Marie Studholme (part one)

Having recently moved house and changed jobs, and now with a young child, the opportunities to update the blog have proven more limited. Despite all, April has still been able to make a new friend, courtesy of an introduction from her grandmother, who has evidently known the lady for quite a while. The following three contacts occurred over a six week period, the first of which is given here. It happened a couple of months ago, commencing at about 02:05 in the morning (April rather precisely estimates), lasting about 15 minutes from beginning to end. As usual, her grandmother collects her from a semi-alert condition on our bed and accompanies her to a city centre location, somewhere in England. They land close to a theatre of some kind, but the name is not yet recalled. A woman in a long white dress is hurrying towards the entrance but at the grandmother's wave stops to say hi. She introduces the lady as Marie, a very gorgeous and wonderful singer. Marie is wearing a pair of silver, ring earrings, maybe one inch in diameter, with pearls hanging freely, and a necklace with a hanging pearl encrusted rhombus-shaped design. April offers her left hand, and this is gently taken by Marie's right, the touch cool but solid. She enquires as to how April got here and she replies her granny brought her. April notices a singular pearl ring on Marie's third finger of her right hand. Her hair is dark, tied up at the back, longer at front, and she appears 28 or 29 years of age. She says she sometimes wears a black, brown or blond wig when she sings. She clarifies that her actual name is Caroline Lupton, but most people know her as Marie Studholme, a popular singer, and she obligingly spells out her name so there is no mistaking. She gives her date of birth as September 10, 1872 and the date she passed as March 10, 1930. She explains a pneumatic fever came on very suddenly after one exhausting performance and she died at home soon after. She is actually heading to a performance right now, and says she continues to enjoy singing for interested audiences, although these are now are quite different from those when she was physically alive. Her husband's name is Harold but they don't have children of their own. Marie then excuses herself and April wishes her a good performance. She smiles as she hurries. Thank you, angel!

Abandoned Greek country dwelling

Abandoned country Greek dwelling

30.12.21 It has been a while since we last posted: a change of job for both of us meant we quickly had to find a new place to live, and settling in took most of our attention and energy. The dreams and day-to-day synchronicities continue, now in slightly sharper focus as we take our first break in more than a year. This morning, April's grandmother visited her in the small hours for the first time in a few weeks, to give her another chance to check out a house she had seen in November. She says they spent about ten minutes together - time enough to explore what is evidently an old dwelling, this time she says on one of the Greek islands. It appears to be constructed on wooden supports, with a ladder or staircase to gain access to the upper level, where the residents clearly lived. The ground below the building consists of rough grass and rocks, and is not utilised. She says there is no-one anywhere around, and that the place seems to have been abandoned for a number of years. The building is close to a forest, and is actually one of many structure set close together. These, too, seem derelict. Small roads between the houses are smooth enough to permit cars or other forms of transport, she thinks, which would seem to place the village in the modern era.

The Old Toronto Star Building, Ontario

Old Toronto Star Building, Ontario

15.06.20 It has been a while since the last recalled clear dream, the distractions and demands of a day job diverting energy and attention. However, early this morning she is gently roused by her grandmother, who visits her just as she promised she would. We have been asleep for roughly five hours or so by the time she arrives. April tells me Granny also kindly caresses my sleeping head, although as usual I have no recollection, conscious or otherwise. Granny says she has been busy attending to many people everywhere in all manner of difficulties, and so hasn't had the chance to visit. She seems to accomplish her assistance via various means: a whispered suggestion to a receptive ear here, a piece of encouragement there, or even the arranging of some outrageous piece of synchroncitous luck. Now she sits on the corner of April's bed and says she wants to take her to another impressive building, this time in Canada. Before they depart, she shows in her left palm the image of a magnificent building. Then they ascend hand-in-hand but not so high - maybe twenty metres or so - before descending 'like a rocket' to solid ground. The journey doesn't take long - half a minute, she thinks. In front of her is an immense structure, grey-cement coloured and in an art-deco style reminiscent of the Parkview here in Singapore. Granny says this is the Old Toronto Star Building and naturally April has never even conceived of such a place. Arm-in-arm, they walk along the pavement outside the facade for thirteen minutes or so. She counts more than twenty stories, but is curiously unsure as to the depth of the building and similarly is not able to peek within. I later find that the building was demolished in 1972. But here it is somehow sustained in its splendour and the popular received notion that the clear state can only include artefacts from the dreamer's own mind is once again refuted.

Visit to Royal Pavilion, Brighton

Display model of Brighton Pavilion, next to the tea room

03.01.20 A few days before April and I are due to fly back to Singapore, my brother and sister-in-law phone to say they need to visit Brighton that week on a work errand. Would we like to accompany them? They know of our previous blog entry on Brighton Pavilion last year (see below) and are as curious as us to see how far April's sketch corresponds to waking physical reality. We jump at the chance, and so early that Friday morning we drive through the thin New Year's traffic to a car park quite close to the seafront and walk for ten minutes or so through the picturesque streets. The Pavilion itself is tucked amongst other pubs and restaurants, but has an impressive garden to the rear where we eventually get to sit and take some souvenir pictures. 

It takes us about an hour to walk round the interior and absorb some of the antiquated extravagance. Maybe the opulence reflected for its owner that interior sense of joy known to us all at times. We stop for tea and cake at the end of our tour, and luckily there is a model of the building on display in the next room. An external photo of the Pavilion is not possible due to the tightly-knit surrounding structures, so I take a picture of this instead. When we get home, we agree that her sketch is in good correspondence. Later, I am struck by how April's drawing has a foreground, whereas now the area is fully developed. The adjacent version of the building seems to conflate aspects from both past (the grassy foreground) and present (April says she saw relatively modern cars driving around), and in so doing is somehow able to stand outside of time.

Royal Pavilion, Brighton

Royal Pavilion, Brighton

27.01.19 Just before Christmas, April and I decided to take a UK holiday for a while, and stay with my family in Surrey. It would be her first time to visit the UK and she was keen to see how things looked, and maybe check some of the landmarks about which she had dreamed so extensively over the years. We travelled to London, Oxford, Petersfield and Guildford, leaving ourselves only a little time to recuperate. We tried to see Harcourt House near Oxford, home to one of her other contacts, Lou-Lou Harcourt, but the building was now in private hands and there was no chance to visit. Another location we didn't get to see turned out to be the Royal Pavilion in Brighton, only we didn't know this at the time.

One cold morning, I asked April if she might get a travel tip for a place to visit that week, recalling how this tactic had worked earlier in the year for Doi Inthanon. In response, over several evenings, April was shown an immense historic building by her grandmother. As usual, each separate clear dream was not so long - a couple of minutes at the most. At first, she could only tell me in the morning of the fantastic structure she had seen, unable to recall the name. The following evening, she dreamed of some more of the external features but did not go inside. On the third and final evening, she got the name and had enough confidence to sketch out everything she could remember.

Having now identified the place as the Royal Pavilion, Brighton, we earmarked a day before Christmas to visit. Our body clocks, however, were still disrupted from the long flight from Singapore, and we ended up rising too late and missing our train departure. We abandoned the idea and I felt embarrassed by my lack of organisation. Nevermind, you can try again next time was her grandmother's forgiving reply, relayed later. I promised April that we would try again on our next vacation, when the weather would be warmer and we would be under less pressure for time.

Charlgrove Monument

John Hampden's Charlgrove Monument

Visiting Charlgrove Monument
in December 2019

30.12.19 The account below was originally published in December 2018. Following our vacation visit late last year, we have decided to repost but this time with photographic evidence. The small structure to the right foreground of the sketch remains unidentified.

December 2018: While gathering material for what was then an intended second volume of April’s adventures in 2017, several individuals and locations (all from the UK, and unknown to me and absolutely to April), were introduced to her. On one occasion, a visit to one particularly impressive house led to a chance meeting with a soldier called John Hampden, who over the course of several evenings showed April several landmarks related to his lifetime. Some elementary research later revealed his historic role in the creation of modern parliament, about which I was completely ignorant. To April, though, he was simply a friend who shared some details of his life. During the second or third time they met, he showed her a monument dedicated to him at a place called Charlgrove, Oxfordshire where he suffered a battle-related injury.  She was able to recall many of the details of the conversation they had and sat down to sketch the structure at our dining room table. Coincidentally, I found out that the place was quite close to where my brother and sister-in-law live, and so we resolved to visit the monument in person when we next had the chance, and perhaps take a photo for the blog.

A visit to Shere

The spire, gate and war memorial at
St. James' Church, Shere

18.12.19 About a week after our arrival in the UK, we get to visit Shere, a tiny village tucked away in a dip in the Surrey Hills, and walk around the picture-postcard shops and houses. St. James' Church is situated just off Middle Street and the unusual feature in the foreground of April's sketch (below) turns out to be a war memorial, although the church gate and spire are in quite close correspondence. There is a plaque inside the church recounting the short life of Christine Carpenter, the anchoress of Shere. While still young, in an act of religious devotion, she chose to be enclosed within a walled recess on one side of the church and live out the rest of her days in contemplative silence. A small space was left in the wall through which she could presumably receive food and drink. Later in the morning, when we explore the grounds, April says she actually sees Christine standing outside the enclosure. She says she is blue-eyed and pretty and looks about twenty years of age, her golden hair tied in a bunch behind her head, brown earrings fashioned out of some stone. A white band keeps the stray hair from her face. She is wearing a simple black and white dress and black leather shoes. Her left hand is raised to indicate where she stayed. She smiles a welcome, and in January would later visit and speak with April in a clear dream after we return to Singapore. Pleased with our morning's accomplishments, we decide to stop for an early Christmas lunch in the wonderful White Horse Inn in the centre of the village, and later head home fully satisfied.