Past Life Memory Bank
www.open-sesame.com

England, historical periods

Ancient England
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    I remember collecting herbs.  I remember doing rememdies and healings and working under another woman who knew much more.  She was killed by an axe while I hid.  I ran away.  I stayed at an old hut and carried on what she had taught me. I died there alone, half-mad and starving.
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    The first life I remember: in Roman-occupied Britain I was a peasant taken by a Roman and sold as a prostitute [i was a virgin until I was sold]. My 'home' until I was beaten to death was a large stone building at a crossroads and the building was shaped like a large triangle, if that is significant?
    The second was also in England--I was higher in social class, but still was taken by a captain of a ship during a raid on my area. I told a friend about it and described the ship and spoke some of the language I hear the captain speak in my memories and my friend said it was a viking ship and with his swedish background, he told me some of the words were swedish in origin. I don't know anything about Sweden or the language, so I was surprised when he said that.
    In each lifetime I was raped and within a few years beaten to death and I remember the incidents in minute detail.

1400's
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    It was sometime in the 1400ís in England. I was born the only child (a daughter) of a relatively wealthy land owner. My mother either died when I was very young or in childbirth. I have no memory of her. But my father always kept her painting up in the main hall. She was very beautiful and he never stopped loving her or married again.About the same time I was born, a married couple that was servants in the house gave birth to a boy child. I donít want to call our house a castle, itís not that big, nor is it made completely of stone. The term ìmansionî feels too modern of a term to be accurate. So for lack of a better term, I'll use the term 'household'. Anyway, this little boy and I were inseparable playmates when we were children (and our difference in class didnít matter so much). As we grew up and became teenagers, he took a post as a guard in the household. I honestly donít remember when the love between us began. It feels like it was there since we were children. But since we were from two totally different social classes, we could not act on our love for each other. But that didnít stop us from falling in love and spending the rest of our lives secretly in love with each other.
    I specifically remember on incident when we were either about 16 or so.  I had stolen from him something that if he had been found without it, he would have been in trouble. I was running through the household with it in my hand (and of course, he was chasing me like I wanted him to.) I ran outside, into the garden, and then into the woods near the household. And I ran past the trap I had set for him, and he ran right into it. He was strung up into the trees by a rope around his ankle. He ended up a good 10 or 15 ft off the ground. And I stood there and laughed and laughed and laughed at him. And he dangled there cursing at me and yelling at me to get him down. And then I walked away, and left him dangling there all night long. dawn I came back and (after leaving whatever I had stolen from him on the ground where he could find it) I cut the rope and ran like hell. I could hear him thud to the ground behind me. The next time I saw him I made sure I was in my fatherís presence so that there was nothing he could do to me.
    Actually, I have since met the man who was once that man in my past life. It's actually because of a conversation with him that we were able to recall this life we shared in such detail. Every once and a while I will call my friend up and apologize for what I did to him (however, it still continues to be hysterical no matter how guilty I feel for doing it) Anyway, no matter what life threw at us, we stayed devoted to each other. He remembers how I would sit in the garden and braid white flowers into my hair. And he would watch me from an upper window. He still remembers how sweet those white flowers smelled. Anyway, my father loved me dearly, and was a forward-thinking man. He didnít believe in the whole ìa womanís placeî crap. Besides, the way he saw it, I was his only heir, therefore I was to be educated in everything that a son would be educated in so that I could take over the family business (whatever that was, I donít remember) or anything else, should my father pass away. So I was taught to read, write, study the family business, the affairs of running the household, the local politics, archery, swordsmanship, and battle tactics (should my household be called into service of the king in war times).
    It was a good thing that my father prepared me in these ways, because when I was ether 22 or 24 he died (Iím not sure how). So, naturally, I became the head of the household. When I was about 26 the king called into service all able bodied men (including those who owned land and their households ...apparently it was a part of the duty of that social class) to join in war. So I (being the head of the household) and many of the men therein (including my love) went off to war. I do not remember how long we were away, who we were fighting (although this being England, the chances of our enemy being France is historically pretty good) or much else about it. In fact, I don't remember dying either.
    But the man who reincarnated into my present-day friend does remember my death. He saw it happen. He was up higher on some sort of platform or tower or something, and I was on the ground. He saw me get shot through the back of the chest with an arrow. He tried to get to me to help me, but he couldnít get through the chaos of people in time. When he finally reached me, it was too late. And that is the end of my story. I'm sorry that I canít tell you where in England it was, but I do know that there were no mountains, rivers or lakes within sight of the household. There were some green rolling hills, and of course, the wooded area right next to the garden. But I wouldnít call it a forest. There were no villages or towns within sight of the household either. And the road that connected our land to anywhere else was dirt. I'm pretty sure that somewhere close there was an open market of some kind where our servants bought the food we ate and other such things. But historically, that really doesn't help much. I think when we went to war we traveled south a few days walk/on horse to get to the front line, if that helps at all.
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    I will try to make this short, although the outcome and resolution has taken literally all my life.  When I was young, I used to tell my mother - I want to go back to England.  I used the phrase 'go back' every time I said it, although I had never been there.  I was also haunted by sadness, and a strange feeling of sorrow, that seemed to have to do with England.  I was fearful of what I might find if I ever did go back.  Over the years, as a searcher of truth, I saw many psychic people.  One of them told me a valuable insight.  She told me I did not have to go to England to find my past life - I could find it within myself when I was ready.  As the years passed I attempted many times to go back and find my life.  The fear would choke me up, and I was unable.  I haunted Catholic churches, even became a Catholic, as this seemed to ease me up a little inside.  But the fear and pain still stayed with me.  It wasn't until only about ten years ago that I was finally strong enough to face it.  And even now I don't know if this is the whole truth or not.  I have no way to prove that this is what I lived, and I cannot even find my name. But I know beyond the shadow of a doubt that I do have bones in England.  I know because I know.
    I was born there in the early Renaissance period as a young girl.  I lived in a convent, and God was the life I knew.  I worshipped the holiness and I was happy there.  I wanted to be a nun, but I was yet too young.  I was also very poor, and worked hard in the convent as a cooking and cleaning lady. Yet I was content to live in the shadow of sanctity.  Then there was a monk, or some man of some sort.  He represents a shadow of fear to me.  I was raped by him.  I may even have been killed by him.  I cannot see this part, I still cannot see it, but I am getting closer. I do not feel as haunted by the past as I did before - I have been able to blow off some feelings in this life by seeing even a little part of that life.  To this day I cannot hear music of the period without stopped everything and just standing and letting it wash over me, like something I have been so familiar with.  So that's my story.
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  From childhood I always remembered bits and pieces of my past life. and it wasn't just one, another one. I have been doing a lot of meditation to get info on my past life. The first one was in 1412. I was a woman. I lived in yorkshire district England. I was a witch, but I was never burned or anything like that. I lived on a farm in a stone and sod house, that that is all I remember about that life.

Tudor England
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    As a child i had an obsession with anything Tudor. My mum described it as unheathly. Then i had an exceptionally vivid dream, i was in my middle teens, about the age i am now. I was very alike to my own self, quite short, brown hair and brown eyes and i was in the Tudor court, with a man i can describe only as Henry the V111. I was very scared and lonely and i was motherless. Then i ws in my thirties and i was unmarried still at court and there were women around whom i was superiour too.
    I find myself getting very emotional at anything Tudor and often cry at TV dramas when the characters do something wrong, and when i think of the execution of Anne Boleyn i feel heart broken.
    Thanks for listening i'm very confused., Fiona.
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       After that I lived in England during the time of the Tudors. I think I worked in a tavern as a barmaid or something like that. My life was short and I don't remember much. My next life was in Massachusetts at the time was the American Revolution. My name was Sarah and my husband's name was Thomas. We were married when I was fourteen and he then left to fight in the war, leaving me behind with our infant daughter. After the war, my husband came back and we lived in a house he built near a creek. We had many children, maybe ten.
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RICHARD III
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    In one of the other posting there was a woman who wanted to know if anyone had a recall of a life during the time of Richard III. I did. It is a strange one. I believe I knew Richard or Robin as I called him personally. I was a female possibly his wife though I am sure that sounds crazy. I only know that I felt a strong love for this man, Duke of Lancaster who was a brave person and extremely strong will. What I do remember is this I had died and was hovering around Richard at the Battle of Hastings, his last stand. I remember watching him fighting and being stabbed in the left side, falling from his horse and being hacked to death by men. I was looking at this not from ground level but above. My feeling was I was there waiting to lead him away. It was a horrible death.
    I have always known he had nothing to do with the death of the boys under his care and that he had no designs of his niece Elizabeth. No, if those boys where murdered it was by someone else and without his knowledge.
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    The next one is in Medieval England.  One day almost 25 years ago, I happened to pick up a paperback book in the liquor store called The Daughter of Time for a casual read.  It is about King Richard III & how he has been blackballed by history. The book affected me powerfully.  I began to have vivid & powerful dreams about living in Yorkist-Tudor England during the reigns of Edward IV-Henry Tudor.  If anyone out there feels a real affinity for King Richard III I would LOVE to hear from you.  Again, I had the same husband as I did during the Crusades and was in love with another man, but forced to marry my enemy for compelling reasons of state.
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    The next one is in Medieval England.  One day almost 25 years ago, I happened to pick up a paperback book in the liquor store called The Daughter of Time for a casual read.  It is about King Richard III & how he has been blackballed by history. The book affected me powerfully.  I began to have vivid & powerful dreams about living in Yorkist-Tudor England during the reigns of Edward IV-Henry Tudor.  If anyone out there feels a real affinity for King Richard III I would LOVE to hear from you.  Again, I had the same husband as I did during the Crusades and was in love with another man, but forced to marry my enemy for compelling reasons of state.
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Elizabeth I
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    I am literaly obsessed with Queen Elizabeth I . I think that I might have been her or someone close to her that loved her in my past life. I am 13 yrs old and it is really weird that I am so interested in her. I'm not sure but I can totally picture myself close to her and I feel like I know her...Scary

1700's
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     Sixteen years old, female.  My father contracted for me to marry a peer of his.  Yes, a peer.  Old enough to be my father.  I recall crying, being called in to see my father and told the news.  I also recall inspecting my new home, after the marriage, and deciding that the young groom would father my children, not my husband. There was no love in this life. - Gryphynshadow

1800's
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   Hi. I've moved around a lot as a kid, from Italy to Norway to Egypt to, finally, the US, but I've never felt as at home as when I was visiting London two years ago when I was 15.
    Firstly, what's interesting is that I've always been able to do a perfect cockney accent, an accent, which my friends tell me, is extremely difficult. But to me, speaking on cockney is like second nature, like flipping on a switch. Nonetheless, when I visited London, I didn't expect anything unusual to happen. We were taking a tour on the Thames river, and I started feeling sleepy. The tour guide was pointing to different landmarks besides the Thames, and suddenly, I began to recognize things, as if the tour guide was simply reminding me of things I'd long forgotten. At one point, I even recognized one spot specifically: I thought to myself, "Oh yeah, this is where convicts used to be hanged" a minute before the tour guide said, "Right here is where criminals used to be hanged as pickpockets". The more I toured London, the more I noticed it: the buildings dated from Victorian or pre-Victorian era seemed quite familiar. Things got even stranger when we visited Bethnal Green and Whitechapel. I got deja-vu after deja-vu, and I felt so happy, I felt like I had finally come home. My sister says I was speaking in a cockney accent the entire time even though I didn't even realize it.
    I still occasionally get glimpses of what I sincerely believe to be my past life there: I think I was a mischievous orphan, probably a boy (I'm a girl now) around 12, who lived on the streets in Dickensian London. In fact, when I was younger, to help myself fall asleep, I thought of sleeping on rooftops or beside lampposts to help myself drift away. I know it's not a very glamorous past life, but I can assure you, it's a sincere one.
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    Hi Eileen, I'm Petra, a 16 years old girl from the Netherlands. A few days ago I stumbled across your website, while I was searching for other people's past life stories. I wanted to know these stories because I myself think I've got past life memories, but being the sceptic I am (or just a cynic) I wanted to find enough proof to either dismiss the experience or have 100% certainty that it's real. Well, I know I'll never have a 100% certainty, but I am convinced now and feel much more at ease when thinking about these weird experiences. So, first of all I want to thank you for your great website!
    Well, here's my story. To understand why it confused, even angered, me so much, you should know a bit more on who I am and what my life is like. It's almost like I'm 2 different persons: active versus quiet, metal versus classical music, friendly versus cold and so on. I have also always had a fascination with water, as a toddler I ran into a lake where we were camping. Luckily for me my father was paying good attention to me. 10 Years later we were at the same camp site and I went swimming again, even though I always panic when I'm swimming in a lake, river or canal and can't see the bottom anymore, especially if the water is cold. That time, I nearly drowned. Well, that's quite a strange experience, and it influenced my life a lot. I've also always felt an immense fear and restlessness when I'm on a bridge, and always bend over to look into the water. Also I've always felt bad about my english, feeling it should be better, even though I've always had high marks in it, and it's not my mother tongue either.
    About a month ago or so I started dreaming. I've always had a very lively imagination and so I dismissed the first dream as just something weird that occurred in my mind. But somehow I couldn't forget about it. In my dream I saw a door, it looked just like my bedroom door, but as I walked through it I didn't walk into my bedroom, but into some kind of a study room or library. There were large windows, letting a lot of sunlight in, very nice wood on the floor and large book-cases on the walls filled with all kinds of books. There was a beautiful chandeleer hanging down the ceiling, and there was a beautiful desk with a comfortable chair, some more chairs and a piano. Everything looked so beautifully crafted! In the room were a man and a young woman. I'm guessing the woman at maybe 18 and the man about 30 years old.  the young woman had long blonde hair tied in some kind of bun, and she was wearing a beautiful corset dress. The man had dark brown hair and side burns, no moustache or beard, and wore a dark suit. By their clothes I'm guessing late 1880's or early 1890's. The girl was playing the piano while the man put the book he had been reading back on the book shelf to listen to her.
    Then, I saw my bedroom door again, and walked through it. To my surprise I was still in the same room, but it was another time of day. The man was sitting in the comfortable chair reading a book about something medical, and I 'knew' he was a doctor. I again walked through the door, and then I was on the street. It was a narrow street and I had to jump to the side because a carriadge was coming onto me. I ran through the door again, and then I was on a bridge. It was dark, a cloudy night, and the doctor was on the bridge. He put a note or cheque in one pocket and got some medicines from another, which he all swallowed. I then left because I knew he was about to die, and didn't want to see it. That's when I woke up.
       After that I had more dreams, I think about 10 now, revealing that the doctor was actually a surgeon and apothecary. When I looked up information on that, it turned out a lot of Victorian surgeons also worked as apothecaries. He was very interested in scientific developments and carefully studied them. the girl from my first dream was called Elizabeth and she was his wife. He knew her because he had treated her mother when she had a disease. He was a good man, but probably wouldn't qualify as a gentleman, despite his respected profession and acquaintances, because of his temper: he was a very enthusiastic and open-minded man, who valued his own opinion on things more than keeping the peace. He always wanted to speak his mind and discuss everything he felt was important, even though they were very controversial things that peole really shouldn't talk about. Because of his temper and personality he found it hard to adapt to Victorian London's high society. He started despising the society he lived in, hated the etiquette that prohibited him from doing what he wanted to do and showing his love and affection for the world around him.
    He craved for being part of society, being accepted and loved, but at the same time he despised his society so much that he started to provoke, and to turn from it. It was horrible to endure all of that sadness. At about 33 years old, it was just too much. In the middle of the night he committed suicide by taking some medicines first, I think anaesthetics or something, and then drowned himself in the river. The strange thing is, I have dreamed about all of this as if it was me doing it. Especially the suicide was very emotional: I couldn't see myself but I was aware of the clothes I wore, my hair, all of that, it was just so real. I could almost taste the medicines, feel the water and the drowning. But I dreamed that after having drowned, I could feel my body wash ashore, I could see I was still lying in the water, small waves were crushing around me, and I could see the grey sky and the rain felt like it was completely drenching me. I struggled to move but I couldn't, I kept fighting for what seemed to be hours until I could finally get out, then I sat down, pulled up my knees, to watch over my dead body. After people took 'me' away I didn't leave though, I stayed there in that same position, not moving a limb as I was watching life going by. I didn't recognize the people anymore, I hardly recognized London! Finally after what seemed like years, I left, feeling that I had failed. I couldn't change the world around me and couldn't change myself. I also realised that everyone I had once loved was now gone, there was nothing to bind me to this place. I had to leave and carry on, not there, not then, sometime other, alone.
    I remember all of the dreams I had because I experienced such strong emotions in them, I would wake up with a smile on my face or tears running down my cheeks, and in the dream I could feel everything I was doing: when reading, I felt the book in my hands and while walking I could feel my legs. I was so aware of my own body. I also felt completely at ease with being a 30 yr old male, even though I'm a 16 yr old girl right now. all of these dreams were in English, and I could remember every word of them. The strange thing is, in those dreams I completely understood everything that was said, but when remembering it later IÝ had to look some things up in a dictionairy. My dreams were detailed enough to verify them and I've been looking up a lot of things. So far I haven't found any incorrect things whatsoever. In those dreams I knew how a Victorian gentleman would dress for a specific occasion, what specific rooms in the house would have looked like. I was aware of their etiquette, choice of words, and customs. I knew things I can't possibly have known in this life. I also knew the game of cricket I was playing, I knew the English word 'batsman' which was 'my' position in the game, even though I had never heard of cricket before as it's not played in the Netherlands as far as I know.
    I just wanted to share this story because it's thanks to your website that I actually believe it's a true story, that I'm not making things up and that there are lots of similar things. Maybe this is way too long to submit (sorry for that, really), or maybe you'll have to leave things out to make it readable. It's up to you whether you're going to post this or not :) - Bye, Petra
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    I have only asked about one other life and was told that I was a man in England in the 1800's - a very tortured soul who wrote poetry and died in poverty. I have never liked poetry, especially the sad stuff and my mother's family is from England. Thank you, Pamela Reed Edwards
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    All i know is that when i was little i would always go to write the name Helen on my papers or whenever i was on the beach just randomly drawing in the sand. the only thing is- that's not my name. my name is laura. also, i have always been able to do a perfect english accent. whenever i pray the our father <i go to catholic school, its required> i get a random accent. I have always had a fascination with the 1800's and i get angry when people do not treat me like a lady. the final incident was when, in french class, my teacher was talking about the man who named the dinosaurs. before she said the name i thought, "oh- Richard!" sure enough, it was sir richard owen. named the dinosaurs in 1842.
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  I remember vaguely a life from a time during the Industrial Revolution. Of course, we did not call it that, we did not think of it in such terms. It was just new opportunities and factories springing up everywhere. I am an old man, somewhat Scrooge-like in appearance. I am mean and a bit miserly, like Scrooge. I am an old bachelor and am too cheap to own a house so I sleep in a room on the top floor of my factory .There are a lot of dirty sooty windows all around me. I think it must be England. I live to work, I live to be the boss. I don't know what we make, but I know I am contemptuous of my useless employees. I am lying on my bed, which is little more than a mattress on a slab in the middle of the room (not even as fancy as Scrooge's 4-post bed with velvet drapes around :-) )I am wearing a coarse linen nightgown with a drawstring type tie at the top. A candle burns nearby in one of those old-fashioned holders with a handle. I look down inside my nightgown at my wrinkled skinny body and I am aware that I have male parts. (I am a woman in this life and have not seen too many different men's bodies, not even in movies, I tend to close my eyes at nude scenes). I consider touching them but I decide that sleep is more productive. I feel old and bitter and bored.
 

More European Memories:
Europe: General, Castles
Austria, the Balkans, Germany, Russia, Scandinavia, Spain, Turkey
England
Wales
France/Gaul/French Revolution
Greece
Ireland
Irish/Celtic/British Isles: Mixed and Non-specific Memories
Italy/Roman Empire
Scotland

See Also:
WWI - WWII - The Burning Times - The Titanic - Multiple Lives
Mixed and Non-specific Memories