Angels in My Hair (4 page)

Angels are not just found in Christian Churches: they are in
the Synagogues, in Mosques and in all the holy places. Your
religion makes no difference to the angels: they have told me
that all churches should be under one roof. Muslims, Jews,
Protestants, Hindus, Catholics and all the other different
religions should be together under one umbrella.We may look
different, we may have different beliefs, but we all have souls.
There is no difference between a Muslim soul and a Christian
soul. If we could see each other's souls we would not be killing
each other over different interpretations of God.

One day I was walking with my aunt near her house and we
passed a church. Standing at the door of the church were two
beautiful angels. My aunt turned to me and said 'Don't be
looking across at that church.' I looked at her in amazement.
She continued, 'That's a Protestant church. You are forbidden
ever to go inside the gate or the door of any Protestant church!'
I glanced back and watched the people going into the church;
they looked no different to us. The next time I passed that
church I smiled to the angels at the door. I wasn't allowed to
go in, but I knew the church was full of angels.

Our next-door neighbour, Mrs Murtagh, was a beautiful
looking woman with a fabulous figure – but she always used to
shout at us for walking along the wall. Occasionally she asked
me to babysit for a short time. One particular afternoon, when
I was about eight, she asked me to keep an eye on the children
while she came in to see my mum and have a cup of tea. Just
as I was going into her house, an angel stood in front of me and
said 'When you are in there, be very careful.'

I was immediately scared, but I reluctantly went into her
kitchen. Mrs Murtagh was getting ready and had a pot boiling
on the stove. I said to her, 'Are you leaving that on?'

She replied, 'Yes, it will be grand.'

'Would you not turn it off?' I said.

She wouldn't listen to me, and she was the sort of woman
who would get very angry at you if you didn't do exactly as she
said. There were two children in the kitchen – a toddler and a
baby in a huge pram. As soon as she left I found myself looking
around the kitchen. The back door was locked and there was
no key in it.

All of a sudden, with a whoosh, the cooker blew up – I don't
know what happened but there was smoke and flames
everywhere. I remember grabbing the toddler then the pram
and trying to manoeuvre it out of the door into the hall. The
cooker and the table were between the pram and the door to
the hall, so I had to pass the burning cooker to get out. The
pram was very heavy and I couldn't move it easily. I grabbed
the toddler and got her out into the front garden and screamed
at a passing neighbour that the house was on fire.

I ran back in; the house was full of black smoke and I was
terrified the baby would suffocate before we could get her out.
The neighbour followed me and, thank God, he was able to
manoeuvre the pram out.

The children were safe. I ran crying and shaking into my
house. Mum and Mrs Murtagh were sitting in the kitchen
having tea – they had heard nothing. I sobbed that the house
was on fire and they ran into the garden next door. I remember
Mrs Murtagh throwing her arms around her children, shaking
and crying. She looked at me and thanked me. The whole
downstairs of the house was black, but the fire was out; the
neighbour had somehow managed to put it out.

The fifties in Ireland were a very difficult time, economically:
there was little employment and a lot of people had to
emigrate. Things were very hard for my family with my mum
often sick and in and out of hospital. When she was away the
garden would become overgrown as Da would have no time
for it, with work and minding us. Even with our help, he still
had an awful lot to do, and I would worry a lot. I would talk to
the angels on the way to school about all that was happening
at home. They would tell me not to worry, that Mum would get
better.

Da would get us up early in the morning and get us ready for
school; we would help make our breakfast and sandwiches for
lunch. My sister and I would help to look after my younger
brother and sisters and we would clean the house and set the
table for dinner. There was very little money and Da had the
additional expense of the bus to and from the hospital, so a lot
of the time when Mum was sick we didn't eat dinner – we lived
on crackers and cheese.

While we were in Ballymun Mum had two more children,
both boys, called Cormac and Dillon. Now there were seven of
us children – all under twelve. Things were tough. At one stage
Da went to England to work and he seemed to be gone for
months. So, again, there were no vegetables grown and the
garden went wild. I used to talk to the angels about how I
missed Da and how sad it was that he had to go away.

I always remember the day Da arrived back home
unexpectedly. The angels told me to look out the window
and I could see him walking down the road towards the
house, wearing an overcoat and hat and carrying his case. I
noticed how handsome my Da looked: it was as if I expected
him to look old, much older than he had looked when he
went away, but he actually looked so young – which he was,
only in his early thirties. I was so happy; I ran down the stairs
as fast as I could and told Mum. I hid behind her as she
opened the door to welcome him home.We were all so happy
that day.

Da had to go out and start to look for work again
immediately, but he did start working on the garden and we all
helped. I always loved helping my Da and I loved growing
vegetables; pulling the weeds away from around them and
asking the angels to help them to grow. I desperately wanted
to help more, but when you are so small how much can you do
on your own? Often I would cry with frustration at not being
able to do more, but I would try to make sure that no one saw
me by going around the back of the garden shed.

I used to play a lot with the family across the road from us in
the cul-de-sac: they were a big family like ours and I was very
friendly with the middle child, Alice, who was about the same
age as me. Their Da was away a lot working in England and
their Mum worked very hard, both outside and inside the
home. Their father came home every few months, but one day
the angels told me that his next trip home would be his last,
because he was going to Heaven.

I felt so sad. Things changed: I no longer wanted to go over
to my friend's house to play in her garden. I distanced myself,
but I did my best to make sure that no one would notice,
especially Alice. Then one day at home the angels said, 'In a
few days we will tell you to go over to Alice's house, and you
will need to go over.'

Three days later I was told. I took a big, deep breath and went
out of my own hall door, walked straight across the road
through the side gate of Alice's house, around the back and
knocked on the kitchen door. Alice's mother opened the door. I
looked straight into the kitchen; it seemed darker than usual.
Alice and one of her brothers were there, and she turned and
gave me a big smile. I took a few steps inside the door; I didn't
want to go any further. Alice told me excitedly that her dad was
coming home, and coming home for good, that he had finally
found a job in Ireland. She was so excited. I felt so confused –
happy for her, and yet inside my heart was crying. I knew that
her mother and father had been hoping for a long time that he
would get a job in Ireland, and could come home. Now he had
one, but he wasn't going to live to enjoy it. I asked Alice to come
and play with me in my house as I didn't want to stay in her's.

Later that day I remember going down to the church and
sitting in front of the altar and talking to God, asking him if
there was any way he could let Alice's dad come home and
stay.

There was great excitement in Alice's house the day her
father came home – and I felt happy for them. However, a few
days later I was sitting on the swing in their back garden while
the other children were playing in the front when the sky
suddenly changed and an angel said, 'Turn around and open
your eyes.'

When I turned around and looked at the house, there was an
incredibly bright beam of light coming down through the sky
– a beam of light full of angels. I called that beautiful light 'The
Stairway to Heaven'. This beautiful sight, and the wonderful
singing and music that accompanied it, took my breath away.
I wanted to go towards it, but I stayed sitting on the swing,
gently moving back and forth.

The light went straight through the roof and seemed to
engulf the house. Then, it was as if the outer walls of the house
disappeared and I could see Alice's dad lying there on his bed.
His wife was trying to wake him. His body lay there, but his
spirit was elsewhere – it was standing at the end of the bed
with two spirits by its side. It seemed to know the spirits – I
didn't recognise them, but they looked like him so I guess they
were family come to help him on his journey. There were also
a lot of angels there. Alice's dad went up into the light with the
spirits and the angels, who held him ever so gently. I saw them
going up among all the angels along that beautiful beam of
light while the singing and heavenly music continued. Her
father and the two spirits seemed to stop for a moment, then
he looked back down.

Time stood still for me; suddenly the house came back into
view and the stairway was gone. Alice's mother was stood at
the door, calling out to her children. They were playing in the
front garden and I was alone in the back, sitting on the swing.
She looked straight through me as if she did not see me. Then
she turned and walked out of the side gate into the front
garden. I sat there, knowing the bad news that was awaiting
Alice and her brothers and sisters. I felt so lonely and sad and
asked the angels who were with me, 'Will he be able to come
back to comfort them – even for a while? Particularly to
comfort Alice who loved him so much and missed him so
much when he was away.'

The angels replied, 'Yes, he'll be back shortly. He will be
there with them for a little while.' That made me feel a little
better and I took a deep breath, got down off the swing and
said to the angels, 'I think I'll go home now.'

I could hear crying coming through the windows as I left. I
walked out through the side gate across to my own home. No
one was home – my mother was already across the road
comforting Alice's mother.

That was one of the saddest days in my very young life: I
always thought mums and dads would live forever.

One day, Da brought home a beautiful, shiny, red car. It
looked enormous, but perhaps that was just because I was so
small. He had borrowed it from a friend because we were
going on a holiday – my first ever! The car was piled up with
luggage and my parents and all seven of us children climbed
in. We were heading down to my Grandmother's place in
Mountshannon, County Clare; it was in the country, 120 miles
away. The journey seemed to take all day, but I loved every
moment of it: I loved looking out the window. Every so often
Da would stop the car and we'd all get out for a little break, and
maybe, if we were lucky, we'd get an ice cream.

This was the first time I had met my Da's parents. They lived
in a youth hostel and Granny was its caretaker. I remember
arriving that first day. Da drove in through a big, grand gate,
into a yard through an old arch, then under another smaller
arch into another yard. There, in front of us, was an enormous
old house surrounded by big stone sheds that were like houses
themselves – Granny told me later that these were coach
houses, where the horses and carriages had been kept, long
ago.

Da stopped the car and we all tumbled out. I looked in
wonder at the house. We went in and I was introduced to
Granny and my grandfather. My grandfather had a wooden
leg; I was always told that he had lost it as a young man while
fighting for Irish freedom. My grandparents had very little
money, but Granddad had a wonderful old-fashioned car which
was designed so that he could get around with his wooden leg.
That first evening he showed me a baby swallow that had fallen
from its nest; he was feeding it with a dropper and keeping it
in a shoebox. He also had found birds' eggs and was trying to
keep them warm in the hope that they would hatch. Granddad
looked very feeble and he stooped, and that first evening I also
noticed that the light surrounding him was much weaker than
that around other people: it was very dim, almost invisible, but
at the time I didn't think too much about it.

My grandmother was a small, good-looking elegant woman
with short grey hair. She worked very hard, making sure that
the hostel was clean. She was also a great cook and spent hours
in their kitchen baking brown bread, apple tarts and all kinds
of delicious things. In fact, Granny and Granddad spent most of
their time in their kitchen, which always smelled of fresh
baking, and I loved to sit there at the table with them enjoying
a cup of tea and a slice of hot brown bread.

The big house was wonderful. Beyond the kitchen was a
long, long corridor with lots of flower pots. In summer, when
I was there, this corridor was always full of flowers of all
colours. At the end was a glass room, and there was nothing
much in it except more of Granny's flowers, but it was a place
I loved. I used to spend a lot of time there, talking to the angels.

The garden was fantastic, too. There were the yards with the
coach houses where the swallows nested, and beyond the
yards was a little gate – which I always climbed over instead of
opening. This gate led into a garden with big trees and lovely
flowers which always smelled wonderful. There were rabbits
and birds there, and sometimes, if I sat under one of the big
trees with sloping branches, I could look into a blackbird's nest
and see her chicks. Beyond the garden were the fields and open
countryside. I loved that garden, and I felt very safe there.

From the first day in Mountshannon I used to go for long
walks on my own; I could slip out and nobody seemed to
notice, or care, where I had gone. I was very good at not being
noticed. Most of the time, with adults, it was as if I didn't exist.
Sometimes I felt they might be happier if I didn't really exist;
I've never been quite sure whether this was because I could feel
what they were thinking, or because of the things I had heard
said about me over the years. Once, as a young child, I heard
my neighbour telling my mother I was lucky I hadn't been
locked up and the key thrown away. When she said this my
mother didn't reply or defend me.

I would walk for miles – across bogs, through woods, across
hayfields, along the banks of the River Shannon – but I never
felt alone. I was always talking to the angels who were with me
and watching and listening to birds and animals. Occasionally,
the angels would say, 'Go quietly now, very gentle steps.' Then,
up ahead there would be something for me to see. I remember
being enchanted when I was shown a family of little rabbits
playing. They didn't run away so I sat down very close to them
and watched them for hours. I know some days I must have
walked for miles, but I never got lost and I never had an
accident. When I think now of the things I did – crossing
roads, rivers, bogs and fields full of cattle – I have to wonder
how it was that I never came to any harm. But the answer is
clear: God and the angels had me in the palms of their hands.
The angels made me laugh and cry and were the best friends
one could possibly have; they are everything to me.

One day, I slipped out and went through the little gate and
one of the angels appeared out of nowhere and caught me by
the arm. 'Come on, Lorna, we have something to show you,
something we know you would like to see.'

As we walked across the field I turned to them and
laughingly said, 'Bet I can race you!'

So, off we ran at full speed and I fell. I cut my knee and cried.

'It doesn't hurt that much – it's only a little scratch,' said my
angels.

'Hmmm,' I said, 'it's only a little scratch to you, but a big
scratch to me. I can feel it stinging. It does sting, you know!'

They just laughed at me and said, 'Come on, up you get and
let us show you something.'

So up I got and, sure enough, I soon forgot my sore knee. As
we walked through the field to the woods beyond they told me
to listen. I listened and I could hear lots of animals in the
distance.

'What am I to listen for?' I asked.

'Listen for one animal. Separate out all the sounds until you
only hear just one,' the angels said. 'This way we can teach you
to hear us more clearly when you grow older.'

So I separated all the sounds that I heard as I walked through
the woods, and with every step I took I could hear the ground
crackle under my feet. After a little while, I was able to
distinguish all the various birds: the different songs of the
sparrow, the wren, the finch, the blackbird, and many others.
I could hear and identify what birds they were and exactly
where they were, just as I could with any animals which were
around. I seemed to learn things very quickly when the angels
taught me.

Then I stopped and said, 'I hear a cry, that's the sound you
want me to hear, isn't it? It's like someone crying.'

I walked on through the woods; the trees seemed to get taller
and it got darker and I said, 'Oh, angels, it's too dark in here,
can you not lighten it up for me?'

'Don't be afraid,' they said, 'follow the cry; follow the sound
you hear.'

So I did, and the cry brought me out into an opening. I stood
there listening and I could hear the cry again. I knew it was so,
so close. It was to the right of me, so I walked back into the
trees to the right, where there were thorny bushes. I got thorn
scrapes on my legs and on my hands. There was no sound of
crying now, which made it really difficult to find. The light was
behind me and it was dark amongst the brambles and the
bushes.

'Angels, I can't see anything,' I said. With that, a light
appeared at the bottom of a tree.

One of the angels said, 'Look at the light over there by the
tree, just where the little gorse bush is, that's where you will
find it.'

And that's where I found it. It was a bird, not an ordinary
bird but a bird of prey – I later learnt it was a sparrow hawk. It
was maybe the scrawniest, most horrible-looking thing, but to
me it was beautiful. I picked it up and looked up into the tall
tree from which it had apparently fallen; I could never climb it
to put the bird back. As it moved within my hand I saw that it
was hurt – its two legs were deformed and crooked and its
neck was cut, probably from the fall. The angels told me that
its parents didn't want it, that they had thrown it out of the
nest.

'It's a gift from God to you,' the angels said, 'for you to look
after this summer holiday and the next summer, but it won't
go home with you after that.'

Sometimes the angels would say things to me that I didn't
understand; I would just take it that what they said was true.
So I took the bird and walked back home through the woods
and the fields and found an old hat and a box for the bird to
live in.

My bird slowly grew strong, but it still couldn't walk
properly, so I carried it everywhere. It couldn't fly well either,
as it couldn't land on its legs. Da and I taught it to stretch its
wings and fly briefly when we tossed it between us.

Feeding it was a problem, too, because it needed bloody raw
meat, but I wasn't going to go out and kill something to feed it.
I knew the meat had to be fresh, and what made it more
difficult was that the bird would only eat such a tiny amount
at a time. My parents couldn't give me a penny or a halfpenny
to buy a bit of raw meat for the bird, so I'd say to the angels,
'You really make it hard.' I remember going into Killaloe, some
miles away, with the family. I went into a butcher's shop with
my bird and told the butcher I needed raw meat from him, but
that I didn't have any money. I hated having to beg, but he was
very nice and told me to come in any time during the holiday
and that he would give me the raw meat. It sounds simple, but
it wasn't – my parents hadn't the money for petrol to come up
and down from Mountshannon to Killaloe.

I didn't, and still don't, understand why my parents
wouldn't provide more for the little bird: it's something I still
fight with. People who didn't really know me helped to feed
the bird, but my parents didn't. When my mum was cooking I
might look for a little raw meat – just a teaspoonful – but the
response would be hmms and haws. I was willing to go
without my share to have it for the bird, but she wouldn't let
me and so I was put into a situation where I had to beg. I
always felt that if one of my brothers or sisters had had the
bird, it would have been provided for. It was very hard. But the
bird got fed somehow, and it grew strong.

One day, when I was feeling sad, Hosus said, 'We know your
heart is sometimes heavy and you are such a little thing, but
you have to remember that God made you different and this
will always be your life. You will have special work to do.'

I replied, 'But I really don't want to. Why couldn't God pick
someone else?'

Hosus just laughed at me and said, 'One day you will know
why for yourself.'

'I'm afraid!' I replied. 'It makes me want to cry.'

'You will have to cry,' Hosus said, 'because it is
your
tears
that souls need to set them free.'

I didn't understand what he meant at the time.

My grandmother, like many others, thought I was retarded in
some way, so it was rare for her to talk to me. But one day she
did and that day I learnt a lot about her and my family. She
invited me to help her clean and dust her bedroom– something
she had never done before. I had only been in her bedroom
once or twice before, and even then it was just to look and not
touch. This time she was inviting me to help her dust!

Granny gave me a cloth and asked me to dust a table while
she cleaned a cabinet, carefully picking up all the precious
things on it and dusting them. I watched as she picked up a
photograph in a big oval frame, and I could feel a great sadness
within her. She must have felt me looking as she turned and
brought the photograph over to me, sat down on the big, old,
high bed and patted the space beside her. I pulled myself up
onto the bed and sat with my legs swinging. She showed me a
beautiful old photograph of a little girl about the same age as
me, in a ragged dress with bare feet and tossed hair. Beside her
was a little boy who was down on his hunkers and playing with
a stick in the mud and the puddles. 'These are my two little
children that God has taken and who are now in Heaven with
him.'

As she said this, her eyes filled with tears. I said to her, 'You
will see them again; you know that, don't you, Granny?'

'Yes Lorna,' she replied, 'I hope I see them again some day
soon.'

I asked what had happened to them. She told me they had
been extremely poor and her little boy – Tommy was his name
– got sick, probably because he didn't get enough of the right
food. I could feel this great sadness, this great heaviness when
she was saying it. Her little daughter, Marie, had had a growth
on her throat and my grandfather carried her on his bike for
miles and miles – from where they lived in Wicklow – to a
hospital in Dublin. His enormous effort wasn't enough,
though; she died before the doctors could operate. Granny told
me that when she looked at my Da, with his dark good looks,
she always wondered what Tommy would have looked like,
had he grown up, and that she looked at me and my sisters and
wondered what her daughter Marie would have looked like. 'I
know that someday I will hold them again in my arms, and I
can't wait for that day,' she said. I could feel the terrible hurt
that she felt: the hurt over what had happened to her and her
children.

She then said, out of the blue, 'You know, Lorna, don't be
afraid. Spirits cannot harm you or hurt you in any way.
Even when you are afraid you just have to say one little
prayer, just say "Jesus and Mary, I love you. Save the souls."'
She smiled at me and didn't say another word about the
subject, then or ever. I would have loved to have told her
then what I saw; to share with her the pain and the joy I felt;
to ask her about what
she
saw and felt, but the angels had told
me it wasn't allowed. I always felt that Granny understood
that I saw more of the world than most people – but she
never said anything more to me about it. She got up off the
bed and continued dusting and then, when she was finished,
she walked out of the room. I followed her and closed the
door.