This is a true story and one that will forever remain in my memory, it is also one for which I have no explanation other than thoughts beings transferred from one person to another over hundreds of miles. It was November of 1963 and I had just left work and was walking the one half mile stretch to my boarding house. I was all alone and have no recollection of hearing anything, yet as I walked the short distance, I suddenly knew that my father was ill.

My father, having been born in 1879 was then 84 years of age, but apart from being blind, a condition he had suffered from since age 70, had been in good health when I had left home about two months earlier. Having no telephone at the time, I communicated with my mother via the postal service, usually writing and receiving about two letters every week. The only other means of communication was by telegram, used only for matters of emergency.

I quickened my pace expecting to receive a telegram from my mother, indeed feeling that one may already be waiting. Arriving at my boarding house I found dinner ready, but today I had little appetite, my mind occupied with thoughts of the news I was about to receive. There were no other boarders and I ate with the family, husband and wife and two young sons.

I informed my hosts that I was expecting to receive a telegram, with news of my father. Predictably, the news was greeted by a blank stare. I then told them of how as I had been walking home, I suddenly “knew” that my father was ill. Seeing my distress, they immediately tried to make light of the matter, saying that it was simply my mind playing tricks on me. I was adamant however that this was no illusion and that I would get the details shortly.

From the kitchen window, I saw a young man on a paddle bike coming up the street towards the house. I recognized him as the person who delivered telegrams, and met him at the door. The telegram was for me and confirmed what I already “knew”, my father had taken ill a few hours earlier and having gone to the local hospital, was then taken by ambulance to a much later facility in St. John’s, a hundred miles away. Needless to say everyone was speechless. The good news is that my father made a complete recovery, and lived for another 11 years.