The Psychic Adventures of Derek Acorah: Star of TV’s Most Haunted

I reported to Dr Montz what Sam had told me about the lady. As I followed her spirit form up the staircase, I was drawn to a room which was full of the paraphernalia of children: small chairs, a cradle and one or two low armchairs. As I entered the room I could feel a definite temperature drop. ‘Annie’s here,’ I said. ‘She was a nursemaid or nanny. She was very proficient and had very strong links with this building. She’s talking sadly of the loss of two of her small charges. I feel that these two children were lost to spirit through consumption. They’re buried in the churchyard.’

I moved from the nursery and into one of the large bedrooms. Here I encountered a man in spirit. He was quite old and bent over. Although there was no communication from him, I gained the distinct impression that he had been some type of servant and that he had worked long and hard for his master.

As we moved from bedroom to bedroom, although I was very aware of the residual energy contained in these rooms from the many years of occupation by various families, no further spirit people showed themselves to me.

I descended the stairs once more and entered the drawing room. There in the corner I could make out the spirit form of yet another lady building up. I knew that she had been a good and sensitive person in her earthly life.

‘I’m Eliza,’ she told me in direct communication. ‘I lived here with my sisters.’ She talked of her sister Isobella who had a leg impediment. She was very sad that she had not been able to enjoy walking around the beautiful gardens of Belgrave Hall, though she laughingly added, ‘She has no problem now!’

It was time for the whole team to congregate in the hallway. Stuart Warburton, curator of the Belgrave museum, had joined us and was confirming our findings with Dr Montz. It was now 3 o’clock in the morning and we were all becoming more than a little weary.

Suddenly we all became aware that the temperature had plummeted. I knew that we had been joined by another past inhabitant of Belgrave. I also knew that unlike the other people in spirit that I had encountered here, this spirit entity was not at all pleased at our intrusion. ‘Edmund,’ boomed a voice in my ear. ‘Edmund Craddock.’ I had feelings of agitation and negativity. The other members of the team confirmed that they too were picking up similar feelings. We all agreed that this man definitely did not want us in his former home. He was a forceful personality who was blustering and huffing, but because there were four experienced mediums present he was unable to cause problems. It was to be a different story three years later when I visited Belgrave Hall with the crew of LIVINGtv’s enormously successful programme Most Haunted and Vic Reeves and his wife Nancy Sorrell.

Now the ISPR investigation of Belgrave Hall drew to an end. Dr Montz had analysed the videotape footage and had questioned each of the team about it. We all agreed that though Belgrave Hall has many ghostly visitations and an enormous amount of residual energy, what had been caught on tape was nothing more than a combination of bad weather and a camera fault which had given the impression that a ghostly apparition had been photographed when in fact it had not.

And so the ISPR team’s visit to the UK came to an end. The following day I waved them off from Heathrow airport and wondered when we would meet again.

In fact it was the following July, when I flew across the Atlantic to meet the team for the premier showing of Ghosts of England and Ghosts of Belgrave Hall at the Vogue Theatre on Hollywood Boulevard. And I hope I will have the pleasure of seeing them again in the autumn of 2004 when a huge paranormal convention is scheduled to take place in Los Angeles.

The James Whale Show

By now I was well used to working on radio and had been a regular guest on Radio City’s Billy and Wally Show each Friday for over a year. I had also had a regular Sunday-evening guest spot on Red Rose Radio when I took telephone calls and gave live readings on air.

But in September 1999, just as my first book, The Psychic World of Derek Acorah, was due to go into the shops, I received a telephone call asking me to go to London to guest on the Talk Radio James Whale Show and my heart plummeted! James Whale! James has a reputation of not suffering fools gladly and I had the distinct impression that he would definitely consider me to be a fool.

On the appointed Sunday Gwen and I drove down to London. To say that I was nervous would be an understatement. We arrived at the studio and as I took the lift up to the reception desk I could hear James’s voice being piped through the corridors. ‘And my guest this evening is Derek Acorah. He says he can talk to dead people!’

‘Don’t worry,’ Gwen told me. ‘Just promote your book and we’ll be out of here in half an hour. It’s not as though he’s going to eat you!’ I hoped she was right.

Before I knew it I was sitting in the studio with James. ‘Welcome, Derek,’ he said. ‘Now tell me—just what exactly is it that you do?’

I proceeded to explain my work as a medium. ‘Right!’ said James. ‘Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind doing a reading for me?’

‘Oh dear!’ I thought. This was the last thing that I had expected to do. ‘Don’t worry, Derek,’ I heard Sam whisper.

I opened myself up to James’s vibrations and saw a lady in spirit who came up behind him and stood there smiling. She was quite plump but gave me the impression that she had not always been so, that once she had been lithe and slim. She impressed upon me that she had had lots of problems with her hips but that she had passed to spirit as a result of cancer. She mentioned the name ‘Michael’. Then she was joined by a gentleman who also stood behind James and placed a hand on his shoulder. I got the distinct impression that this man loved the open air and had some links with farming. Oddly enough, though, I also saw him standing behind a bar in the role of landlord.

All the time that I had been passing this information over to James he had said nothing, only uttering the odd grunt now and again. When I finished speaking he was gracious enough to confirm that his mother had once been a ballet dancer but had ended up with hip problems because of her dancing and consequently had put on weight. She had passed to the world of spirit as a result of cancer. The name ‘Michael’ was certainly relevant. He was James’s father who had been the landlord of a public house for many years but whose desire had always been to buy a farm and live off the land. I breathed a sigh of relief. Sam had not let me down.

‘Would you like to stay on after the midnight news and take some telephone calls?’ James asked. Of course I would!

Before I knew it, it was 2 o’clock in the morning and James was bringing his show to a conclusion. I had been on air for three hours, including two hours of telephone calls. James was jubilant. ‘Well done, Derek!’ he said. ‘We’ll have to have you back!’

And so after that every Sunday evening would see me travelling to Stockport for a live link-up with James in his London studio. For three hours I would conduct telephone sittings live on air.

At this time I was continuing to conduct my personal readings as well as joining Billy and Wally on a Friday morning on their Radio City show. I was also appearing every week on Granada Breeze television in Manchester. The demands on my time were so great, I didn’t even have time to arrange theatre appearances. ‘You need an agent,’ James said to me one day. ‘I know a great one. He’s my own agent. I’ll give you his number.’

A few days later I contacted Stuart Hobday. What Stuart thought on that day I really do not know. His background lay in music and theatre. To be contacted by a clairvoyant must have seemed a little strange to him, but thank goodness that he agreed to meet me. We have worked together successfully ever since and I would like to think that this situation will continue for a very long time to come.

My weekly spot on The James Whale Show unfortunately came to an end in the April of the following year when James had to undergo serious surgery. Since then I have been a guest on his show whenever my schedule has allowed, but I often look back fondly to that day when two panic-stricken people drove to London to meet the great James Whale.

Predictions with Derek Acorah

All things psychic were now proving to be hugely popular with television audiences and Livetime had changed its name to Psychic Livetime and was now solely involved in airing mind, body and spirit subjects. The producers decided that another programme should be created, called Predictions. Guests would be invited to the studio to demonstrate their expertise in the various aspects of mediumship, astrology, dream analysis and so on. My contribution would be to demonstrate mediumship to a small studio audience and to conduct one-to-one sittings live on air.

The show was pre-recorded, but what was filmed went out on air—what the television audience saw was what had really taken place. I was elated when I was told that the viewing figures for Predictions were as great, if not greater, then the figures for Psychic Livetime.

Predictions continued for approximately 12 months and at the end of that time I was called in to see the editor once more and was informed that the format of the programme was to be changed and it was now to be called Predictions with Derek Acorah. The response to my contribution had been such that the producers had decided to dedicate the programme to me alone. I was surprised but elated, because I now knew that I was indeed fulfilling my destiny, just as Gran had predicted all those many years ago.

In the new programme I would continue to demonstrate mediumship to a studio audience, but there would be a new feature which would involve me going out to meet people and conducting sittings for them in their own homes. A further section of the programme would see me being taken to alleged haunted locations to conduct investigations there. I would not be told where I was going or the name of the location I was to investigate.

I had mixed feelings about this. Although visiting people to conduct sittings for them held no fear for me—it was what I was used to and I loved my work—the idea of wandering around old buildings talking about days gone by held no appeal whatsoever. I had hated history at school and had always managed to escape history lessons to train for my school football team. Needless to say, my school reports always demonstrated my dunce status where history was concerned! Nevertheless, I agreed to take part in the programme. With Sam’s help, I knew I could do it.

Samlesbury Hall

The first place I visited was Samlesbury Hall. Samlesbury is a small central Lancashire town which lies between Blackburn and Preston. The manor itself is a black-and-white building which was built in the fourteenth century after the original hall had been burned by Robert Bruce when he raided Lancashire.

What surprised me most as I entered the old hall was the sound of girlish laughter and I had the definite impression that this had been an educational establishment at some time. The name ‘John’ was impressed upon me. ‘John Cooper,’ I said.

No sooner had I uttered that name than the energy around me changed and I felt as though I was in an inn. Once more there was laughter around me, but this time it was accompanied by the smell of ale and roasting meats in the huge fireplace. The sensations were only brief and were quickly replaced by a more sombre feeling—a feeling of desperation and despair. Then I heard a loud bang! ‘Somebody shot themselves here!’ I said. I could not say who it was, as I was not being given a name, but I knew for certain than somebody had committed suicide.

I went further into the premises. The name ‘John’ rang out again. It was not the same man whose residual energy I had picked up on earlier. This was another man and as I watched I could see him building up in front of me. ‘Sir John!’ he said. ‘Sir John Southworth!’

I knew that this man had been a good man—quiet and peaceable—but I also knew that he had suffered because of his faith. There was another sadness which he had experienced in his life too. The name ‘Dorothy’ was whispered. I felt the urge to move to the upper floors of the building. Up we went, past the priest hole and on to a bedroom. ‘Dorothy!’ the name came again. I had the impression of a tragic young lady, a murder and horrendous grief. ‘Her brother murdered her betrothed,’ said Sam. ‘It was an accident. He and his two companions were murdered by Dorothy’s brother. She went mad with grief!’

On the investigation went, out into the gardens and back into the hall again. Before I knew it the producer was telling me that our time was up and that we would have to vacate the hall. I was disappointed. To my surprise I had enjoyed wandering around the old manor house and meeting the inhabitants of years gone by!

Something Missing

Another part of the programme involved me visiting people in their homes to conduct readings for them. The television audience was invited to telephone or write in, a name would be drawn at random and then I would be taken to that person’s home. I met hundreds of wonderful people this way and everybody was extremely kind to me. I look back fondly to all the people I met, but once there was one little boy I was more than happy to help.

Paul was aged two and Sylvia, his grandmother, had written in to ask for a reading. Her daughter-in-law Jane had passed to spirit and her son David had been left to look after Paul on his own. As David was a long-distance lorry driver, he had sold his home and moved back to live with his mother so that she could care for Paul whilst he was away.

Jane had been gone for three short months and during that time Paul had been quiet, morose and cried each night when he was put to bed. Sylvia knew he was missing his mother but thought there must be something else that he was missing too. She could not have been more correct.

As I entered Sylvia’s home I immediately became aware of a young lady in spirit. She was slim and dark-haired and I gained the impression that when in her physical life she had been a joyous soul with a bubbly sense of humour. ‘Yes, that’s Jane,’ Sylvia confirmed. ‘She was always laughing. She didn’t have a care in the world.’

Jane then told me herself that she had loved her life here on Earth, that she and David had been very happy and were planning another baby. ‘Life couldn’t have been better,’ she said. ‘The trouble is, I just didn’t see them coming!’ She had been coming home from a friend’s home one evening when a car had mounted the pavement and struck her. After two days in hospital she had passed on to the spirit world. She told me that her father Jim had been there to collect her and that she was at peace, but she still missed David and Paul very much.

‘I inspired Sylvia to contact you,’ she continued. ‘There’s a problem with Paul. He’s missing his toy elephant. He always used to have it with him in bed at night, but when David moved to Sylvia’s house it was packed into a box and it’s still in there.’

I turned to Sylvia and told her what Jane had said. ‘I didn’t know anything about a toy elephant,’ she told me. She walked over to a cupboard under the stairs and took out a large cardboard box full of cuddly animals. After rummaging around, she finally pulled out a blue velvet elephant.

On seeing his toy, Paul let out a shriek of glee. He toddled over to Sylvia, took hold of the elephant and clutched it to his chest.

‘I haven’t seen him looking so happy since Jane went,’ Sylvia said. ‘Just wait until I tell David.’

A day or two later the studio received a telephone call from Sylvia thanking us for coming to her house and telling us that Paul had gone to bed each evening without a problem now that he had been reunited with his longlost friend.

No Smoking

One of the funniest incidents on the road occurred when the film crew and I had travelled to Northumberland to conduct a reading for Jean, who lived in a quaint village some 40 miles west of Newcastle-upon-Tyne. We were booked to spend the night before in a small hotel which was actually located on Hadrian’s Wall. Rain had fallen relentlessly for the whole of our journey north. By the time we reached the hotel, which was situated down a farm track, the stream which ran alongside it had burst its banks and we were forced to drive through a foot or more of water to reach our destination.

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