A young man I used to meet every day in the 1950s [he was assistant manager in the hotel near Gloucester Road where my mother was director & where I lived when in London] had a disconcerting habit of saying suddenly, "You know a man who...", followed by a very close and accurate description of someone whom one knew, and he didn't, and couldn't. One of them for instance, was my closest friend at Cambridge where I was studying at the time, who lived in Bradford. When one replied, "Yes, I know him", he would reply, "He was
standing behind you just now".

Worked every time. On one occasion, I remember saying, "No, I don't know anyone like that. You've missed out this time, Norman."   He said, "OK, just leave it for a while". Several days later, in the middle of a conversation on quite another topic, he suddenly exclaimed "Look around you next time you have your hair cut.... Now, what on earth made me say that?" "Because," I replied, "that man you described so exactly the other day that I couldn't identify is my barber by South Kensington Station. You don't think of your barber between haircuts, do you?"

I contributed this story to Rupert Sheldrake when I read some of his books on telepathy and "morphic resonances" about 10 years ago; he replied that he found it of much interest and would keep it on file.

Sheldrake's work is much relevant to this thread: as, It seems to me, are my recollections of my mother's assistant manager, Norman Robinson.

~Michael~