‘I see dead people’
Frieda Marsden doesn’t get messages from the other side, but she’s seen enough to convince herself there is definitely life after death...
The first time I realised I had a sixth sense was in my early 30s. I was on holiday in Cornwall and, when I woke up, I just knew that someone in my family had passed away. But I pushed the thought to the back of my mind – I was on holiday after all. Then my dad rang, confirming the worst – my dream had been scarily accurate – his aunt Bella had passed away.
A few months later, I woke up and couldn’t shake the sense that someone else was about to die.
It’s a peculiar feeling to try to explain. Almost like a sense of anxious dread and nervous anticipation. I’d barely got downstairs when the phone rang to say my aunt Molly had died suddenly of a heart attack.
Not long afterwards, I had a really vivid dream and, the next day, when I told my mum, Lucy, her face drained of colour.
‘Does Uncle Danny have cancer?’ I asked her.
‘No, Frieda,’ she said. ‘It’s jaundice.’
But I just knew my dream was true. My uncle had told me about the disease in the dream the night before…
That was back in 1984, when we lived in Belfast. Uncle Danny lived 15 minutes away in Holywood, and I hadn’t seen his brandnew kitchen extension. Yet I could describe it down to a tee, from the new archway wall to the floor tiles. My uncle had sat down and I asked, ‘How are you?’
‘ You know I’ve got cancer,’ came his reply.
The dream had been so real, so normal to me – it was as if I hadn’t even been asleep.
A few weeks later, my mum confirmed what I already knew – Uncle Danny was dying of cancer, and the kitchen looked exactly how I described it.
Thinking back to my childhood, I had always been a sensitive child. I was fascinated by astrology and, as I grew older, I wondered if I was more open to the spiritual world...
But I definitely wouldn’t have said I was psychic or had any special powers, but the dream about my uncle certainly made me think.
My wee Granny Jane, my dad’s mum, was known in our family for having ‘the gift’, as we called it in Ireland – she could read tea leaves.
I would go round, and she’d look into my china cup and tell my fortune. And she did it with remarkable accuracy – some of the scenarios she
predicted were so spot on.
Once, in 1975, Granny Jane told me I’d meet two short, stocky men, one with the initial ‘C’ and another with the initial ‘D’, and that the latter would ask me out... but not in ‘that’ place.
I didn’t really know what she’d meant at the time, but a few days later, I was at a dance and two men – Colin and Dave – walked in.
I’d known them from school, but hadn’t seen them for years. Dave had had a soft spot for me, and after sharing a dance, I told him I was moving to London for a job.
He explained he was going to stay with his sister. ‘Do you want to go out in London?’ he asked. Granny Jane had been right! Not long after my mum died in March 1987, I was on my bed with my eyes closed. I was particularly missing her that day, and there were tears in my eyes. All of a sudden, very gently, I felt the back of my hair being stroked. It was featherlike, but I knew it was my mum.
I recognised her touch from when I was little.
I started to wonder if I had inherited Granny Jane’s gift, but two decades had passed and nothing out of the ordinary had happened.
Then, in 2008, my Aunty Flo (Florence) and I were on a cruise sailing around the Mediterranean and, one morning, I woke up and looked over to my aunt’s bed. There she was, still fast asleep, snoring softly with the covers tucked under her chin, but floating above her, clear as anything was Granny Jane, who’d passed away in 1999. I don’t remember feeling scared or frightened. There was a calming presence about it, but as soon as I turned my head and looked back, she was gone.
When I told Florence a few weeks later, she was pleased. ‘ Yes. It always feels like she’s watching out for me and protecting me,’ she smiled.
From that day on, I started experiencing other strange incidents.
Oddly, it seems that when I’m at my most vulnerable – if I’ve been upset, tired or a bit out of sorts – spirits visit me.
They don’t talk, but I find it comforting to know there is some form of life after death.
I’ve often been asked if I would like to hone my gift to be able to speak to spirits outside of my family, but if there is ever a message I could give, the spirits will come when it’s right for them. The last time I saw a spirit was April this year. I’d broken my arm after a nasty fall in my kitchen and my niece, Kerry, 39, took me back to her house for the night. An hour later, I sat bolt upright in bed. Looking at me was Granny Jane. She wasn’t doing anything, just staring at me from across the room. This time I didn’t look away and I heard her voice in my head, ‘Frieda,’ she said. ‘ What have you done to yourself ? Be more careful!’ I was afraid to speak to her, but her spirit seemed to slide sideways and disappear. I knew I hadn’t dreamt it because Kerry was still in my room, fast asleep. I don’t tell everyone I can see spirits or that I have premonitions, because they are always about death or illness. It scares people, although most of my family know. My older sister, Linda, has even taken to saying, ‘Don’t you be dreaming about me!’ It would be nice if I could get premonitions about other things – the winning lottery numbers would be great! I do sometimes think about trying to learn more about my gift but, until I do, I’m content to get the odd surprise ancestor visiting.
‘I couldn’t shake the sense that someone else was going to die’