husband is waiting for a son to be born. I will be a girl ... and we're twins.

"My father will be Adam Duncan, but she's actually married to Lord Somerville. I think her name is Lethbridge. Adam Duncan is waiting for the children to be born; he lives somewhere nearby. I don't know much about them ... we were just told to be born to them. I am to go with my father ... the boy will stay ... I'm to be alright."

Before Gwen was born into that life as Rose Duncan, she was aware that she was to be born illegitimate. After moving her to a time after she was born, she was no longer aware of that fact.

"You will move to the time after you were twelve years old. What do you know of Somerville?"

"Somerville...'e be Lord...'e come from that way on the other side of wood I think. I think father is frightened of 'im because I heard 'im say once to Bessie, 'He nearly saw me at the market but I got away quick.' I think it must be something he's done ... or he doesn't like 'im or something. "

"You are now going back to the time a little bit before you were born into that life, you will remember what you were told."

"I'm to be a twin to the lady ... Elizabeth, I think. There's trouble of some sort ... I won't be staying with my twin. I'll be leaving, not to worry, I'll be alright.

"Tell me about the trouble."

"I'm to go with my father."

"What about your mother?"

"She's ... there's something ... she's not married to him I don't think ... she's married to someone else ... I think she's married to someone else."

"Who is she married to?"

"I'm not to remember this."

"Why?"

"Because I'm not to remember after I'm born, I'm not to be hurt."

"If you remember now, I will give you the suggestion that you won't remember it after, it will go away again."

"He wanted a child and his body is impotent, and she is in love with this other man. Her father made her marry this army man, but she loved someone else, and she was still seeing him ... and she was having a child ... but we are twins."

"Who was her husband?"

"Somerville his name was."

"And who was the man she was seeing?"

"Adam Duncan. "

"Who's Adam Duncan?"

"He's poor now, and will be jealous of other men still with money."

"Where is this Adam?"

"He's nearby because he sees her when she goes riding."

"What's her name?"

"Lethbridge, I think. I'm not to be told because I'll go with my father."

"You'll move to the time after you were born and you will remember your birth."

"I was born in a big room. I was the first born of a pair of twins. The other twin was a little boy. I was wrapped up in a woolen shawl and a bonnet, and was taken down the back stairs to where a man was waiting with a horse and cart and basket. I was put into the basket and was taken with the man and a woman to a cottage. I lived there until I was sitting up. After that, they took me in a cart again and we seemed to travel a long way till once again we came to another cottage. I lived in this place until I was walking. I was named Mary. Now and then a big man would come and would give the lady money. When I was about two years old I was again taken in a cart. I had a long dress on with a frill around the bottom, and I was sat up in front of the cart and looked out for the whole trip. We eventually came to a big house with a smaller cottage at the back ... we lived in the cottage down the back of the big place. Rose Cottage it was called. The man we were with was my father. As I grew older people began to call me Rose. The little house we lived in was called Rose Cottage and was covered with roses, so I suppose they called me after that."

Gwen went on to describe how she was brought up by Bessie, the woman who had come for her, and by her father. She described how her father used to go away for long periods at a time, never confiding to her his destination, or the true nature of his trips. This he only talked of to Bessie. Gwen described her young life as Rose as one of happiness and contentment. The only problem she seemed to be confronted with was a boy called Nicholas Mackenzie, who delighted in chasing her, seemingly more and more as she got older.

Of Bessie, she said she was: "A happy lady with a typical peaches and cream complexion. She used to wear full skirts, button up boots in black, blouse buttoned at wrists and forearms, and if she was in the kitchen she wore an apron. If she was going to church she would dress slightly differently, she would put on her best wear. Most of the ladies used to wear off the shoulder dresses, but she didn't, she wore buttons up to the neck. She always wore a cap, a mop cap; it went on her head and had frills around. Bessie was a friendly, peaceful person, tried to please, and was kind and caring. If I did something wrong she never told my father. There was very little disharmony in the house, as Bessie always tried to reduce any disharmony and tried to be tolerant and to make people happy. Bessie was a humble sort of person, she could be strict, but she was always kind, and like I said, she never told on you if you did something wrong. "

As Gwen spoke of Bessie, it was obvious that the memory of their time together was a fond one. Of her father, she said:

"He was a kind man. He was strong, seemed hard, but he was always kind. He was a big man, heavy thighs, solid build. He had light brownish hair with a sort of gold tinge, which hung down to his collar. It was slightly wavy and turned under with a part at the side. He had a round face, a forehead that curved from the side view, a straight nose, and bluish colored eyes. He always wore brown, such as a mid-brown coat that hung down to his hips, not very flared, corded heavy broadcloth trousers also mid-brown, with good black boots that came up to just below his knees."

"If he was going on the cart anywhere, he wore a brown waistcoat that matched the brown of his trousers and coat. The shirts he wore were like a serge material in blue or cream. The cream ones he wore mostly when he was going somewhere. The shirts were puffed out and had sort of puffed out arms that came in tight at the wrist. They were very attractive. He was a Scot, with a Scot's skin and ruddy complexion."

Gwen described the life as one of routine. She knew the people of the area. Visitors sometimes came to the surrounding houses in the neighborhood and there were the stories and gossip of the community. She heard of happenings overseas in America and in other parts of England if they were notable enough, but these really did not have much effect on her life. She spent much time with her own thoughts and her many childhood fantasies. With her father away for days, sometimes weeks at a time, she spent most of her time talking to Bessie and old Dobbs. She lacked friends of her own age, so was forced to spend time amusing herself.

For transport, she had only her feet on which to rely. She didn't mind walking a few miles if she wished to go somewhere. The morning meal consisted of porridge that had been left to soak overnight. This process caused it to swell so that when it was ready to eat, it closely resembled tapioca. Sometimes they had bread as well, eaten with cheese, honey, or milk. They made their own soap and dried their clothes in the sun on a rope line between tree saplings. It was Gwen's job to scrub the table. This was made of timber and was bleached as well as scrubbed. Gwen recalled that when used, it was not covered with a cloth; the plates, utensils, and assorted items, were placed directly onto the table.

Their home had a room for cooking and living, a bedroom for her father and Bessie, a tallet (or loft) in the roof, a small room for herself, and a drying room out back. The roof was thatched and the cottage was covered with roses. After washing the clothes and herself, she would scrub the table. Then she would walk half a mile over the surrounding fields to Dobbs's place where she would sew and mend for him and sometimes help him with other chores he needed doing. When all the chores were completed, she would go out to the fields to pick the vegetables for the table, but Bessie did most of the cooking.

A number of times during the week she would walk across the fields, cross the stream at the stepping stones, and make her way to the nearest village to buy provisions. She enjoyed this task, as it was her chance to see all the beautiful merchandise, the silks and satins, and

the dresses which she could never afford. There were new threads and products for the home, as well as foodstuffs of many wide varieties that tempted her young palate. She also loved to look at the new laces which were brought over from France. As well as all this, it gave her a chance to meet and talk with other people, mainly the people of the village who she came to know so well over the period of her life. It enabled her to get away from the house and from the chores, which, to her, were humdrum and repetitious.

On the way back from the village she would play a while by the stream, jumping across the stepping stones that crossed it. She would meander through the long green grass, and ponder the issues of her life, or fantasize about how it might be in far off lands across the sea. She had heard about these lands through her contact with James Mackenzie, who owned ships which sailed in search of trade and goods. She heard about the slave trade involving the blacks of Africa, and the buyers in America, as well as the stories about the markets in Barbados where these unfortunates were manacled and sold. She heard of the lands of Scotland, especially the Highlands, where many of her neighbor's ancestors came from, and of the strife in America, which had become a popular topic in her household. Together with these stories, her mind was kept busy with the news and the tales of the various troubles that plagued her own country. She recalled walking through the fields kicking the long grass aside, her mind far away, full of wonder at things she had heard, things that seemed so far removed from life as she knew it. Excitement rarely happened in her own life, being sheltered with her family and relatively isolated from trouble in the green rolling hills of Somerset, which at that time were a long way from anywhere.

Gwen spoke of Carlotta, the gypsy girl. She was not supposed to visit Carlotta, but she would walk through the wood to pick strawberries or lemon balm and when not amusing herself by day dreaming, would talk to the gypsies who camped there. Under trance, Gwen recalled how, as Rose (Mary Duncan), she used to sneak out at night and visit the gypsies' camp to watch them dancing. The gypsies knew she was there, but as she was only a child, they never seemed to mind. She delighted in what she saw. There were seven caravans, all bright and multi-colored with flowers and motifs painted on them. The men were of stocky build, with olive skin and dark hair. The women wore bright dresses, layered in many colors, with anklets and bracelets. She was fascinated by the gypsies and their way of life, and would try to persuade them to teach her their dances, which she never quite grasped. Late at night, when the gypsies left the fires to go to their caravans to sleep, she would make her way back to her home and climb in through the bedroom window.

In the daytime, the wood was a pretty place. There were two main paths but Rose did not always stick to them. The trees were evenly spaced with little surrounding undergrowth so one could walk between them with ease. One's path was covered overhead by the branches and leaves of the twinkling canopy above. On the ground one could find lemon balm and white violets which also shared in the tranquility of the wooded atmosphere. It was a place where ferns and mosses were scattered around and brown leaves covered the spaces between the trees, forming a soft carpet to walk on.

"When I looked up, it was like looking through a big umbrella made of twinkling light and leaves, and much of the ground was soft to walk on. It was beautiful."

The wood featured as a major setting in her life; it was the place where she found tranquility and peace, as well as an interest. Sometimes she passed through the wood on the way to the old abbey (one of the places she loved), or to a place she called the Druid's ring.

The slave trade worried her, she felt it wrong for one person to trade with another's life. She knew the term used to denote slaves was "black gold." She had heard about some black slaves who had actually been brought back to England to be used as servants, and was not very happy with the people who had perpetrated the deed. She would sit and think about the government and England's problems, which she heard about by eavesdropping outside the window of what she termed "the big 'ouse," the house where the gentry and the lords sometimes gathered for parties and dinners, and where the Hon. James Mackenzie lived. Rose believed Mackenzie had taken over the estate from another lord who had fallen into disrepute with the king over his part in the Scottish Rebellion of 1745.

Rose Duncan had first come to the estate when it was in the possession of the original owner, the man she called Lord Panmure. She said her father used to call him "Maule." She vividly recalled her sixth birthday when Panmure came to see her and gave her a ride on his pony. She also remembered the gift he gave to her at the time: a ring, with a setting of colored glass jewels, a memento she treasured. As Rose Duncan was so fond of the original owner of the estate, she never took too kindly to the new landlord James Mackenzie. Panmure had also been a friend of her father and he resented the newcomer, which only added fuel to the fire, as far as Rose was concerned. As she grew older the resentment became stronger, finally bordering on hatred for the man. This resentment eventually set the stage for a tragic event when she reached the age of 17.

There were certain parts of the wood where she did not go. She was told of local smuggling along the Parret river and instructed to avoid those parts of the woods where she would be likely to run into trouble. The fear for her family was that she might become implicated in the smuggling if she came to know too much about it, or was seen in the area where the smugglers used to pass or hide their contraband. It seemed that everyone in the village was involved in the smuggling, with different people and various shops being used to hide or sell the illegal products. Most of the smuggled items were brought from France, such as Vichy lace, and a variety of fine cloths. The smugglers took a great risk, as the penalties were very harsh in those days. If one was caught, one was not likely to be seen again.

The route for smuggling was across the English Channel, up the mouth of the River Severn, along the Parret River, to a point just before the little village of Langport. The rest of the way was by dray. The goods were stored in a house at the base of the woods until it was safe to distribute them to the shops and outlets in the area. Different people kept a lookout for the authorities, and many of the locals had various tasks in the pursuit of unloading the forbidden contraband. All partakers shared in the profits.

The route I have outlined is what Gwen described under trance. Smuggling did go on in that area at that particular time, and the fact that they avoided Langport made sense. For

Rose, the smuggling had a romantic air and helped to bring some excitement into an otherwise somewhat uneventful existence.

"All the damask, satins, and velvets...all come up from smugglin' an' ol' Berger, uh, 'e smuggles it all down river an' ol' widow Brown, she keeps eye and she gets a brandy. "

The favorite time of all for Rose, was at the old abbey. This was a ruin which she said was about seven miles from where she lived, walking in a relatively straight line. She talked of the old buildings, of the rubble that lay about, and the long grass that grew unrestrained around the ruins. She described the surrounding countryside with its hills, its beautiful trees, and its marshy ground. She could see a spire or tower in the distance from where she stood. Gwen spoke of the peaceful atmosphere of the place and how it never failed to fill her with a feeling of serenity and tranquility.

"It be a wonderful place ... all peaceful...There be all mushy ground, an' there be trees in the distance on the other side of mushy ground...an' there be spire, like church, or a castle, over the top of the trees, an' there be wood on other side and a big hill and there be stream and little houses an' they take stones from the abbey to put on their floor ... they shouldn't do that."

"Who does that?"

"Oh! Mr. Brown...'e be second house from end.

This recall became something of great importance in the search for evidence of Gwen's former life. I asked her more about it.

"Tell me about Mr. Brown's house."

"Oh, it be second from the end. There's a group of houses near the abbey; they're built about twenty feet from the stream. I went to Mr. Brown's on the back of 'is cart, the day I cut my foot at the abbey."

"Tell me about the time you cut your foot."

"Mr. Brown was there and 'e helped me. He put me on the back of 'is cart and took me to 'is 'ouse where 'e bandaged my foot to help me to walk on it for the journey home. He was taking stones from the abbey to put on the floor of 'is 'ouse. He had one on the cart when 'e helped me, it was taken from the abbey floor. I had to walk home on my cut foot."

Rose was filled with stories about the abbey (mainly by Dobbs), and the legend of its beginnings. Dobbs' personal account was both interesting and colorful. Gwen recited it to me while in a state of deep trance, and talked about St. Michael, who was supposed to have been the founder of the original church.

"He came up from the Severn seas. He came up with the other ones, but he hurt his leg, and

they carried 'im all broken and battered up to the Uphill people, and it's the same place that the Vikings came ... an' they took 'im up to Bleadon, and when 'e was better, they brought 'im down the river...'im and Mordred, and they found ... they found the hill. There be church there ... but all broken and battered, so they built the abbey there. Aye!...it were wonderful 'e said ... now it's all broken and battered ... inside one room's alright, but the other's all rubble ... all rubble ... and when you look out you can see all the mushy ground and the trees...an' all the castle ... the spire ... a wonderful sight, so peaceful ... no Nicholas to bother me. "

To Rose, the abbey became the focal point of the good times of that life, and was the centre of her fond memories. Gwen recalled how as Rose Duncan she grew into a young woman of 17. She recalled how she was carefree and how her interests and awareness of her life changed, as she became older. It was a simple life, one where she was neither philosophical, nor greatly troubled by world problems, or by poverty, as her family was slightly better off than those in the surrounding villages. Her main worry was her resentment of the Mackenzies and her constant desire to get away from Nicholas, who chased her to annoy her when she was young, and chased her as she grew older for more lusty reasons.

I asked Gwen during one of the trance sessions about some of the other people she knew or had come across in that life. She started by telling me about Coinneach Odhar, a legendary Scottish figure, and the curse that he supposedly placed on the Mackenzie clan. She followed this by a list of people who visited the Mackenzie household and a few other people she either met or had heard of. It was her thoughts of Mackenzie that first brought her mind back to the curse.

"There's people who visit Mackenzie from time to time. "

"What's Mackenzie's full name?"

"James Mackenzie I think 'is name be, but 'is real name be not Mackenzie, 'e took the name of Mackenzie because 'is wife was a Mackenzie an' they be frightened of the curse. "

"What's the curse?"

"The curse of the Black Raven ... a raven will devour all the Mackenzies and all of Falcon's Rood (the name he called his house) will not stop 'im. He can call 'imself all the falcons 'e wants, but it won't stop 'im. The Raven will devour all the Mackenzies.

"Who are the Raven?"

"Coinneach Odhar, the Brahan Seer. They burnt 'im at the stake so 'e put a curse on all the Mackenzies.

"Where does he come from?"

"'e be Lewis man. Isabella had 'im burnt at the stake ... it won't stop the curse."

"Who was Isabella?"

"She be a Mackenzie, a Seaforth."

'Tell me about Seaforth."

"M' Lord Seaforth.. ..Isabella was 'is wife. They lived in a castle in Brahan. "

"Who were some of the people who visited the Mackenzies?

"There was Lord North...'e came from time to time."

"What did he look like?"

"Oh, 'e be a one...'e be always bad that one, 'e likes the girls. 'e 'ad puffy lips and cheeks, and I don't like 'im much. Another one is McAlister, 'e be in charge of Mackenzie's ship."

"You mentioned a friend of your father?"

"Panmure, 'e be general now...'e be the owner of the big 'ouse and it was taken from 'im somehow; 'e did something to offend Prinnie.

"Who is the king?"

"George."

"What did your father call Panmure when he saw him?"

"Maule, they be friends, they knew each other as lads I think. "

"When lords had titles they were often designated as of somewhere. Do you know where he was of?"

"Of Forth I think, father say of Forth ... old Maule of Forth.

"Who else has your father talked of or who else did you see come to visit Mackenzie's house?"

"Cromarty, father used to talk of 'im.

"Anyone else?"

"There was James Wyatt, 'e came to work on the big louse, 'e came to rebuild the stairs and redo all the bannisters. Mackenzie was rebuilding part of the house. James Wyatt was an

architect, 'e was supposed to be special. Mackenzie wanted 'im."

"Do you remember what he looked like?"

"Yes, I saw 'im when 'e was working on the house; passed 'im fairly closely once."

From the transcript, you can see that Gwen had a different accent to when she was awake. She also spoke differently and used different words. Gwen recalled that Rose's father, and the people in her life at that time, except for the Mackenzies, had all come to England from Scotland. They were there in hiding for a long period due to the Jacobite Rebellion. Unbeknown to Rose, it must have been a time of trouble for her father and Bessie, and probably held times of fear for them. If so, Rose was kept blissfully ignorant of this.

There was, however, one sad event that Gwen recalled when regressed back to the age of 12 in her life as Rose Duncan, and that was the death of her friend, the gypsy girl.

"The gypsies were all gathered around the fire, a couple of them were playing musical instruments, most were just sitting around. Carlotta was dancing to the music and making a rhythm with a type of instrument in her hand. There were two men there both interested in her; one was watching her dance as she gave mischievous glances at him. She was barefooted with small shapely legs, ankles and feet. She had especially beautiful feet. She wore a blouse that hung over her shoulders, and a colorful layered skirt. She was the daughter of the head of the tribe. The man whom she was giving the eye to was also one of the gypsies; he had had designs on Carlotta for some time. His name was Raf."

"The rival for her affections was a gypsy male named Carlo who was to become the leader on the death of Carlotta's father. He saw the encouragement his rival was getting and became angry. He began to push Raf and the two began to fight."

"Raf was tall and good looking; Carlo was shorter and more stocky. Before long, they had pulled out stiletto knives and were engaged in a deadly knife fight. As they moved around, Carlotta screamed at them to stop, but by this time the rest of the camp had gathered around the fighters. Their fight had become more serious and determined. Women and children all stood around yelling their encouragement. Suddenly, Carlotta ran between them to stop them, yelling all the time, but she chose the wrong moment to intervene. Raf had plunged his knife towards Carlo, which found Carlotta instead, piercing her heart."

"I remember feeling the shock when I saw it. I began sobbing. When the men realized what had happened--they didn't at first--they stopped fighting and ran to her aid. She was carried to the caravan but she quickly died. The blade must have been angled upward and pierced her heart, maybe it pierced her lungs, I don't know, I just remember the blood running out of her chest staining all the front of her blouse, and running out of her mouth. I stood there in shock for I don't know how long. Time didn't seem very important. After what seemed a long time they formed a procession and made their way to a large elm tree where they buried Carlotta's ceremonial stone, a stone that had been passed down to her from previous generations.

"I cried for a long time that night before I fell asleep. The next morning when I got up everything was gone, and the bare circle with a ring of trees called batch was empty, as if it had never been. I had lost my best friend. What they did with Carlotta's body I don't know, when I went back they had gone. Nothing was left; it was as if they had vanished without a trace. I never forgot it, nor did I ever really get over it. It was the greatest sadness of that life."

Under hypnosis, Gwen talked about how, when Carlotta was alive, they used to walk into the woods together to pick herbs, berries, and leaves, from which Carlotta used to make potions for the cure of certain ailments. She used to sell her cures to the people of the village. After the death of her friend, Carlotta, life was never the same again for Rose. She had no friend to go into the woods with to pick herbs. She had no reason to go into the woods at night, as the gypsy camp had gone and only the empty wood remained. The deserted ring only served as a sad reminder of the tragedy that had taken place. Rose had loved the music and the dancing of the gypsies, and she had loved the gaiety it offered, because it was something she could not have at home, or from the neighbors, or from the people of the village, as they were of quite a different type of society than the gypsies. No longer could there be seen the colorful skirts, the bare feet, or dancing by the light of the fire at night. Now it was quiet. The style and tempo of Rose's life had changed in an instant. She had to find new ways to fill her time.

There were still chores, of course. Life went on for another five years after this, with Rose watching the day to day happenings of the area, and the comings and going of the people, always listening for tidbits of news or gossip, by pressing her ear to the bedroom wall while the grown ups talked in the next room. Finally, as she approached the age of 18, her father began to think about finding a suitable spouse for Rose. One day, he returned with news that he had found an eligible partner for her and that in due course arrangements would be made for them to marry. He said the man was a McCrae, one of the last people in the world Rose wanted to marry. The McCrae's were somehow associated with the Mackenzies who Rose had become biased against.

Rose panicked and ran into the woods to escape and to think. In her dilemma she walked through the woods in the direction of the abbey, along the track which Carlotta, the young gypsy girl, had shown her. For Rose, the abbey had always represented a place of beauty and tranquility, and in this period of panic and sadness, probably represented a place that might help her come to terms with, or to escape from the painful feelings she had. What to do? This marriage could take her far from the people and lands she had come to love. She didn't want to be isolated from Bessie, Dobbs, and her father, the only people she really had in the world. Even more painful, more abhorrent to her was the idea of marrying a McCrae, a relative of the hated McKenzie's! Her mind raced and darted in turmoil.

Not wishing to return home that night, she remained huddled in a corner of a ruined building in the abbey, trying to find some semblance of rationality in her mind. Her father and Bessie, not knowing about her love for the old abbey nor her trips there, did not know where to look, but as the night wore on, it became colder and colder, so by the morning she

suffered from exposure and frostbite. The lands around Glastonbury can be bleak in the winter, especially at night with the cold winds.

Her father and Bessie finally went to Dobbs to see if he had any idea where she may have gone. He told them of her love for the abbey and of her trips there, so they returned home, hitched up the cart, and set off for the abbey in the hope that they would find her. They could not follow the path through the woods, but instead, followed the road around the wood, leaving the road when the abbey was in sight. Searching among the old buildings of the ruins, they finally found Rose, huddled in the comer of one of the crumbling buildings. They picked her up and put her in the cart where they covered her before taking her home.

The journey home was completed in silence. Rose was feeling ill, and her mind had drifted far away to the times past, when Panmure had taken her for a ride on his pony and had given her a present of a ring, and to the times when she used to run with Carlotta over the grassy slopes, and through the woods to find herbs and berries. She remembered the softness of the path through the woods, and how the fallen leaves would sometimes stick to her feet. She could see in her mind the canopy created by the trees, with the sparkling, twinkling light flickering between the leaves. Half asleep, secure under the blankets in the back of the cart, she let her mind wander over all the springs, summers and autumns she could remember, when life had been sweet to a young girl named Rose.

When Rose arrived home she was put to bed, looked after and kept warm, but it was too late; the night in the Abbey had been to cold. During the days that passed, her fever grew. Finally she could feel the life in her body slipping away. As each day passed her energy became less and each movement was more difficult, with it becoming harder and harder to breathe. Bessie kept vigil, keeping her warm and trying to feed her, but to no avail. Rose died three weeks later.

During a period of trance, Gwen was asked to recall her death.

"Father had a man picked out for me to marry when I turned 18. He was a fellow Scot, he was a McCrae. I didn't want to be married. I ran away up to the abbey and I stayed there all night ... and I got cold. It was freezing cold and they found me in the morning and put me on the back of the cart. I was three weeks in bed and I wasn't getting any better. The doctor said I was wasting away. He put a stick down my throat to help me to breathe but I died. I died in bed ... and old Andrews (Dr. Andrews) was sitting by my bed with my father and Bessie. Then my father...he walked out the door ... and Bessie ... she be crying."

"Then I saw a lady, I knew her last time. She was with a man in a long dress, no, not a dress, a robe...and he put out his hand and I took it and I went with him. I began to feel very light ... no weight ... nothing to hold me down ... everything was light, like floating, but not floating. There was no pain, and I was very aware, so much more aware of feelings and senses, and thoughts, almost as if you didn't have to speak. It was like being made of air ... free ... free .... so free."

"Before I left, I remember standing beside the bed and looking down at the body, I'd

wasted away and I fell free ... so free. I was just standing there looking at myself and I wondered why Bessie was crying. Then I realized I was dead and the life was no more, and I couldn't go back; it was over. I could see Bessie crying. I knew she couldn't see me nor could she hear me. I would have liked to talk to her, but I was dead and could remain there no more. I was taken to a place and was told to rest, which I did. I don't really know for how long, but I was being pulled back because Bessie was feeling so sad missing me, and it was holding me back. I came down to see her again and I tried to tell her to let me go ... not to hold me back ... because it hurts ... after a time she finally did."

Still under hypnosis, Gwen went on to talk about the place that she was taken to after her death.

"I was taken to a place where I met a man who looked like an Egyptian. From the place where I was told to rest we walked along a grassy path. Everywhere was grass and there was water. It was in many ways similar to earth. You could put your feet into the water and take them out again without having to dry them, as they didn't get wet! He said it was because we were in spirit."

"We walked to the Hall of Records and that was where I met the Egyptian. He was so kind, he showed me all I had done, things I should have done but didn't do. The place was like a library and it's full of records. It was a big place, a very big place. It had a long corridor with a sort of gold light everywhere inside. He showed me my life...but I could see it in my mind, not on paper, all the things I'd done, things I needed to do and didn't do."

"The thing I needed to do was to be more conscious of other people. I was selfish, I only thought about myself and where I lived, my home and not the poor people in the village and the poor children. I should have helped, but I didn't. His voice is almost music, and there is a light that shines around him ... when he looks at you his eyes seem to read what you are thinking ... he seems to know."

"I was told that in the Hall of Records there is a file on every living soul that ever incarnated and each time we have to see what fools we've been, what mistakes we've made. We have two paths to choose ... if you take the wrong path it's all against you ... if you take the right path it's all for you, and it's balanced out in the Hall of records, and it's all there ... every page, almost every thought and every deed is there ... every book ... every spoken word you can find. It's gold inside ... lit up with a gold light, pure light. Everything in there is knowledge, and the keeper, the Egyptian in this plane, looks after and controls the records."

"After going over my life, we left the library and were back on the grass. We paddled in the water, and as I said, didn't need to dry ourselves. There were boats on the water ... all green grass and trees greener than anywhere. The flowers were all alive ... no dead flowers. Around the lake on the other side there were more trees, flowers, and birds, pretty birds, and oh, such beautiful music! We sat and talked under the trees and rested. It was a beautiful place. The only time I became worried was when someone thought of me and I was pulled back ... and it's sad.

"Finally, a man came, he said I must go back to earth. I didn't want to go back, but I had to. I rested on that plane until it became time to go back to earth."

The Search for Evidence

There comes a point during research when one strives for the ultimate find, and in my search for evidence I had reached that point. What I needed was one piece of hard, cold fact that could not be put down to the reading of books, to subliminal learning, to coincidence, or to fantasy. It was in the hope that this might be found, that we embarked on a voyage to the other side of the world, to a place tucked into the green, undulating hills of the United Kingdom. There, in the picturesque farmlands of Somerset I hoped to find what had eluded me for the best part of seven years.

Somerset was to some extent isolated. It was situated away from the large industrial centers, and hence had not been desecrated under the onslaught of encroaching towns and industrial estates. In Somerset at the time, one could still meander down quiet country lanes, lost in an atmosphere that reminded one of what it might have been like in the antiquity of Merry Old England. For this type of search, England was ideally suited, as one could still see the remnants and relics of ancient times set among the greens and golds of the landscapes, and the more modern buildings that dot the countryside. Glastonbury, with its old crumbling abbey, the legends of the Knights of the Round Table, its historic countryside and its legend of Joseph of Arimathaea, looked much the same as it had for centuries. The hedges ran for miles. The smells and the sounds of the countryside filled the air with a sense of peace and tranquility, easily allowing the imagination to drift back to days of old.

According to legend, Glastonbury was visited by Joseph of Arimathaea, on his trips to a legendary tin mine in the area, and he was buried in the grounds of the old abbey, along with many monks and kings who were interred there. The Tor, the focal point of Glastonbury, stands and looks out over the surrounding countryside, topped with the Church of St. Michael's. In conjunction with its founder St. Patrick, it watches over the graves and buildings of the monastery below. Again the atmosphere is charged with the romantic, and with legends that take one back to the days of Jesus of Nazareth. Even when we went there, in places such as Somerset, the land and time had in some ways stood still. The country was neat with its endless array of hedges and picturesque trees. Rivers no wider than streams meandered their way between hills which rolled from horizon to horizon. Clumps of green and brown foliage adorned the sides of the larger steeper hills that stood faraway in the distance, while the sky when we were there was blue, with a few white puffs of clouds. A haze settled over the lower skyline that gave the historical lands a permanent and almost lazy appearance.

Gwen was glad to have the chance to see whether or not the places she remembered were truly factual. Her memories began with hypnosis. Before that she had no past life

memories: she wasn't even sure she wanted to be involved. She remained apprehensive, not sure whether to trust her recall even as she was alighting the plane in London, on the other side of the world to where she lived. Gwen had never been outside of Australia; she didn't even have a passport before the expedition. She had never thought of past lives before coming to me.

Gwen accompanied the film crew to England. Her companions included cameraman Paul Tait, sound engineer, Grant Roberts, and Jeni Kendell, a director of documentaries who proved to be invaluable to the project. They boarded a Japan Airline flight traveling from Australia via Tokyo and the North Pole to London, where they met up with myself and the others who made up the research team.

Long before our trip to England I had worked hard to find out as much as possible about Gwen's story, to try to confirm what Gwen McDonald had told us. In conjunction with a friend, Graham, I worked in libraries and over the phone, checking old records of Somerset, searching books for descriptions of places, researching old modes of dress, and looking for details of people she had talked of in an effort to find evidence that would support the story's authenticity.

When we first began the research we did not know exactly where the life was lived, only that it was in England somewhere near the 'big stones'. Gwen had given us the name of the home she called "the big 'ouse, " and the names of a few surrounding villages. She recalled the names of the people she had lived with, as well as the people who inhabited the larger house on the old estate. Gwen spoke of Langport, and it was this town that led us to the county she had lived in. Looking over a map of England, we traced the name Langport to the county of Somerset. After this we located some of the villages and towns that she had spoken of. Soon, some interesting facts emerged.

First, some of the villages she mentioned no longer existed, and we had to search older maps to find them. One place which Gwen called Blawerton, was now spelled Blotton. However, when we referred to the old maps we found that in 1790 the name of the village was Blawerton. We later found it was also pronounced as such, in accordance with the way Gwen had spoken. Stone Chapel, the name of another village she had told us of, doesn't exist today either, but did in the year 1782. All the other villages she spoke of were there: East and West Penard, Bradley, Langport, Somerton, Taunton, and Croscombe. When Gwen spoke of her father, she often mentioned the trips he used to make down to the Blackdown Hills. The Blackdown Hills are found in the lower region of Somerset, below Taunton. Gwen had talked of markets at a place she pronounced "Crocom." This was interesting, because checking proved that there had been a market in a town near where Rose was supposed to have lived, which was spelled Croscombe, until 1782, though there has not been one since. Written in the reference book in which we found the details of the market, was the following paragraph:

"It (Croscombe) is an adjoining parish to Shepton Mallet, from which it is distant two miles toward the west, being bounded on the north and east by the Mendip Hills. The village is

pleasantly situated at the bottom of a deep narrow valley, watered by a rivulet called Croscombe Water, which, rising on the side of Mendip above Shepton, passes on, fed with other streams, to Dinder, Dulcot, and Godney Moor where it mixes with the Brew. It is compactly built and had formerly a market, granted by King Edward I and confirmed by Edward III and Henry IV, but this market being dropped, another charter was pronounced for its renewal by Hugh Fortescue Esq., Lord of the Manor. This market has also been suspended some years."

This statement was originally written in 1790. Some of the very early statements told to us by Gwen concerned the Parret River and the Severn Sea. When we knew of the Severn and the Parret, we knew that she had lived somewhere in the west country and Langport had brought us closer. At first her memory was sketchy and it was hard to even pinpoint the general area in which she lived. The way we came to do this was by referring to the legend she had related to us regarding St. Michael's Abbey. Recalling that legend she had said, "They came up the Severn Seas" and "they came to Bleedon and went up the Bleedon Hills." She mentioned a town called Uphill, and said that St. Michael stopped there to rest. We soon found the place Uphill, then the Bleedon Hills, also the River Parret that opens into the Severn Sea. After finding the river we traced its course through the west country. We calculated that Gwen must have lived somewhere in that region. Gwen also spoke often of two men, one called James Stewart Mackenzie and the other called Lord Panmure, so we searched for these names in the records for the west country of England. To pinpoint it further, we returned to doing more hypnotic sessions, and we pursued the story of the smuggling. It was in this story that she mentioned Langport and the fact that this town was in the region of where she once lived.

I had to find a man who was notable, as according to Gwen, he was the owner or tenant of a reasonably large estate. While researching in the archives of the New South Wales Public Library, I came across a manuscript titled, A History of Somersetshire, written in the 18th century and printed in 1794. In this book were the squires, gentry, and nobility of Somersetshire who had lived during that period. On checking through the lists, to my surprise, I found the Honorable James Steward Mackenzie!

We needed more details from Gwen and with more work uncovering the life, I eventually received a better response from her memory. She then recalled more people from that life, who had either lived in the area, or who she had heard of through gossip. Perhaps some of them could be traced. Gwen spoke of a curse on the Mackenzie clan, and of the seer who had made it. According to Gwen, the seer had a number of different names by which he was known, but his true name was Kenneth Mackenzie and his Gaelic name was Coinneach Odhar. She believed that Isabella Mackenzie had burned him at the stake. When asked who Isabella Mackenzie was, Gwen replied that she was the wife of Seaforth Mackenzie, titled Lord Seaforth, and the owner and resident of a castle in Scotland at Brahan. She further recalled that the paintings of Isabella and Seaforth hung on the wall of the residence she termed the big house on the estate.

We had to find out what we could about the man called Coinneach Odhar, and if there was

ever a curse put on the family of the Seaforth Mackenzies. We also needed to know if there had ever lived a Seaforth Mackenzie with a wife named Isabella. This search regarding the curse turned out to be a most interesting find, a story within a story. It took us all the way to Scotland, which was interesting in itself, because Gwen recalled that her father of that life had fled to Somerset from Scotland, as a result of the Jacobite rebellion, and the names of the people she recalled, suggested a Scottish history. Gwen had recounted the story of the curse with a noticeable degree of resentment. In that life she had learned to resent the Mackenzie clan and referred to Coinneach Odhar as if he was an ally, and a man of some power.

"The Raven will devour all the Mackenzies."

"Who is the Raven?"

"Coinneach, Coinneach Odhar."

"Isabella, she burned him at the stake."

"Who is Isabella?"

"She's the wife of Seaforth, she burned 'im at the stake. No matter, the Raven will devour all the Mackenzies."

"Tell me about the Raven."

"He put a curse on the Mackenzies when she burned him."

It was not clear at first why Gwen displayed such a resentment toward the Mackenzies, but it was obvious that there was something behind it. Upon questioning, it became clear that her father in that life was friendly with Panmure, who was opposed to the Mackenzies. These clans had feuded, and one in part blamed the other for the loss of certain lands. The stories of the Mackenzies and their relationship to the seer were well known in the Highlands at the end of the 18th century and Gwen recalled what had generally been talked about at that time. Her resentment and knowledge of the feud became clearer as more of her life unfolded.

Gwen recalled her father, a Scot and a Highlander, had arrived in Somerset with a number of fellow Scots to escape the wrath of the king as a result of the defeat of the Jacobite Rebellion of 1746, where the Hanovarians, led by the Duke of Cumberland, defeated the Royalist Army of Prince Charles Edward Steward at the battlefield of Culloden. Gwen's family had evidently handed down to her the stories of the Highlands as they knew them, as well as the resentments. When we began the search for Kenneth Mackenzie (alias Coinneach Odhar), we didn't know what to expect, nor how much we would find, as the story of the man may have been too little known and his existence too obscure. As it turned out we did find him, and the find brought other matters to light. As an aside, she had called him "a Lewis man." Not only did it prove to be correct, but the Isle of Lewis tied in with

the history of Lord Panmure, the person who she recalled was the friend of her father's, who figured strongly in her life. Coinneach Odhar did exist and his name was indeed Kenneth Mackenzie. He had finally come to be titled The Brahan Seer.

It was interesting that Gwen had said earlier that her father in that life also had an association with the Isle of Lewis. The fragments began to fit together. Panmure was associated with Lewis, so was Coinneach Odhar, so was the resentment between her family and the Mackenzies, so was her father. The search for Coinneach Odhar showed him to be a legendary figure, well known at the time throughout the Highlands of Scotland. It also showed that Gwen was correct when she said that the Mackenzie family was well aware of the curse. The curse was actually a prophesy predicting the doom of the race of the Seaforth Mackenzies. This, according to legend, was given by the seer just before he was about to be executed for his powers at the hands of Isabella Mackenzie. There is academic dispute about Isabella's true involvement, as some sources suggest it was a different lady. However, as far as the general Highlanders were concerned, it was Isabella who was the villian. Documenting this incident, Alexander Mackenzie wrote of the seer's curse in his 1877 manuscript:

"He drew forth his white stone, so long the instrument of his supernatural intelligence, and once more applying it to his eye said... 'I see into the far future and I read the doom of my oppressor. The long descended line of Seaforth will, ere many generations have passed, end in extinction and sorrow. I see a chief, the last of his house, both deaf and dumb. He will be the father of four fair sons, all of which he will follow to the tomb. He will live careworn and die mourning, knowing that the honours of his line are to be extinguished forever, and that no future chief of the Mackenzies shall bear rule at Brahan or in Kintail. After lamenting over the last and most promising of his sons, he himself shall sink into the grave, and the remnants of his possessions shall be inherited by a white-coifed (or white hooded) lassie from the East, and she is to kill her sister. As a sign by which it may be known that these things are coming to pass, there shall be four great lairds in the days of the last deaf and dumb Seaforth, namely Gairloch, Chisholm, Grant, and Raasay, of whom one shall be buck-toothed, another hare-lipped, another half-witted, and the fourth a stammerer. Chiefs distinguished by these personal marks shall be the allies and neighbours of the last Seaforth; and when he looks around him and sees them, he may know that his sons are doomed to death, that his broad lands shall pass away to the stranger, and that his race shall come to an end."'

According to legend, when the seer had finished his prediction, he threw his white stone into the loch, and declared that whoever should find that stone would be similarly gifted. Then submitting to his fate, he was at once executed. According to legend, this final prophesy of doom ended his strange and uncanny life. A monument to the Brahan Seer still stands today in the highlands of Scotland.

History has shown that if the old curse was truly spoken, it came true with a vengeance and was fulfilled to the letter. In 1755 Francis Mackenzie was born and was to become the last of the Seaforths. He was born normal, but became deaf at the age of twelve after a bout of illness that had him bedridden for a while, and which nearly proved fatal. He inherited the

clan in 1794, twelve years after Rose Duncan's death. At a later stage in his life he lost his ability to talk, and for a while became dumb, after which, he was purported to have seldom spoke anyway.

After his bout of scarlet fever at the age of twelve, his life picked up again and improved for a while. Eventually he married a lady by the name of Mary Proby, the daughter of a man of the church. As per the prediction she bore him four sons, as well as two daughters. Toward the end of his life he became unable to articulate, and so unable to talk. At the same time of his birth, there were also born four other Highland lairds, each with the name or title given by the seer, and each having one of the afflictions foretold.

If the curse was true, when Francis Mackenzie looked around him and considered his own position, he must have felt ill at ease indeed. Considering his afflictions, his four sons, the four Highland lairds with characteristics outlined by the seer, the stage had been set exactly in accordance with the seer, for the fulfillment of the main part of the prophesy. This was not long in coming. One after another his four sons were cut off by death, and as the seer had predicted, the last of the Seaforths followed his sons to the grave. On Jan. 11, 1815, Lord Seaforth died, the last of his line, and his title became extinct. The last part of the seer's prophecy told of how Seaforth's estates would pass to a white-hooded lassie from the East, who would kill her sister. This also happened as foretold. The woman from the East who inherited the property was the Hon. Mary F. Mackenzie, wife of Admiral Sir Samuel Hood, Admiral of the West India Station. One day she was riding with her sister in a pony carriage through the woods near Brahan Castle. The pony suddenly took fright and ran, throwing both ladies out of the carriage. Mary Mackenzie recovered but for her sister the accident proved fatal. This last event fulfilled the seer's vengeful prediction to the letter. The full account of the story regarding the Seaforth Mackenzies and the Brahan Seer, is presented in the book, The Prophecies of the Brahan Seer, written by Alexander Mackenzie, and first published in England in 1877. I have included the story because it was related to me by Gwen McDonald when she was regressed to her past life, and it proved to be a real story. If Gwen's memory did indeed come from a previous lifetime, then her memory proved it was a prophesy at the time she was alive, and history showed it came true. This made it even more interesting to prove Gwen's past life existence. Facts had already emerged that she shouldn't have known of, including the now obsolete names of the villages she recalled. Gwen revealed her knowledge of the seer and his association with the Isle of Lewis and Brahan Castle. Her associations with her previous Somerset life were also Scottish. As mentioned, she talked of paintings of Isabella and Lord Seaforth hanging in the big house of the Mackenzies. When researching the seer, we came across these paintings. I made the memory of these people conscious to Gwen, and then showed her unmarked photographs of a number of people, including those of Isabella and Lord Seaforth, to see if she could recognize them from a group. Gwen was able to identify the paintings of Isabella and Lord Seaforth instantly.

Under hypnosis, Gwen told me about a barn existing in the area of East Pennard at the time she lived as Rose, and recalled that her stepmother, Bessie, used to dress up to go there sometimes. As she was never invited to go along she was not sure what happened there or its purpose. However, it was a place of some importance to the people she knew. From

records in Sydney I was not able to confirm the existence of this barn, but when in Somerset I came across the existence of a Court Barn in that area. It is now preserved, but was operational in the period of Gwen's previous life in Somerset. I determined that this must have been the barn that she had talked about. In the late 18th century the barn would have been the center of attraction, making it a likely subject for discussion by her stepmother. She would not have been taken there, as it would be unlikely that the family would have taken a young child to listen to court proceedings. The story of what I believed to be just an old barn became a bonus discovery. It was again strange that Gwen had known of it.

While describing the house of Mackenzie, Gwen mentioned that the owner intended to have it remodeled. She recalled he was, among other things, having all the bannisters remade, and wanted the architect James Wyatt to supervise the operation. I checked the records for an architect by the name of James Wyatt and found there was indeed a man of that profession and by that name, who had lived at that time in London, who had carried out many renovations to the various large houses on the country estates around southern, eastern, and western England. His talents were held in high esteem by the squires and gentry of the period. When Gwen mentioned him, it was as an aside, while she was talking of something else. She felt it was important to the Mackenzies at the time. Initially, her words were as follows, as she recalled the property.

"Mackenzie's got it now (the house), there be big party...'e be getting all the inside done, all the bannisters, James Wyatt, 'e be coming to do it."

It proved to be another interesting piece of evidence. As James Wyatt was an important architect at the time, it was highly feasible that James Mackenzie would want him to supervise renovations for him to add prestige to the place.

During one hypnotic session, Gwen talked about how she used to eavesdrop outside the windows of "the big 'ouse" in order to hear the gossip of the Mackenzie household. She would stand where she couldn't be seen, yet close enough to hear the conversations of the people inside. It was her way of finding out what was happening in the world outside Rose Cottage. She recalled that one day, she heard talk of riots in London and the implication of a Lord Gordon in those riots. She recalled asking her father about what she heard. He told her that there was rioting in the streets of London, and indicated some concern about the general trends causing the disturbance. Gwen said the year was 1782.

1 went to my friend, Graham, to ask what he knew about such an incident. He confirmed the details. The Gordon Riots took place in 1782. Under hypnosis, Gwen had acted as if she was impressed by the stories.

"The riots were on ... big riots. Lord North, 'e be worried. Riots around the king, Gordon Riots I think 'e said, 'e be worried. Father said 'e should be worried, everybody's worried all frightened it'll come here ... the riots. My father, 'e was angry. People were killed in the streets in London I think."

"Tell me about the riots."

"Lord North had to go back quick, there was trouble."

"What were the people rioting about?"

"Rights, I think, people's rights, and my father, 'e seemed to agree with them. There's going to be a war 'e said and all men will go. There's war now, but not here.

"Where's the war?"

"Somewhere else, they're going there to fight."

"Who are they going to fight?"

"Yankees I think ... damn Yankees 'e said. It was trappers 'e said, but there be war here soon and they're all worried."

"What do they think will cause the war here?"

"Rights I think ... against the monied people. There were women and children killed in the streets."

"Where was this?"

"London."

"What happened?"

"Everyone went mad ... I don't think it's here yet, but there were a lot killed 'e said. Nicholas wanted to go and see, but 'is father said no, it would be here soon. He's sending Nicholas away to Scotland I think, 'e doesn't want to go. I think the riots are against the king and against the rich people. I think 'e be rich. It's all to do with money. They're worried."

This conversation with Gwen was interesting because it was about riots in England, that happened around the same time the revolutionists in France were beheading the French aristocracy. It would stand to reason that riots in London would worry England's wealthy. Gwen recalled:

"Father said that when a man is discontented, it spreads like the plague, and uprisings start everywhere. In the small villages all the men go to join the others when the word spreads. He said that there was trouble and they were frightened. "

Gwen had spoken of Lord North and others of similar standing. I found whatever evidence I could for the existence of whoever I could, and then obtained copies of paintings of whoever I could. When confronted with those paintings I found, Gwen recognised them

immediately, though there was nothing to identify them. Lord North was one. It became apparent Gwen under hypnosis knew more about old Somerset than she should have, and nothing when awake. Why did she know so much, including old fables and legends, people who did once exist whom she could recognise, the names of old villages that are long gone, correct olden day pronunciations, and correct descriptions of the land as it was two hundred years ago.

Once all the Australian research had been exhausted, we journeyed to England to take our work to its conclusion. Having arrived before Gwen and the crew, I travelled to the pertinent area of Somerset to see what might be gained in an initial on-location search, both in the local historical libraries and in the area itself. At a local research library, I gleaned some information on the Somerset area. A group of Scotsmen had indeed come to Somerset after the Jacobite Rebellion to hide from possible retribution. It was again confirmed that the Hon. James S. Mackenzie lived in the area at that time, along with some of the other people Gwen spoke of, such as the Somervilles and the Lethbridges. It was not just the main people she recalled who had actually existed at the time, but most of the people she recalled that her family of the time, or the Mackenzie family, had been involved with.

There was one more extremely evidential find that came from the local area, before we actually put Gwen's memory to the test in a practical way. Under hypnosis in Sydney, Gwen had used the word tallet to indicate a room under the roof, like a loft, when she described her old home. We searched for this word but could not find it anywhere. In the library of Taunton in Somerset, we took up the research of this word tallet, which Gwen had used, but for which we could find no entry in current dictionaries. In a book of obsolete west country words, we found it. Tallet was a word used in the west country of England, during the time of Gwen's previous life, to refer to a room under a roof, such as a loft. It isn't used now and was used only in the west country of England, or in other words, where Gwen recalled having lived. It was unlikely Gwen had recourse to that knowledge from her life in Australia. This information confirmed also that she had used the word correctly. When added to the other facts we had found, her evidence was building up substantially.

For the ordinary villagers, looking up parish records was not overly successful. People do not always live where they are born, nor live where they are married, and the records from before 1830 are by no means complete. Gwen had talked of a widow Brown living in the village, as well as a few other assorted people with common names and of poor families. Though there were similar names to be found in various parish registers, this added no evidence as they could have been anyone.

One of the most evidential finds that we made in the parish records was the whereabouts of Hugh Somerville, Esq. The records showed that he lived in the parish of Croscombe where the markets were. Months before leaving England, under trance, Gwen had made a statement to me about the market, which had involved her father and Lord Somerville. It had come up at a time when she was telling me of her father's background. Under trance, regressed to before she was born, she recalled that she knew that she was to be born

illegitimate, and that her father would have to avoid Lord Somerville. When regressed to the life itself, she also told me how her father had to avoid Lord Somerville, but at that time she thought it had something to do with the Jacobite rebellion, as if she had never been told the complete truth of her birth. She recalled an incident at the markets told to her, where her father had to beat a hasty retreat in order not to be seen by Lord Somerville. She recalled her father wouldn't take her there, because of the possible need for him to make such a hasty retreat. It came up once, when Gwen was discussing why her father didn't return to Scotland.

"He said 'e couldn't go back to Scotland, because if he did, 'e'd be in trouble. He said 'e just wanted to be a nobody, a farmer 'e said ... it'll do ... a farmer nobody notices, nobody cares about. He just wanted to live in peace 'e says and I asked him would he take me with him when he goes to the market. He said no, he might see someone he knows, and 'e might have to leave quick like and couldn't wait around to find me, so 'e won't ever take me anywhere, but I don't think 'e really loves me. He doesn't seem to really, with feeling I mean. I think 'e blames me for mother's death because I look like her. Bessie says I do.

"He talks about Seaforth and the Mackenzies ... not to me ... but I listen when 'e gets cranky. He hates the Mackenzies, something to do with 'is mother 'e said, but I don't know what. Bessie won't talk. She only says I have a temper like my mother and my grandfather on my mother's side. I be a Lethbridge she says, I have a temper like a Lethbridge, but I don't think my father likes my mother's father because 'e looks black if 'is name comes up"

In trying to understand her father's relationships with the various people of the area I asked Gwen what she knew of Somerville.

"Somerville? 'e be Lord. He comes from that way (making a directive gesture with her head) on the other side of woods I think. I think father's frightened of 'im because I heard 'im say once to Bessie, 'He nearly saw me at the market, but I got away quick.' I think it must be something he's done or 'e doesn't like 'im or something."

In this statement Gwen indicated that her father was frightened of running into people he knew who might recognize him. If he had made Somerville's wife pregnant with his child, he would not want Somerville to know that he was in the area, in case he was apprehended and subjected to the man's vengeance. Knowing that Somerville lived near the markets, he was apprehensive about the fact that he might be seen there by his foe and have to beat a hasty retreat. Furthermore, if seen with the daughter, he might put two and two together, especially if Rose Duncan (Gwen in the former life) looked like her mother or grandfather. As the markets were at Croscombe, it seemed likely that Somerville must have lived reasonably close by if the father was always worried about running into him.

Therefore, our find in the Croscombe parish records did three things. First, it confirmed that Lord Somerville who Gwen talked of, did in fact exist. Second, it showed that Somerville lived close to the markets at Croscombe as was indicated by her recall. Third, it confirmed that the town of Croscombe was the one Gwen had referred to when talking of the markets, even though there was an "s" in the spelling which she had not pronounced.

The markets, as mentioned, were confirmed to have been there during Gwen's time, though removed later. All facts tallied with her recall, though these things were very unlikely to be something Gwen could know from her life in Australia. Gwen also had no interest in British history, though if she had, these are still things she would be very unlikely to know. The obsolete word tallet was something that it seemed she couldn't have known, though she recalled it. The extraordinary evidence continued.

Under hypnosis in Sydney, before we left on the expedition, Gwen under hypnosis had talked about the meetings of the Puritans at Alford, and of their politeness, and that they were kind people. She told how she would see them sometimes, walking to their meetings in Alford. She said the locals knew of the Quakers and that they were a common sight every week. The village of Alford is situated a short distance from the village that Gwen (as Rose) frequented for general provisions. The following is some of Gwen's transcript.

"The Quakers live on the other side of Caftle and when they come this way they come by steppin' stones, and they go off towards the wood, but not as far as the wood, to a place called Alford, and they have their church meeting house it would be. They're Puritan people and they always wear black, and they speak like ... er...'good mornin' te ye,' like that. 'God be with thee', they say, 'God be with thee.' Very nice people."

Trying to ascertain the truth of Gwen's statement about Alford was very difficult. At the Taunton library we were unable to ascertain whether or not Gwen's statements regarding the Quakers (Puritans) were true. There were no Quaker meetings in Alford when we researched it, and none of the locals knew of any Quaker meetings, especially around Alford, and there seemed to be no way that we were going to find out. Alford had no historical library. I understand it was nothing more than a hamlet. As the Quaker meeting was something that we couldn't find out about or confirm in England, in the West Country, it was certainly something Gwen would have had extreme difficulty learning about in Sydney. In fact, I believe it would have been impossible. Expert advice told us that such meetings were few and far between in England at the time. It didn't seem as though we were going to get very far with this piece of information. We went to the historical museum at Castle Cary, a few miles from Alford, and a few miles from where Gwen (as Rose) said she used to live, but again at first, this shed no light on the matter. It seemed as if we had reached a dead end.

Then, by chance, in the archives, we came across copies of a type of magazine, printed and published around the time of Gwen's past life. We didn't expect them to bring anything in relation to the Quaker meetings, but were interesting anyway. We found advertisements for all types of medical cures, stories about people who were living at the time, and general discussions of that which was important to the people of the area. There were news items about who had been flogged and for what, and short references to the gentry in the various articles. One such article discussed the standard payment by the Crown, to someone who was prepared to flog someone else, and the variations in price for flogging a boy as compared with a woman or a man. One article described how a person had been tied to the back of a cart while it was wheeled through the village and that person had been mercilessly beaten for whatever the wrongdoing. It was strange to read the articles of those times,

talking of things that seemed so barbaric and out of place to our society today. As we became absorbed with the different advertisements and articles, suddenly from one person, there was delight. A reference had been found to the meetings of the Puritans at Alford!

Evidently, the meetings were carried out in Alford in a small house, pretty much as Gwen had described. We therefore had proof of Gwen's claims, something we thought we would not find. It was a wonderful find, because again, there seems to be no logical way (other than reincarnation) that Gwen could have known about the meetings. They were not large affairs, nor were they well publicized in England. They involved only a few people, and took place in an insignificant house. We were told that many people mistakenly think that Quaker meetings went on in every little village of England at that time. Evidently, this was not so. According to our information, there were limited Quaker meetings, widely spaced apart. It was not something one could guess on. In record books that did mention the Quaker meetings in England from that period, only the main groups were listed, not smaller ones like Alford. It was a stroke of luck, really, that we were able to verify it at all.

In Sydney, I had asked Gwen about her trips to the abbey. She told me that it was her favorite place during that life and that it inspired her and gave her a sense of calm. Absorbed in its atmosphere of quiet majesty, she thought of the monks, their solemn clothes, their pious beliefs, and their religious practices. The setting in her mind filled her with a sense of peace and tranquility. Whenever she spoke of the abbey she always talked of the rubble that used to cover the grounds and the long grass that had gown up around the buildings. She loved the naturally peaceful setting, the trees, the hills, and the lazy haze that used to settle over the horizon, a haze we noticed when we were there.

Gwen remembered the arches in the buildings, and in particular, the feathers (plumes) that were etched out of stone and adorned the sides of the arches and doors. The buildings were situated on a small hill or rise, below a much larger hill, and alongside that larger hill, on the other side, was a hill that she called Wearyall Hill. It was shaped like the back of a pig, or humpback, and she remembered the old legends that abounded about Jesus, whose uncle Joseph used to travel to the area to visit the tin mines. The abbey represented an entire episode in her life, an episode that for some special reason, held for her, very fond memories, very warm feelings, and a very special place in her affections. It was also the place she had recalled running to prior to her death, the place where she had suffered from hypothermia, caught pneumonia and later died.

When Gwen arrived in London, we gave her a short period to recuperate from the jetlag, then we had a session of hypnosis, as well as a waking discussion, to help make the memory of the life more conscious. We gave Gwen an old, unmarked map of the area where we thought her abbey might be, and asked if she would point to its position on the map. Gwen looked for a moment, then pointed near Wearyall Hill. She was correct; she pinpointed Glastonbury Abbey exactly. The entire conversation was carried out in a private home in Somerset and was attended by Dr. Basil Cottle from the University of Bristol, who agreed to act as a witness to the proceedings. Gwen seemed quite definite in her knowledge and had no difficulty explaining it to us the moment she was given the map. By this time, her hypnotic memories had been made conscious to her. The following was a part of the

conversation.

"Here's the river, you're close to the river. Over here on this side was what they called a humpbacked hill, like a pig lying down, and as you walk towards the river you turn, and find what you call Tor Hill. We used to call it Druid's Hill. It was a place where you just didn't want to go. They said if you concentrated at night, you could hear the monks shuffling and chanting as they went up the hill. Beside that great big building that's on top of the hill you should find stones, ruins, and there should be blood on these stones where they sacrificed (chickens), there were brown marks there then. And on down here (indicating on the map) was humpback hill, which was called Wearyall Hill, and in here further down (indicating to a point below the Tor) were all these old ruins. Here (pointing again) was the building with the feathers and then you go through ... there were two [small] pyramids. Over here were graves and things. Around here (pointing to a spot nearby), was a track, it was where the coaches used to come around. There's an inn, an old inn, [Pilgrim's Inn] and there's a pump around the side...you go around that comer there. Across here was a stream... "

At this point Dr. Cottle from Bristol University interjected.

"Gwen, could you tell me about the pyramids? You mentioned two pyramids."

"They were in the middle here ... two there in the middle."

"What were they for, do you know?"

"To guide you in I suppose."

"What were they like in shape? Were they sort of like spires, or were they flattened?"

"No, they were more or less so shaped (Showing a more flattened out shape with her hands.)"

"Like a gable, more like a gable?"

"Yes, not this way (showing what she meant), this way, and it was a way in."

"You went in between two of them? Were there markings on them?"

"Oh, I can't remember ... they were a yellowish creamy color ... they weren't real dark."

"Limestone."

"Some of the buildings were darkish. The stones that fell in ... some of them were darker than the others. I used to sit on those stones. It was a lovely, peaceful place. In that part was a building with a door...l don't know ... you probably don't know the one I mean, but the one I mean is a door shaped like that (demonstrating a particular type of arch). On each part

of the door are like feathers, and I used to run my fingers down them like that, on the doorway, and this here at the side. There's a wall up that side ... probably not now, but there was. There was a wall up on the right hand side, and it had fallen in at some time and it's the most marvelous feeling in there, and it was supposed to be dedicated to St. Michael."

We finally took Gwen to the place in Glastonbury that she had pointed to on the map. To avoid her gaining any clues from signs or advertisements, she had been blindfolded on the trip. Finally, Gwen stood on the pavement and waited for the blindfold to be removed. Whenever we took her to a new location where we might test her ability to find something, we used the blindfold. On this occasion, as her vision cleared, she saw herself standing outside a long, spiked, iron railing. Inside was the much beloved abbey Gwen remembered.

When in her mind, Gwen re-entered the abbey for the first time since 1782, she was visibly moved, and a little shaken. She walked and she talked; she showed us the feathers on the doorway she had spoken of, also the buildings. She remembered her death, which was the last time she recalled she had been inside the abbey grounds. The reality of standing in this long forgotten place seemed to spark something within her that prompted her to talk about her life with more energy and reflection than she had at any time before. Sitting on the very same rock where she remembered having sat two hundred years before as Rose Duncan, a rock she had described in Sydney, Gwen reminisced about that generally happy, yet hitherto elusive period of her existence in Somerset, England, from 1765 to 1782.

"I used to sit on the rubble you understand. It's clean now and there are lawns where it was once ordinary roughage. It's so smooth (talking of the lawns) ... it wasn't like that ... it was grass and bits and pieces, and I think there were more trees and shrubs ... shrubbery, all around. See! It's more or less clear now isn't it; everything is so clear, although it doesn't look much different. This building does (pointing to one of the buildings), this building is in ruin, but it didn't look like that once, I'm sure it had doors on it (Gwen's mood seemed to sadden for a moment).

"All the rubble is gone, parts of the side walls are gone ... the pyramids are gone! Where that black chain is, there were two short pyramids, one on each side like an entrance (pointing to another building). This hasn't changed that much; the building on the right hasn't changed that much although a lot of the outside stones have gone. All the rubble's gone ... every bit of rubble's gone, they've cleaned it up for tourists I suppose. What a shame! Of course people could have taken it I suppose, like Farmer Brown. They've probably taken it over the years."

Gwen walked up to the doorway of one of the buildings and pointed to an area halfway down the side of the archway, to the feathers she had spoken of in Sydney.

"There's three little plumes up there, you see? On the top up there, like three feathers."

Gwen looked at where the paving stones used to be.

"What a shame! They've taken it all. Do you see what I mean? If you look you'll see one,

two, three feathers up there, and on the other door there were four feathers and smaller doors. What a shame! It's a damn shame! They've taken all the stuff away, now. It just looks like a stone sticking up there out of the middle of a ... nothing."

Gwen was disappointed that some of the place was gone, and that the lawns had been mowed. It was a stark contrast to the time she remembered, when the grass grew to its natural height in a natural country setting. We asked her to remember more about that time. She reminisced like recalling a childhood from her present life, not a former existence of two hundred years past. The hypnosis seemed to have dissolved the barriers to her memory.

"I remember the area around the abbey was squashy ground. It wasn't swampy, you could walk on it, but it was mushy and you came around and up over this part, it was a short cut to the abbey. Sometimes I'd sit and have something to eat; sometimes I wouldn't bother and I'd wait until I got to St. Michael's Abbey. You cut over here and straight through the paddocks, or meadows as we called it in those days, straight through until you got to St. Michael's. The other parts I didn't worry about; it was just that one point there (pointing to a particular area of the abbey) that I wanted to go to."

"It was so peaceful, I used to sit there and just muse along, never hurrying or anything, and as long as I was home before 'owl time' I was right. I wasn't rushed. I just used to take my time. I suppose in all, it would be about six miles, but it was a pleasant walk. When you looked down there was nothing but flat fields, absolutely flat fields and meadows for miles and this was the only hill that was the obstacle. Rather than walk around it, I used to walk over it ... sort of cut through on the short cut. On top of this there were ruins where there are houses now, but there were ruins there, where they used to have sacrifices before I was born ... I don't know how long before I was born, but there were sacrifices there of some kind."

"From here you could see a spire behind the trees. I can't see that now because it's a very foggy sort of a day. It may have fallen down, I don't know, but the lie of the land is still the same. That hasn't changed. If I was hungry I'd stop and have a bite. I used to have hunks of bread and some thick cheese and maybe a pippin (English apple), all depending on how hungry I was, just to keep me going to the bottom and down to the abbey. As to the big hill, what I called the big hill ... we called it Druid's Hill not the Tor. I didn't want to go there because I had this feeling that ... oh, well it was place you didn't go to. It had this feeling ... it was a Druid's hill and you just didn't go there. There were forces on that hill, Druid forces, so I never went there."

Gwen's mood remained pensive, moved by a mixture of emotions almost too overwhelming. She began to talk of how she felt when she used to visit the ruins and of the feelings the place used to prompt in her, and why she felt affection toward these relics.

"Oh, you wouldn't believe the feeling that you would feel, the peace that you still feel when you come here. That was the main reason I came, because it was such a peaceful place. I came that night, and I came down here, and sat on the rubble in that comer with the peace to

think I suppose, but the feeling is not much different from then. You still feel very humble, the feeling of St. Michael is here, the feeling which he put into it ... it's here and that makes you feel humble, really humble, you know. To think that all these thousands of years ago they came up the river, these were the tales we were told, about giants who helped to put the stones down for the original base. I think it's absolutely fantastic to be able to come back to see it again, you know!"

In Sydney, Gwen had talked of her death, and of the events that had led up to her catching the chill that caused it. Looking at the abbey and being there, reminded Gwen of the past, of how her father at the time wanted her to marry when she had reached a suitable age, and how he felt it was time for her to leave her childhood home. Gwen was reminded of how he arranged a suitable partner for her in the form of a Scot and expected that she should travel to the new country (Scotland), to his home, to marry and stay with him. She recalled the horror this news held for her when she was the young Rose, for he was associated with the Scottish clan she despised. She remembered running away to the abbey and staying there all night to think and to escape from the problem. Two hundred years later, sitting on the same rock Gwen remembered sitting on during that fateful night in the 18th century, Gwen recounted the events that resulted in Rose's death. Gwen had described that rock to me when under hypnosis before we left.

"I was very upset when my father told me that he had already been to Scotland to find me a husband and I was to marry a McCrae. That was against everything I had been taught from the time that I was very, very young. I just grabbed my cloak ... and ran! I had a blue dress on and it was February, so it was nippy, not freezing cold, but it was nippy, and I just ran through the woods. I finally got here and I cried my heart out ... and I just sat here...on this same rock, huddled up, because in those days this was all rubble, and I sat up on the rubble and 1, well, I wasn't going back ever I thought. I wasn't ever going to go back!"

Gwen's recall was focussed on her emotions long passed, and the events that led her to spend the night at the abbey. Her mind then shifted to the evening of many years ago, to the ever increasing cold of that night, and to the events that led up to her death.

"I just got colder and colder, and by the time the morning came, well, I was almost stiff with the cold. They came and found me in the morning. I think Dobbs must have told them where I ran to because my father wouldn't have known. He wouldn't have thought of coming here I'm sure. They took me back in the cart and I was freezing. I was so cold I couldn't get warm. They put me to bed. I think I must have gone into some type of coma or delirium. Backwards and forwards I went, from delirium to consciousness, and I remember not being able to swallow ... this feeling of choking ... the doctor that came putting a stick down my throat ... I wondered what on earth they were doing, but I didn't have the strength to say, 'no, don't.' "

"I think I must have been like that for maybe two weeks, I don't know exactly because the days and nights seemed to roll into one ... and then I died. After I died, I remember feeling uptight, because my father just walked out the door. That hurt me terribly to think he sort of left me, on my own. You know, that was when the lady came. She just put her hand out

and I went with her. It was such a dramatic experience. To think I had to marry this particular person I'd never seen before, didn't even have a clue what he looked like, or how old he was, or anything, but that was the sort of thing they did in those days ... they matched you up with someone you'd never even seen before."

"Now I look back, my whole world changed overnight. One day I was living as normal, I was happy, secure and at peace, and the next minute my world was turned upside down and a few weeks later I was dead! The memory of this place brings the same old feelings and the feelings of peace ... you wouldn't believe the feelings I get inside from seeing this place. You really wouldn't."

Consequent to this conversation, I checked Gwen's recall of the old abbey and its surroundings from a 1790 description of the area, written in an old manuscript printed about 1794 and this verified Gwen's description well. It was as follows:

"We are now to say something of the town of Glastonbury itself, which owed its origin to the abbey we have been describing. It lies in low marshy country five miles nearly south from Wells. On the 11th September 1276, it was once more destroyed by that dreadful earthquake which precipitated the church of St. Michael from the Tor Hill. Not only the town but the environs of Glastonbury abound with religious relics. The most conspicuous is the Tor, or Tower of St. Michael, standing on a very high hill, north-eastward from the town. On this bleak and desolate spot the saints Phaganus and Diruvianus erected a small oratory to the honor of St. Michael the archangel, which was re-edified by St. Patrick and beautified by some of his successors. The succeeding abbots enlarged upon the ancient plan, and here, not only built a large and elegant church and monastery, but also other buildings, dwelling houses and offices, and obtained many grants of privileges from several of the kings, one of which was from Henry 1, to the precentor of the church of Glastonbury, appointing him to have a yearly fair at the Monastery of St. Michael de Torre in the Isle of Glaston, belonging to the chantry of the abbey of Glastonbury to last for six days, viz. for five days before the feast of St. Michael, and on the day of that feast, in the same place where the fair used to be held for two days only, viz. on the eve and day of the same saint, with all liberties and free customs usually belonging to fairs of like sort, provided the said fair be not to the detriment of other fairs in the neighbourhood."

This description is evidential in more than one way. It sheds light on a fact which was not at first understood. Gwen had often referred to the abbey as St. Michael's when it is actually Glastonbury Abbey. The reason for her saying this became clear after reading the 1794 description. The site of the abbey is on the old site of St. Michael's Oratory, an oratory being a small place ofprayer, or chapel. The abbey housed the monastery of St. Michael, which at the time, would have been the center of the abbey's fame. A fair was held there called The Fair of St. Michael, and the biggest hill in the district (next to the abbey) had a church on top called The Church of St. Michael, which was part of the abbey. It is therefore understandable that to the locals of the day it could have been known as St. Michael's Abbey, otherwise, why would they have had a fair called St. Michael's Fair (which was held at the abbey). They called the monastery St. Michael's Monastery, and called the church on the hill St.

Michael's Church. Both were part of the abbey. Even though the abbey was at Glastonbury and was officially known as Glastonbury Abbey by the nation, to the locals it was St. Michael's, because that's what the original church was called, and on whose grounds the abbey was later built.

To find this information, I had to research a book written nearly two hundred years ago. It gives a good understanding of why Gwen considered it St. Michael's Abbey, a fact not quickly discernible from modern literature. As well as other matters, the description also confirmed the surrounding marsh ground that Gwen had talked of, and the fact that it could get cold around the abbey, i.e., the phrase "this bleak and desolate spot." One can understand why a place, understood to sometimes become bleak with cold, would become freezing through the night during an English winter, and where sitting over night, in a dress, would cause hypothermia.

Gwen wandered around the abbey until she felt satisfied and once again at home in the place of her memories. She examined the stones; she looked at the walls and walked on the grass, taking in the hedges, trees and the beautiful landscape, and when finally she had had her fill, she left the abbey grounds, and walked up the neighboring hill in the direction of the Church of St. Michael, the Tor Hill. Half way up she sat for a while and looked down to the abbey and the lands below. Finally, we took Gwen to the well known local historian and author, Geoffrey Ashe, B.A., FRSL, founder and secretary of Camelot Research Committee, who has written many books on that area.Geoffrey Ashe was intrigued by our story of Gwen and agreed to help us if possible. We told him of the things Gwen had spoken of and that we hoped he could shed some light on her memories of the Druids on the Tor Hill, as well as the legends of the abbey, and the stories about the area that had been passed on to her. Geoffrey commented, first, on a legend that had been recalled by Gwen, and then on her recall of the druids, who were a religious society who had their roots in antiquity.

"That St. Patrick and St. Michael came up the Severn Sea, and to Glastonbury, and that the abbey was built by the giant, Gog, this is not a real local legend, but is made up of three legends. St. Patrick is mentioned as coming here, St. Michael of course is the angel to whom the church is dedicated on top of the Tor, and the giant Gog does also come into early British legends, so again, it seems to me, to be the sort of thing that a local storyteller might very well have put together into a yarn of his own, but it's not a thing that Gwen could have ever found in any book. This is more convincing to me than it would be if she told me something she could have learned from a book, or heard from an historian, she would never have heard any of this or read it anywhere."

Gwen then asked Geoffrey Ashe about the Druids. She remembered them going up Tor Hill. She described their garb, the manner in which they went up the hill, and the ceremony as best she could. In reply he stated:

"Again, at the time she is speaking of, around 1775 or 1780, it was a time when there was a lot of interest in Druids in this country. People had been rediscovering old records and traditions about them, and then for a time, frankly, everything was put down to the Druids.

They built Stonehenge, they built Silbury, they did everything! It is a fact that quite a number of people met on that Tor. Druid groups have held a spring ritual on Glastonbury Tor for quite a long time. They still come here at the beginning of May, and yes, they do carry out a ritual, although the last year or two they haven't carried it out right on the Tor, but in the field, over in that direction, but they do come here, that's quite right."

Geoffrey Ashe had confirmed Gwen's recall of the druid meetings on the Tor. It was again, something Gwen would be unlikely to know from her life in Australia. I imagine that an 18th century meeting on the top of a hill in the south-west of England would have been the last thing that Gwen in Australia would wanted to know about, and it would seem to be very unlikely that it could have been anything she could have read about. By now Gwen had stacked up an impressive list of evidence, but the best was still yet to come.

Gwen had described the clothes the Druids wore and the way they filed up the hill in a spiral. Both these facts were confirmed by Geoffrey. I thought them amazing facts for Gwen to know. She had never been to Glastonbury, nor even to England, and as a matter of fact, had never been outside of Australia. How could she know that a particular religious group met once a year on a particular hill in Somerset over two hundred years ago, and know what they wore and the manner in which they filed up the hill to carry out their ceremony? Even Dr Cottle, a historian and participant from the University of Bristol who we had brought in as a member of the research project, didn't know about it, and he was almost a local. This feat of knowledge was astounding, yet, it was in keeping with the wisdom Gwen displayed about the area and the time. Before we had come to England, Gwen had no doubts about her past life when under hypnosis. When she was awake, however, she was less sure. In England, again in the surrounds of vivid reminders, much of the life became conscious to her and was no longer vague. She knew where she was. The whole area was familiar to her. Although she was in a country 12,000 miles from her home, Gwen appeared to be on familiar ground.

There were two pyramids Gwen recalled she used to see when she visited the abbey, which she described to Geoffrey Ashe.

"When I came, I used to come over the hills, and I came down just the way I came this time to what I call St. Michael's Abbey. As we came into that, there used to be two pyramids. They were a gold color, gold stone, not a dark stone, a gold color so high (demonstrating) you could walk through them, I thought it was like an arch or a doorway through."

Geoffrey Ashe replied, "There certainly were two pyramids in Glastonbury Abbey, which are mentioned in medieval books. They became rather famous at one time because the monks said that King Arthur was buried between the pyramids, and they dug down there and said that they had found his grave. So whether they found King Arthur or not, the pyramids were there alright, and modern archeologists did find the remains of one by digging."

Once again, Gwen was right. This time it was a minor detail of two small pyramids in the abbey grounds. Gwen had not only shown that she knew where she was, but also that she

knew facts about the place that stretched back two hundred years. Traces of some of the things she so accurately remembered were no longer evident. For Gwen, as indeed for all of us, it had been an incredible experience.

When I commenced this research, Gwen had come to see me through events that were not of her own design. At that time she did not know of any past life, nor did she believe in one. When under hypnosis she recalled past lives, she was surprised, and didn't know whether to doubt her senses or not. As the departure date for leaving Australia and visiting England drew near, the tension became greater for her. She soon found that the facts she had given were correct, but this in itself did not convince her.

The abbey was the same as she had remembered it, apart from being cleared of grass and rubble. Even the things that were missing, such as certain paving stones in some places, the pyramids, and the evidence of the Druids, through checking, were found to have been there. She had been correct in all matters and she stood in the abbey some two hundred years after her recalled death, with all of the mixed feelings about an age and a life long gone. No longer could she pass it off as fantasy. Gwen had never been in this life to the part of the world she now stood on, and felt so familiar with, the place that brought so many memories. By visiting Somerset, Gwen knew that she had lived before, and was in the place of her former life. Her emotions were many, both happy and sad. It was all so sudden, so difficult to accept, but there was more to come.

We left Geoffrey Ashe and walked back, past the abbey. Gwen decided to buy a souvenir in the town, something to take home that she could hold onto. She was more confident of finding the rest of the relics that she wanted to find. It was similar to going back to a place of one's childhood, to a place of fond memories after having been away for a long time. Time ceased to matter, ceased to be important. Gwen felt that she was home again and nothing else mattered for the time being. She looked forward to revisiting the rest of the area, to see what might be left from that lifetime.

When we had visited the house, it proved more of an emotional find than even the abbey. It was the place of her youth, where she had been raised. It reminded her of her parents in that life, of all the times she knew and the things she did.

When we first took Gwen into Somerset, we took her blindfolded to the top of a hill, where she could look out to try to get her bearings, so she could see the lie of the land. From there, to find the old house, she would have to go on memory and instinct and her two hundred year old knowledge of the land. From the top of the hill she could see all around, the haze in the distance, and a line of trees which reminded her of where she lived. She pointed correctly to an old village she recalled, and called it by its correct name for the 18th century, though it has changed today. She walked down the hill and stepped onto a road. There were no road signs to help her. After walking along for a short way, she stopped on a bend. Suddenly, she felt that this was where a little village she remembered used to be. She pointed to a spot where she thought five houses used to stand, one of which sold cider. There was the ruin of one old house there and a couple of brand new houses nearby, but only one standing that may have dated back to her previous lifetime. We approached the

front of the house to ask the owner if he knew of the cider house or village. We found him mowing his lawn. The consequent conversation was both enlightening and encouraging. I began by asking the man, a Mr. Phillips, if there were any other houses that used to stand near his that are now gone.

"Gone now? Oh yes, there's a lot of them that have been torn down this last twenty-five years or so, just down the road."

Gwen asked, "Were there four or five houses along here?"

"Yes, that's right" replied Mr Phillips, confirming Gwen's specific recall. This was very interesting because Gwen had recalled the position of five houses through her being there. The position of the houses had been recognised from her conscious memories though she had never been to that part of the world before in this life. The cider house she had described under trance in Sydney.

Dr. Basil Cottle of Bristol University, the independent witness we took along at all times, then asked Mr. Phillips approximately when his house was built. He replied 1742. 1 asked him if there had been a hotel among the houses that had been pulled down and he answered no. I should have asked about a cider house, a Somerset cider house.

"Can't understand," he said, "just a cider house, they sold nothing but cider."

This was correct, and virtually what Gwen had stated. This was not something that Gwen could have ever read in a book. I asked Mr. Phillips how he knew about a cider house.

"Oh, it's only hearsay you know."

I asked him how he had come to hear of it.

"Well, grandfather used to tell us, from his grandfather, my grandfather's grandfather! "

"That takes us right back to the 18th century," Dr. Cottle remarked.

"Oh yes."

Here was an older local resident telling us that his grandfather's grandfather, a relative from a time not far removed from when Gwen recalled having lived, had talked of the existence of a cider house on the very spot where Gwen had said one existed. The legend of the cider house had been carried down through five generations in the Phillips' household and confirmed Gwen's recollection. Subsequent to our conversation with Mr. Phillips, we checked the spot on the road against an old 18th century survey map and found shown there, the five houses. Gwen said that these other houses sold goods in the same manner as the cider house sold cider.

After leaving Mr. Phillips, we trekked across more fields, following Gwen. She was to

lead us to the house in which Rose used to live. Gwen was on home territory! She told us about a stream nearby, that the stream would fork a short distance from where we would join it, that there were stepping stones across the stream, and a waterfall near the fork. She told us of a shortcut that was the quickest way to go, a shortcut that she recalled. We left the road and walked across the fields. It wasn't too long before we reached the stream as Gwen had predicted. How could she know it was there? We surely didn't know. It was the size she had stated it would be and it wound through the country in the direction she suggested it would. By this time, we were all quite elated. Gwen had found so much, and had proven that she was correct in so many ways. She possessed an inexplicable knowledge of the area and we noticed how fondly she spoke of it. We were all having some trouble adjusting and our feelings were mixed.

Most everyone in our group wanted to believe, but in the beginning there were doubts. These doubts remained for a while at the back of the mind and detracted from the certainty. Yet, each day our doubts were dispersing and our beliefs were being strengthened. It was difficult to comprehend the enormity of what was happening, the ramifications of what we were proving. Most of us were both moved and somehow changed by the experience and we began to feel aware of a growing confidence in what we were doing.

It was very late when we found the stream and we were tired and hungry, so we returned to The Langport Arms, the centuries old inn at Langport. By now, Gwen was feeling more satisfied. The owners of the inn were obliging, even when we returned at unreasonable hours. This old inn was in the center of Langport, with lots of charm and old world character. The premises were built 550 years ago, and at about 1525 it became an important coaching house, offering rooms and board to people like the notorious Judge Jeffreys and other travelers throughout the 16th, 17th, 18th and 19th centuries. The locals heard about our Australian film crew making a film on reincarnation and would visit us at the hotel each night. It was surprising to find so many people in the area who were interested in what we were doing.

Next morning we resumed our search for Gwen's former home, returning to the place that we had left the night before. Gwen wanted to take a short cut, the short cut she recalled, but for filming, it was decided that we would walk along the side of the stream until we came to the fork she had described. The stream meandered through the fields for miles, and the walk turned out to be much longer than it would have been if we had listened to Gwen in the first place. Gwen couldn't recall walking along the stream where we were headed. She recalled the short cut, so our walk for a short time, took us away from the places Gwen remembered.

Finally, we reached the fork in the stream. It was there, just as Gwen said it would be. Above the fork was the waterfall she had also described, but there were no stepping stones. The stepping stones could have been taken away since her death. This latest find enthused the team again, especially Gwen. She knew she was close to the house. Although there was no house to be seen, Gwen was off, almost running, leaving the rest of us to keep up with her. As she hurried along, she recalled where some of the people she knew in that life had lived, pointing out the directions as we went. When we came close to where she thought

she would find her home, we noticed that the ground, though covered in grass, was furrowed. While still in Sydney, before we left, she had talked about the furrows of the large vegetable gardens that were near Rose Cottage, the home we were looking for. She recalled she had spent many happy years in those gardens, and it seemed we were stepping across where the gardens had been. At this point Gwen pointed to where she remembered old Dobbs (Bessie's grandfather) had lived and for a short while became intensely involved with her memories.

Soon after we continued, Gwen again stopped and this time pointed in the direction of her house. We could see the top of a house in the distance, obscured by a few trees, a few hundred yards across the fields. Gwen looked pensive, and then darted off with the rest of us trailing behind. Finally, we approached the front of the house. It was the right age, but at first Gwen was confused. It lacked the roses which used to grow up the front walls. The thatch on the roof was replaced by tiles. There was also a large building attached to the side. It had changed. The part she thought was once her home was now partly a garage and partly what looked like an unused pigsty attached to the side of a larger house. She previously described the door as being off center, and this was correct. There were now two doors at the front, one old, with an old wooden beam above it, and a new one with a cemented brick lintel. The old door was on one side, off center.

I remembered what Gwen had said in Sydney regarding the link between her name and the cottage.

"Everyone called me Rose, and the cottage we lived in was always Rose Cottage, because whenever they talked about it in the village they didn't say my place, they used to say Rose Cottage, so I always got the impression it was always Rose Cottage before we went there. There were roses, beautiful roses that covered the walls of the cottage and along the fence and into the ground surrounding the house. There was a big room that was kitchen and eating place, and then there was the fire there, big open fire, and it used to have the thing you pulled out to put pots on. We used to put the cauldron on for stews mainly, and hare. There was a bedroom with a sort of double bed and at the back there was a drying room and it had a tallet. It held many good memories that place."

Before going around the back of the house we asked Gwen to draw it. Using my back to support the paper, she drew the shape of the rear of the house, and then we went around to compare. As we passed the side of the house we saw it had a room under the roof. This was what Gwen had called the tallet. In her drawing she had sketched a back window, a sort of lean to, which she called the drying room, and a back door. When we turned the corner it was virtually the same as drawn. Knowing it was her old home, despite the fact that it had been added to, Gwen suddenly broke into tears for the first time. The emotion had overwhelmed her. To us it was simply finding the old home. For Gwen, the recognition of the rear of the old home and the fact it was as she had described, with the lean-to, brought a flood of memories of times long gone, and tears.

It was a strange scene, of strange circumstance. Gwen was back at the home she recalled in Somerset after two hundred long years, a place she had virtually forgotten ever existed for a

period of three lifetimes. It was a place of fond memories, as well as painful ones. The last time Gwen recalled seeing the house was at her death. The rediscovery, and the knowledge that she had succeeded in finding it, brought a torrent of emotion. She was both in the past and in the present at the same time.

At first glance, the house was wrong in two ways. There was a window where there should have been a door and one window was missing. In all other respects it was accurate. On closer inspection of the window it had a large, old lintel over the top, which was identical to the one above the old door at the front. It looked as if the door had been bricked up and made into a window when the building was added onto. Part of the wall was covered with ivy and there was no trace of where a different window might have been. We went to look at the wall from the inside.

Using a light from the film equipment, we entered the old building. We examined the wall where the window should have been and found that it had been closed up with stones. We had been unable to see this from the outside because of the ivy. When they had extended the side of the cottage, they had added one door at the front, closed one door at the rear making it a window, and sealed the existing window. Gwen had been correct in her detail, but we had to enter the inside of the building to confirm it. The floor of the building was stone as Gwen had stated. It had a tallet, and there was a drying room out the back, exactly as Gwen had described.

We stayed around the cottage awhile, while Gwen talked about life as she remembered it two hundred years ago. Gwen alternated from bubbling with information and memories, to being quiet, lost in her own thoughts and emotions. As someone who had not been to that part of England before, I realized how difficult it was to obtain one's bearings and how difficult it was to know how to reach one place from another in countryside one had never before seen. Directions of different villages relative to one another were difficult to know, even impossible unless you were very familiar with the area. To understand the directional relationship between buildings, fields and streams, was almost impossible. It took me a while to get used to the villages and locales, even after motoring through them on a number of occasions, with the help of road signs and maps, yet, Gwen's recognition of the area, and its landmarks, was instant, not to mention the fact that she pronounced village names as they were pronounced in the 18th century and not as pronounced or spelled today, even naming a village that no longer exists. Yet, as strange as it may seem at this point, her most extraordinary find was still to come.

In Sydney, while under hypnosis during a research session, Gwen told me a story of how one day on a visit to the abbey she cut her foot on one of the sharp stones of the abbey ruin, and was then taken by a Mr. Brown, a kind old man, to his nearby cottage, to bathe and bandage her foot. She recalled riding on the back of his cart and noticing a stone in the cart with markings on it, before they arrived at Mr. Brown's cottage, which was one in a row of five houses, and no more than twenty feet from a stream. She recalled the inside of his home, and that the floor was covered with bluish coloured stones taken from the abbey. Some of Gwen's recall was as follows.

"Aye...'e put stones from the abbey in the cottage, and they call where 'e lives Glaston, 'e live at Glaston, an' the stones from the abbey 'e put on the floor an' 'is name be Brown. One day I fell, cut my foot, and 'e took me in and 'e bound it up with a rag and 'e said 'is name be Brown, and 'e lived there, on 'is own. Kind man ... shouldn't put stones on floor I told 'im, and 'e said it's better than dirt, but 'e shouldn't touch 'em. They say it's a heathen place, but I don't think it's heathen at all, it's peaceful."

Gwen recalled that to get to Mr Brown's cottage they traveled around the hill and away from the abbey until they reached a little stream which they had to cross. About twenty feet from the edge of the stream was the cottage they went into, one of the five small houses situated near the river bank. Gwen described the markings on the stone she saw Mr Brown put on his floor, as a spiral on the right, and a shape like the top of the map of Scotland on the left. In Sydney, while under hypnosis and reliving the journey, she was asked to draw these markings. While reliving this journey to Mr Brown's cottage she also described an inn which she passed, and called it the Pilgrim's Inn. She also once again described the hill which she called Wearyall Hill that was humpbacked. She saw the inn as consisting of sand colored stone blocks, with a bow type window and an arch in the middle where the coaches passed through, and two point-like shapes on the roof. She also made a rough drawing of the inn for me and labeled it "Pilgrim's Inn." It was an unusually shaped building.

Gwen also made a drawing of the markings on the stone she had recalled on the back of the cart. In addition to the markings she had drawn, she had also told me during one hypnotic session, when she recalled that incident, that the stone had the impression of three fingers on the top left hand corner, that was the stone mason's mark. She held up three fingers at the time. Recalling Wearyall Hill, she related a legend of the area.

"Another hill, Wearyall Hill, humpback shaped like back of a pig. That be where Joseph stopped: 'e came up to get tin which they brought up on barges and boats. Up the river they used to pull 'em up ... little people, the little dark people did that, they used to pull them up with a rope."

Gwen was referring to the legend she had heard of, about Joseph of Arimathaea, uncle of Jesus, who came to Glastonbury for reasons associated with tin mining. It was confirmed in Glastonbury that the old legend was indeed a local legend. The search for the stone and the five houses was to be the finish of the past life research with Gwen. On the way to that area, I looked out of the window of the car and saw a humpbacked hill. We were again a little out of Glastonbury. It was a big hill, and the shape was obviously Wearyall Hill, which was later confirmed by Gwen. To begin the search for Mr Brown's cottage, we took Gwen to a road in Glastonbury close to the abbey. From there, she was to lead us to the cottages where the stones were, and this would be our final task.

Starting from the abbey, Gwen took us along the road a way, and stopped in front of an old inn. It was the inn that she had told us about in Sydney, and drawn for me. Observation showed it was no longer called The Pilgrim's Inn, but 'The George and Pilgrim'. However, a quick check by one of the team confirmed she had named it correctly for the 18th century. The inn stood exactly as she had described it before we left on the trip. It was built

of sandy colored stone; it had two points on the roof, a bow type window on one side, and an opening in the middle through which the coaches used to pass, all exactly as Gwen had described long before when we were still in Sydney. Gwen reacted strangely to the place; she didn't like it for some reason. After staring at it for a few moments, she spoke about it.

"No different is it? You wouldn't believe it, would you? See the little windows and the brickwork? God, you could not believe it could be so..."

Gwen's voice trailed off as she stood there, slightly awed. We could see the hills in the distance and the abbey close by. St Michael's church was on top of the hill like a crown, and Pilgrim's Inn was there to look at, just as Gwen had recalled. We proceeded again, and Gwen had to remember the path she took on that colorful day, two hundred years ago, in order to lead us to the row of five cottages, one with the floor covered with stones from the abbey. It seemed likely that the houses would have been torn down long ago, because they had not been large historic homes, and it was likely that the stones would have been taken, or ploughed into the ground long ago. Two hundred years is a long time. It seemed unlikely that they could have remained intact and undisturbed for so long. Nevertheless, we were there and had to find out. This was the end of the search.

We were all very tired. Gwen set off along a road, away from Glastonbury, away from the Tor and the abbey, until it ended in a field about half a mile from where she started. At first I thought we had reached a dead end when she started to walk across the field, because an embankment was in the way. We turned left and skirted the embankment and came upon another road. It was difficult for Gwen. Even though the township of Glastonbury was small in comparison to many, much had been changed, which made old landmarks harder to find. The roads were slightly different, and some of the fields were made into parks. Shops stood in streets where once there were no buildings at all. It became obvious that if Gwen could find the cottages, it would be a tremendous feat.

Gwen trod on, with us all behind, further from the town and the abbey. Soon we came across the stream she had spoken of, which the cottages were supposed to be next to. She then crossed a bridge and walked for a short distance beside the stream and soon pointed to a dilapidated building on the other side, thinking it was where the houses should be. Again she looked pensive and deep in thought. The old building wasn't as large as five houses.

"That's it. I'm sure that's it."

We made our way across to the other side of the stream to the place Gwen had pointed to. It was definitely not being used to live in when we were there. When we looked closely, we found that it was a chicken shed. We peered in at one end and discovered that the floor was covered in dirt and chicken droppings. Naturally, we went looking for and found the owner, who lived in the house nearby, and asked him the history of the place. He sent us to the man who had owned it before him.

The man who had owned it before was an older man and may have been a farmer. He confirmed that there had originally been five cottages, and from the outside, the cottages

used to look basically the same as Gwen had described. They had thatched roofs and were attached to one another, and were situated about twenty feet from the stream. They were old enough, and time had weathered them to a point where they had too many structural faults for domestic use. They were turned into a long chicken shed for breeding chickens, ducks and geese. The end cottages had been pulled down altogether and only part of the original building remained. So Gwen had successfully led us to the remains of what had been five houses, twenty feet from a stream, a short distance from Glastonbury, exactly as she had seen under hypnosis in Sydney. What were the odds against that? She could not have read of the place, because it was a chicken shed attached to an ordinary home, that would have no way of finding its way into a magazine or newspaper story. Further, the owners didn't even know it had once been five houses. It simply looked like an everyday chicken shed.

So we had found the cottages, along with the stream, even though all that stood was a very old chicken shed. The thatched roof had gone and corrugated iron had taken its place. The end houses were gone; the doors for the chicken shed replaced the original doors, and only holes existed where once there had been windows. Fortunately, Mr. Brown's cottage was one of the middle ones, and so constituted at least a part of the chicken shed. His old cottage therefore, or at least what remained of it, was still there. We of course had to check the floor. The farmer told us a small area had been concreted near the door, but the rest of the floor was original. It looked to be simply dirt, albeit deep in droppings. No one knew what existed down under the dirt. We asked the farmer to find out. He agreed to help.

When the floor was cleaned of the many years of accumulated dirt and droppings, we could see the stones, large and rectangular, covering the floor, the same as the stones that lay in the abbey grounds. It seemed that the paving stones that Mr. Brown had taken from the abbey over two hundred years ago, and remembered by Gwen under hypnosis in Sydney, still lay on the floor of what once had been part of his cottage.

They were worn; they were crumbling in parts; they had been chipped, but they were still there. The dirt and chicken droppings had probably helped to preserve them. When cleaned, they were impressive shades of blue, some with white veins running through them. They were identical to those we had seen at the abbey and to what Gwen had described. It now remained to find the particular stone with the markings on it.

I had re-hypnotized Gwen before we went into the chicken shed, to see if she could recall the markings with more accuracy after all that had transpired. This exercise was carried out in the front seat of one of the cars, outside the chicken shed. Gwen remembered the same markings she had drawn earlier, and also mentioned the three vertical indents on the top left hand corner of the stone. These lines she called three fingers, or the stone mason's mark.

We had already explained to the property owners why we were there. It's not every day that a group of people, from the other side of the world, want to look at the floor of your chicken shed and film it. However, they humored us, and we told them about the markings on the stone we were now looking for. Gwen, the owner and family, the entire film crew and myself, all entered the overcrowded shed for the final scrutiny. We opened the large doors that were normally padlocked together to throw as much light as possible onto the

stones. Gwen surveyed them all and then pointed to one. We levered the stone out. After a further wash, we could see the markings more clearly, but we weren't sure they were the same as Gwen had drawn. Looking at the stone, she noticed that the markings were not as prominent as they once were. This, of course, was to be expected.

On comparing the stone to Gwen's drawings, the similarity was obvious. The markings that Gwen had drawn on paper, and told about, matched the stones. The markings on the left hand side of the stone matched her description, and the large spiral was on the right hand side of the stone. There was enough to show that Gwen's drawings of the markings certainly matched the markings on the old, blue-grey stone she had led us to. Added to this were the three vertical lines on the top of the left hand corner that Gwen had referred to as the three fingers. I show a photo of this in this book. This was a most remarkable find. I would venture the odds against achieving that by chance are enormous, and in fact couldn't be done. What are the odds of seeing under hypnosis in Sydney, an incident recalled as happening some two hundred years ago, where you went to a house, saw stones on the floor, one with markings, in a country which in this life you have never been to, and then find your way to, and uncover the old house with its stones, though it's now a chicken shed, and then find the exact stone with the markings on it you had drawn in Sydney, when the stones themselves had been buried under dirt for many years, and the owner today hadn't even realised they were there.

As well as the hill, the stream, the cottages, the inn and the abbey stones, Gwen had found the very stone that she had drawn in Sydney, a feat far beyond any element of chance. We were lucky that it was still there. For me, and of course for Gwen, all doubts about reincarnation had been dispelled.

There was one last fact that I wanted to check. I wanted to know about the stepping stones over the stream that were missing when we searched for the cottage. Gwen had mentioned these stepping stones a number of times. We questioned residents of the area and a man remembered playing on them as a child. He confirmed Gwen's recall, even that the one in the middle used to wobble! Apparently the stones had been removed forty years ago. The final piece to Gwen's fascinating story had been uncovered.

It was the end of a long trek that took us half way around the world to find the answers. No one had expected Gwen would find as much as she did. We had been lucky and we were all happy with the results. We had reached a conclusion. Gwen had found it all!

The true achiever was Gwen. She had started with absolutely no past life memory, gaining one through hypnosis. She was convinced to join us by her dream. She set out and explored every facet of the life she remembered, found the relics that still existed and showed to us all that the concept of reincarnation was not merely a figment of an overactive imagination, but that her memories had their basis in fact. For this, I will always remain indebted to Gwen McDonald.

For myself, it vindicated years of dedicated research and the development of techniques that helped me to find the truth, but it could not have been achieved without Gwen's

extraordinary talent for a clear past life memory. The important aspect of Gwen's feats was that she couldn't have achieved them through the reading of books. The validity of her recall was also confirmed by the fact she knew her way in and recognised the area in which she recalled once living, though she had never been there in this life. It was also confirmed by her memories themselves, the pensiveness and emotion that sometimes overcame her, and the extraordinary occurrence of finding the stone that she recalled sitting on some two hundred years earlier, a couple of weeks before she died, and pointing to me all of the features of the walls and abbey around her, that she had described to me some months before, when under hypnosis in Sydney, at a time when she had never laid eyes on that country or that part of the world. Gwen McDonald was an extraordinary person, and her recall had shown that.

Gwen's recall had confirmed the validity of past life memory, but it was also confirmed in other ways by others as well.