An Unusual And True Tarot Story

You will have seen that the tarot features greatly on this site, from my tarot reading a week, through to some general readings I have done for myself as well as of course the reviews, I think you get the gist that the tarot and I are intertwined.

Firstly it is my divination method of choice, it has rarely let me down.  Secondly I am a very visual person, I love nothing better than to take and look at photographs of things that please me.  But there is a third reason why I love the tarot, indirectly it is because of the tarot that I am here to be able to write this journal.

Pull up a chair and listen to this interesting tale.  Many years ago (autumn 1931) my Grandmother returned to her home in Bournemouth, UK for a few days without my Grandfather.  On a whim she decided to visit the pier and particularly the Gypsy who read the tarot. It is believed by the family and verified to a degree here on the internet to have been Gypsy Petulengro who was to become famous for his broadcasts later on in the 1930’s but we have no proof on that.

Anyway my Grandmother was a Victorian Lady, descended from a line of Bank Managers, that some say rented the ground the Bank of England now stands on to the Bank of England.   She you would have thought have scoffed at anything the gypsy had to say.  I always remember her being almost stone cold logical.  Chances are one of her friends put her up to it, we shall never know, although my memories of youth remind me she always had a Old Moore’s Almanac in the house when I was young.  I remember fondly scouring it’s horoscope section hoping to find that one week the girl I was crushing on in school would finally give in! (Side note even to this day she’s never given in 25+ years on and the Almanac has never given me a romantic horoscope yet!)

My Grandmother was to be given a reading that would change many lives, not least her own.  She was told that my Grandfather would die, but he would have a second daughter he would never meet, so his spirit would live on.  Whatever my Grandmother did she was not to deny him “his rights” as she so quaintly put it when she told me this story.  In April the next year he did indeed die from Malaria he caught whilst in India on active service some years prior.  That August my mother was born, he never did see her.  My Gran admitted she had only given him his “rights” the once. 

Many years later, when my mother went to secondary school for the first time, she was shown a picture of my Grandfather by the headmaster, who had identified her just by looking at her once as my Grandfather’s daughter.  Mum says that he said she had “her father’s spirit”.  I’ve never seen any pictures of him sadly, but I know I share the fact that we were both tall and slim.  He according to his obituary was taller than the average person at the time.  I am 6 foot 4 so I guess I follow in the family footsteps, mum was 5 foot 9 when she stopped growing and my Aunt I would say was every bit of 5 foot 11.

So as a result of a tarot reading my mother came to be on this planet and therefore I suppose you can say so I did I.  My mother and I have predictive powers, we often see things long before they will happen involving those close to us.  I can’t help but wonder if there is a small bit of the tarot in us and that is why we have our gifts.