The Great Ahlah Soh ( VILLAGE TALES EP. 35 )

A stage magician and clairvoyant begins to wish it were possible to be at one’s own funeral, 

to hear the kind words, and find out what people really thing. 

Surely with his skills anything is possible.

It’s a shame that funerals happen when they do, when those for whom the funeral is held is not there to appreciate those that have made the effort to turn up, or all the kind words that are spoken. There is deep sorrow of course, but also sadness amongst some that it takes a funeral for them to make contact, renew old acquaintances, meet the relatives they haven’t seen since a wedding, or a previous funeral. As opposed to the subdued and melancholy post committal events of the past, a wake has become a more relaxed affair with entertaining remembrances of the deceased. It can give a truer picture of the dearly departed and a genuine celebration of that person’s life.

Rose, who used to be the village post lady, died three years ago. Her grandson was a regular drinker at the Drum and it was he that invited me to the wake following the funeral ceremony. He introduced me to Stan Birkenshaw who had moved to the area the year before and we got on immediately. He had known Rose’s brother who had been a minor theatrical impresario and Stan had been one of his acts. Stan had been a conjurer and magician working under the name of the Great Ahlah Soh. The cabinet in which the lady vanishes then re-appears , and ‘sawing the lady in half’ were two of his tricks, but when one of his assistants became pregnant, sawing the lady in half was cut from the act. There was an implication that Stan and Rose had been more than friends but Stan’s travelling had got in the way. He joined ENSA entertaining the troops during the war but having no assistant to make vanish or saw in half he was desperate to fill out the act for the troops. While he was in North Africa and stationed in Benghazi the opportunity arose when a belly dancer and fortune teller befriended him and gave him the gift. 

We had then to part as his taxi arrived, but I wondering what kind of gift it was. A certain kind of gift was rife amongst troops at the time, especially in North Africa. I was keen to find out more, but it was a few weeks before I could engineer another accidental meeting.

Having reminded Stan where his story had got to he then told me that travelling backwards and forwards with other entertainers across north Africa he made regular visits to the woman who was known as a ‘mamari’ in the Bohdema suburb of Benghazi. Stan explained that a ‘mamari’ is Arabic for a passageway, in that sense a conduit that acted as an intermediary between the living and the dead as well as being able to foretell the future. By the time he returned to England he’d picked up quite a lot from this mamari, which may account for him being invalided home.

Fully recovered after the war, he returned to the stage his new act. He’d ditched the oriental garb for the astrological, started with his conjuring tricks creating an air of mystery, then did a partly comedic routine about star signs, then pick out individuals to do a more serious reading. After the interval it was clairvoyancy and the psychic which had become very popular due to Noel Coward’s ‘Blythe Spirit’ being the current box office success. Thinking that loved ones lost during the war might still exist in some form was seductive. Doing the astrological readings, he told me, gave him a sense of who would make a suitable subject.

Asked what he meant, he said someone who was ‘open’. Stan said that most people have barriers through mistrust, disbelief, anger, selfishness all sorts of emotions that get in the way. Hypnosis too had become a popular entertainment, but Stan said that often made people make fools of themselves, and that was not what he wanted to do.

Up till then I’d thought his act was just that, but it made me think he was serious. It made me wonder if he was genuine, really in touch with the other side, or if he just thought he was. If so, how could that fool the public?

One evening Stan reminded me of our chat about funerals and how it’s a shame that the deceased is never there to witness the event. He said it would be revealing to know what people thought of you.

‘Not sure I’d like to know,’ I quipped, but he was lost in thought, perhaps with his background, seeing how it could be done.

We both seem to have other things to do for a while so we didn’t catch up until one New Year’s Eve, a particularly wintery night and the conversation turned towards his time in North Africa. I could see he had a deep affection for that part of the world, it’s history and mystery, even though at that time it was in turmoil. As the sleet was battering the pub windows, it even  made me think of ‘re-locating’.

About nine months had passed during which I hadn’t seen Stan but Dave at the pub had told me he’d called in a couple of times so I presumed all was well. That was until I received an ominous looking envelope. I don’t receive many letters, like many, practically all of my communication is on line, so letters are more a cause for suspicion; I wasn’t wrong. The letter was from funeral directors informing me of the ‘sad news that Mr. Stanley Milton Birkenshaw had deceased this life and the family had acceded to his requested that a wake take place at The Old Drum and Monkey so that friends can pay their respects. This would be prior to his body being taken to his family home for the funeral ceremony and committal. Refreshments have been arranged at the Drum for those wishing to attend’. 

It was sad news but the prospect of ‘paying one’s respects’ brought images of an open coffin with the deceased made up to look like he was about to go on stage and surrounded by unknown family members. I should go, our conversations about his stage act were a joy to remember, besides if he really had the gift, he might even be there.

If you believe there is anything after this life then you feel obliged to attend a funeral purely to appease the spirit of the deceased. I’ve never heard of an angry spirit berating someone for not attending their funeral, if I did it would make a good story, and certainly fill the pews. If you don’t believe there is anything afterwards then the ceremony and all that goes with it is purely to ease the pain of losing someone and a celebration of a life. Stan however had confused the issue. Could he really speak to those who had passed over? I would go, if only to avoid Stan appearing in ghostly form and complaining because I hadn’t.

A dozen or more people were in the skittle alley when I arrived and I was immediately welcomed by his brother who had travelled down from Lancashire to organise things and would be returning with Stan for the funeral. I recognised several locals, Rachael in particular was talking with Sally Pemberton and Martin Jeffers the bell ringer. Paul from the shop was there too and as I had discussed with Stan it was sad to meet each other on such an occasion. The coffin was centre stage fortunately closed. Stan’s brother was sociable and I think managed to speak to everyone and to get a good idea of what we though of Stan and how we all liked him and were all fascinated by his theatrical history. The subject of whether he could really speak to those on the ‘other side’ was understandably avoided, but the irony of our previous conversations gave me another perspective and, as is my nature, I found myself being the observer and studying the people and the event as if from afar. 

After about an hour Stan’s brother made a brief but fitting speech thanking us for paying our respects and knowing that Stan, AKA the Great Ahlah Soh, wherever he might be, is appreciating our kind words.

Soon after, the coffin was removed into a black van and we watch it drive away, followed by Stan’s brother. Some of us remained for an hour or so but eventually we all left with the sad thought that another member of our community had departed.

Three months later I found a postcard on my doormat, the sort that tourists send home saying ‘wish you were here’, or ‘having a lovely time’. One side had a photo of Valletta, Malta, and the other merely said, ‘Thank you for your kind words,’ and was signed The Great Ahlah Soh. 

Stan never had a brother, I knew that.

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Written and read by Barkley Johnson.