Midwayers’ Name-codes – Part One

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Midwayers’ Name-codes – Part One

Post by Sandy » Sun Sep 01, 2019 4:24 am

Midwayers’ Name-codes – Part One

From the Desk of George Barnard – August 12, 2019.
On quite a number of occasions when I was still a child, I met up with Midwayers. To my way of thinking they were just ordinary people. Cherubim were simply someone’s children and pleasant company to be with.

Back in about 1945.
There was one ‘Spirit Guardian’ who occasionally stood diagonally accross from me at our dining room table, right between my mom and dad. Anyone who would have seen him would have called him rather ‘pushy’ to just stand there at dinner time, but no one else could see him. I could see him, but I was just a kid and not allowed to express myself during meal times. Dr. Mendoza, the visitor in question, was in my opinion possibly enquiring about my dad’s political opinion. He was dressed like most other men in those days, in a brown suit. Brown, the fashion color of a defeated, war-weary people.

Forward to the 1970’s.
It was a time when many young, married South American immigrants began arriving in Australia. It seemed that neither the wives nor the husbands could handle the new freedoms of the southern continent. At least, such was claimed by one of their seniors, a very much respected Argentinian man called Angel. I had earned my license as a clinical hypnotherapist and some South American doctor was sending me one of his patients after another, all from a small local hospital. Something else . . . I kept hearing the term, “Emenohwait.”

Spanish-speaking patients kept coming. All mentioned the doctor who recommended George Barnard’s services and told them where the therapist’s clinic was located. As well, old Angel translated one of my basic hypnotic inductions from English into phonetic Spanish – “Just read it what it say and Bob’s your uncle,” said Angel. It worked just fine. The Spanish-speaking patients kept coming and I was still hearing that term, “Emenohwait.” Some patients were desperate cases, supposedly beyond my reach. I telephoned the hospital to tell the doctor I was being overloaded with patients.

“We don’t have a Spanish-speaking doctor here, not even a visiting doctor from those parts of the world,” the receptionist said. “Just some patients from South America. Sorry, I can’t help you.” She rang off. Suddenly I heard the words, “Not in your realm!” I replied, “Give us a look at him then!” And there he was, in a hospital corridor, casually walking towards me. He was a smallish man, well tanned and dark haired, wearing a brown suit, brown tie, black shoes, white shirt and an unbuttoned white doctor’s coat. A stetascope hung around his neck. There really was a Spanish-speaking doctor in that hospital!

“Give us his name then!” I demanded with some annoyance in my voice. A street sign showed up – VIA MENDOZA – “OK then, Dr. Mendoza. What takes you so long?” Some time later I finally broke all the Midwayers’ name-codes.

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