I fumbled
with my keys in the lock then half-ran from the house, feeling flustered and
rushed — certainly not a desirable state for driving.
But as I
looked down the drive, there on the ground beside my car lay a single white
feather. As I bent to pick it up, I knew instantly what it was: a reminder from
my late daughter, Caron Keating, to drive safely.
‘Hi Caron,’
I smiled, as I tucked it into my blouse, close to my heart.
Gloria
Hunniford's daughter, Caron Keating, died in 2004 after a long battle with
breast cancer
For when she
was alive, Caron — loved by millions for her TV and radio presenting roles —
told me that an isolated white feather was an angel’s calling card. And since
her death, I am certain that she uses them to send messages to me.
We were so
close in life, and I am in no doubt that our bond has increased since her
death.
I am
convinced that Caron — who died of breast cancer ten years ago, at the
tragically young age of 41 — has been my guardian angel. People may think I am
deluded, but I know she is there for me, protecting and comforting me whenever
I need her most.
Like many
people, I was once sceptical about the existence of angels.
But, as time
has passed, I have become completely convinced Caron is an angel whose primary
task is to watch out for me. How else to explain some of the extraordinary
things that have happened since her death?
These events
started in August 2004, just four months after Caron died. My husband Stephen
Way, now 74, and I were driving to the family villa we had just bought in the
South of France.
It was our
first visit and the car, a Toyota Celica, was loaded to the gunwales with
everything from saucepans to suitcases.
The traffic
was so bad that we decided to leave the motorway and make our way through the
back roads of Northern France.
As I took my
turn at driving, it was an incredibly hot day, the air conditioning wasn’t
working and I can only assume I was distracted for a second. The next thing I
knew I had careered across the road, and smashed through a pedestrian crossing
sign.
I opened my
eyes to see our car embedded in a huge concrete flower pot and Stephen hurled
against the windscreen, with blood pouring from his head. Overwhelmed by shock
and disbelief, I thought I had killed him.
Gloria
believes that Caron is her guardian angel, and that white feathers fall at
moments when she is particularly looking over her
Suddenly
police cars, ambulances and fire engines were arriving and we were being
dragged from the car. I was in such shock that every bit of schoolgirl French
deserted me.
Yet no one
in the assembled crowd seemed to speak English, except one young woman — an
exquisitely slim girl in jeans with the most glorious tumbling blonde hair.
As the
ambulance driver led us away, she took my hand and asked in perfect English:
‘Would you like me to look after your things?’
Her offer
came at a time when I felt quite confused and I was so concerned for Stephen I
said, ‘Yes please’, and gave it no more thought.
Late that
evening we were released from hospital; Stephen had suffered a cut to the head
and, mercifully, was OK. After a fitful night’s sleep in a hotel in the square
of the little town — whose name I never got to know — we went to a café.
As we sipped
coffee, the girl from the crash scene once more appeared at our side. Gently,
she asked in perfect English how we were feeling, then asked: ‘Would you like
me to take you to where your car is?’
We were in
such a state of shock, we didn’t stop to wonder how she knew where our car was,
we were just so grateful. We assumed it had been moved by the police but
wouldn’t have had a clue where to start looking.
We got into
her smart little car and exchanged pleasantries as she drove us some 4 km to
the middle of the countryside. ‘Here you are,’ she said, as she pulled up in
front of a garage and gestured for us to get out.
We barely
had time to thank her and say goodbye before she sped off.
Sure enough,
there was our car in the garage — with every scrap of our precious belongings
still inside.
The car was
a write-off. It was caved in at the front and the engine was totally stoved in.
Looking at it, I shuddered — realising how fortunate we’d been to escape
virtually unscathed.
The AA
arranged a hire car for us and, as we loaded our belongings into it, we thanked
the heavens that we were safe and said goodbye to our Celica.
As I felt
calmer, I also felt terrible for not thanking the girl who had done so much for
us. I bought a bunch of flowers for her.
Later that
same day, after a final check-up at the hospital when Stephen was given the
all-clear, we went back to the café where, I assumed, she was a waitress.
But she
wasn’t there and — to our amazement — the owner had no idea who I was talking
about when I described her. With a mixture of schoolgirl French and pointing to
my own blonde hair, I explained: ‘I’m looking for the beautiful girl with long
blonde hair who speaks English.’
Caron, who
died at the age of 41, was best-known for her role as a presenter on Blue Peter
‘Non,’ he
shrugged. ‘Je ne sais pas.’ (I don’t know). It was the same at the garage. The
owner didn’t know her either. I even asked more people at the cafe. They were
eager to help but they all shook their heads and said: ‘Non.’
This was a
tiny French town. We couldn’t understand it. Where had she come from — and
where had she gone? Perhaps, if we had been there for a few days longer we
would have solved the puzzle.
As the weeks
passed and I mulled over how incredibly lucky we were, not just to survive the
crash but to find someone to take care of our possessions, I began to wonder —
was a guardian angel looking out for us?
It seemed
extraordinary, but what other explanation could there be for this woman
arriving twice in 24 hours to save us and then disappearing into thin air?
Even now
when I talk about it, I get goosepimples.
And then the
feathers started appearing — just when I most needed comfort, and leaving me in
no doubt that Caron was indeed watching over me.
The first
time was in January 2005, nine months after her death. We were on our way to
Disneyland Paris with her sons Charlie, ten, and Gabriel, seven. It was meant
to be a birthday treat for Gabriel, but trudging along the rain-soaked platform
at Folkestone, Kent, hand-in-hand with the boys, I felt consumed with memories.
It wasn’t just the lashing rain that dampened my mood.
Every fibre
ached with pain and despair as I thought of Caron; she should have been here —
skipping down the platform with her beloved boys, eyes sparkling, long blonde
hair whipped up by the wind.
For the
boys’ sake, I was trying desperately to put on a brave face. But inside I was
breaking apart.
Then
suddenly I looked down and there on my shoe was a single, snow-white feather.
It had quite literally dropped from the sky. There was no rational explanation.
Caron’s
words from long before she died came flooding back to me: ‘Remember Mum. If an
isolated white feather appears out of nowhere, it’s a sign that your guardian
angel is watching over you.’
She had
become seriously interested in angels when she was co-presenting ITV’s This
Morning and interviewed experts on the subject.
She even
made a documentary about them, so it was something we had spoken about many
times, long before her illness.
Yet although
there’s a growing interest and belief in angels, I know many people will brush
aside the whole idea. I have to confess that I was once very sceptical too.
Beautiful
bride: Caron (right) married Russ Lindsay (centre), both pictured with Gloria,
in 1991
When Caron
first talked about angels, I didn’t take her seriously at all. I used to tease
her when she talked solemnly about asking the parking angel to find her a
parking spot. It always seemed to work for her. ‘See Mum,’ she would giggle.
But, even
though I sometimes found myself doing the same, I still didn’t take it
seriously. And I was dubious when she first told me that angels used feathers
as their calling cards.
But there
was absolutely no mistaking the message that day. The rain was lashing, and
there wasn’t a bird in sight.
Yet, as this
single fluffy feather landed, it was perfectly dry.
Where else
could the feather have come from?
I didn’t
tell the boys — they were too excited about the trip — but Caron’s watchful
presence helped me. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so bereft. Although Caron was
gone, I felt her comforting presence and knew without a shadow of a doubt that
her spirit lived on — I can even see that spirit in her boys.
The next
time I remember it happening was the summer of the same year. The boys and their
father, Russ Lindsay, were spending the holiday with us at our home in
Sevenoaks, Kent.
It was a
baking hot day and they were splashing about in our little indoor swimming
pool.
I would
never have believed two boys could have so much fun or make so much mess. There
was water everywhere and I was soaked to the skin.
Then just as
I was thinking how much Caron would have loved to have shared the fun, that
very moment, out of nowhere, a huge, plume-like bone dry feather drifted
through the air and landed near the pool.
As I bent to
catch it, I felt instantly it was Caron again.
She was
telling us she was watching and was happy that her boys were having such a good
time. And knowing that gave me so much comfort. I may not be able to see her,
but at least I could sense her.
Since then I
have lost count of the number of times I have found her calling card.
Birthdays
and anniversaries rarely pass without the arrival of a white feather. And no,
there are never any birds nearby when they land.
They also
always float down to a place where you just wouldn’t expect to see one, like on
your shoe or the doorstep.
Whenever I
see one of Caron’s feathers, I pop it in my blouse pocket — close to my heart —
until I get home. Then I take it out and keep it safe.
I’ve put all
the feathers — and there are hundreds — in jars around my house.
Gloria says
the 'terrible grief' of losing her daughter never goes away, but believes they
will be reunited in death
I feel Caron
at my side during my darkest moments, too.
Two years
ago, in April 2012, Stephen was rushed to Tunbridge Wells hospital after
suffering a minor heart attack. I was in pieces. I was terrified that I was
going to lose him. I spent all day at the hospital with Stephen, where he was
in intensive care. When I finally got home alone that night, I was trembling
with shock and fear as I tried to get my door key into the lock.
I looked
down and there — on the mat under a deep porch — was a single white feather.
I knew then
it was going to be all right; and Stephen was allowed home a few days later.
I am in no
doubt that Caron keeps an eye out for her boys, too: Charlie, who’s now 20 and
studying at Bournemouth University, and Gabriel, 17, who is studying for his
A-levels.
They have
grown up knowing my belief that their mother is looking over us all.
At home
above their beds, they still have the little wooden plaques that Caron had made
for them, with the inscription: ‘May angels watch over you while you sleep.’
They are
young. Their lives are full and happy. But I have no doubt that — whenever they
need her comforting presence — a feather will appear.
Caron’s
brothers, my sons — Paul, 49, and Michael, 43 — have received her ‘calling
cards’, too, on special occasions such as their birthdays.
Only a few
weeks ago, Michael and I were driving to St Peter’s Church, However, to put fresh
flowers on her grave when a perfect snow-white feather landed on the
windscreen.
‘There you
go Mum, it’s another of Caron’s feathers,’ Michael smiled.
The terrible
grief of losing Caron never goes away. I am a Christian and fervently believe
in an afterlife when we will be reunited.
But I still
miss her desperately and think of her hundreds of times every single day. She
was the one woman in the world I enjoyed talking to the most. I’ll see a dress
that she would have loved, or hear a joke she would have enjoyed, and feel a
knot in my stomach.
Now I have
her feathers to remind me that my daughter may not be visible but she is with
me, wherever I go.
I am
convinced she is always close to me, her pockets filled with feathers to drop
at my feet when I need her comforting presence most.
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2771542/White-feathers-convince-Gloria-Hunniford-guardian-angels-DO-exist-make-certain-darling-daughter-Caron-Keating-watching-her.html
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