Your medium, based in Rayleigh, serving Essex and beyond
Although originally known as Patricia, Ankhara's psychic name came to her during a Regressive Hypnotherapy Session, after years of feeling drawn to the ancient history of Egypt.
About Ankhara
Ankhara first realised her psychic abilities whilst on a family visit to South Devon.

Must always be truthful when conducting a reading.

Should realise the responsibility that comes with being able to influence another's life.

Provide proof of a life that continues after death - to give proof of an everlasting life.
Since then, Ankhara has worked in several Churches within the Essex area, in addition to a series of TV appearances and press articles. She also worked with Professor Richard Wiseman at Hampton Court Palace in May 2000.

Ankhara loves solving mysteries...
Rennes Le Chateau
Since 1984, I have been more than a little intrigued by the tiny mountain village of Rennes le Chateau. I first read about it in a magazine sold many years ago that contained unsolved mysteries. I later read more about the village in the very fictional book by Baigent, Leigh, and Lincoln “The Holy Blood and the Holy Grail"...
Rennes Le Chateau
Even though they did not write the book as fictional being both a Christian and a Medium I could not and would not agree with their hypothesis added to this a total lack of conclusion made the book total nonsense. But the fact that once again my favourite village was mentioned got my investigative juices flowing. I just knew I had to visit the place.
In April 2001 I met Lionel Fanthorpe a man whose work I had seen on television and had admired. During our conversation I discovered that he knew Rennes le Chateau very well and listening to him talk really did put me on fire to go to France.
We left England on Wednesday 15th May 2002, accompanied by my husband and two of our best friends. We arrived at Toulouse Blagnac Airport on a blazing hot day; totally different from the cold, damp we had left behind at Birmingham airport. My husband drove the hire car along the A61 turning off on to the D118 as Lionel as Lionel had suggested. We arrived at the medieval village of Alet le Bains where our hotel the Hostelerie de L’Eveche was situated.
The hotel had once been a Bishopric in the 10th/12th Century a large sprawling building with the river Aude running at the back, lining the drive and all round the gardens were numerous trees, beautiful and majestic. The sun shining through the leaves accompanied by a gentle breeze made the Copper Beech, Oak and many more look like distinguished and beautiful companions to the buildings they surrounded. Looking at them I did wonder at their exact age and if they could talk what stories would they tell?
I just knew that I was finally going to find some answers as to why I was here and what would I discover – if anything?
The following day was as hot as the previous; climbing into the car I could hardly hide my excitement. “Any idea where your village is?” My husband asked over the years and the many times I had spoken about it the family had started to call Rennes le Chateau “my village.” I replied with a firm “no,” ducking as a map was thrown at me. Being well known as a useless map-reader I passed it on to our friend Len.
As I sat quietly in the back of our hired car my mind drifted back to Sunday 24th April when I had attended Mass at our local Catholic Church accompanied by my husband and family. As we walked up the aisle to receive Holy Communion the Hymn we were singing, “My God Love’s Me.” I suddenly felt that I was no longer in Rayleigh (built in the 1930’s) but a smaller much older one and that we were no longer singing in English but French. I suddenly heard my eldest daughter whisper “Mum, are you OK? Its your turn.” I realised then that I was standing before the Priest who was waiting to give me the Host. Having received the Bread I walked away shaking not at all sure what had taken place over the last few minutes. On leaving the Church my daughter once again asked: “Mum, what is wrong?” I told her what had happened and her reply was very simple: “then you obviously have to go there. Perhaps the priest in France was linking with you.” Later I was to realise how correct she was.
I talked my husband and friends into travelling to France during May.
We made our way along the tortuous mountain route to Rennes le Chateau. As we neared the end of the journey we could see the Chateau standing like a sentinel overlooking the valley surrounding it. Arriving at the village it was not difficult to find the Church (now decommissioned) and the Presbytery the signs were everywhere. The village was very old with narrow streets and an air of something I could not explain perhaps a ghostly feeling, now and then a window was open to the sunshine allowing us to look into a different world. I could feel a muted excitement in me, the best way to explain it would be for me to say like a child waiting to open a Christmas present hoping it would contain what I really wanted, and yet afraid it might not. I suddenly had the uncomfortable feeling that something more than Christianity was practised here. Perhaps a mix of the old and the new.
Turning a corner I saw our goal The Church and home of Berenger Saunier and his housekeeper Marie Denarnaud. These two people whether willingly or otherwise had started off one of the greatest mysteries of the modern world. I had not come to find gold or silver not even the Holy Grail (something I don’t really believe in.) However, I do feel that something far more fundamental is hidden.
Entering the little square we paid our entrance money to an English lady who said to us with a smile: “I came for a week and stayed twenty-five years.” We visited the grounds and the cemetery making my way to where I was told Sauniere and Denernaud were buried. I had told my friends and family that the Spirit of the man who had gone to his death without being given the Last Rites by a fellow Priest would be so restless I would pick up on it immediately. So, it was with great puzzlement that I realised that I could not feel his presence anywhere puzzled I turned to my friend Rose and told her this, her reply was simple “You might find him in the house, where he had lived and died.” Turning away from the graves we made our way into the Presbytery, here we were confronted by the various Vestments he would have worn for the different Sundays and Holy days of the Liturgical year. I wanted to touch one as I also do Psychometry I felt this would definitely help but the iron gaze of a museum curator standing by did deter me. I was up to this point still more than disappointed that the Priest or his housekeeper were not making themselves evident. By now disappointment was making me feel like crying I had come to France for nothing and that experience in my Church a few weeks previous were all for nothing.
On leaving the Presbytery we mad our way towards the Church walking across a garden as the house was on the top of a mountain the garden was cut in two. Walking across the lower one we reached the upper garden walking past a beautiful tree in full bloom I suddenly felt a presence not that of a man but a woman I knew in an instant that Marie Denernaud was standing beside the tree, I felt a need for her to talk. A feeling of guilt that she had never shared her secret with any other person before she had passed into Spirit. I did mentally ask if I could help but there were so many people and so much going on it was impossible so I carried on walking into the Church, pausing for a moment to stare at the ugly demonic face at the entrance and wonder why the priest had done this. Entering the dark of the Church from the bright sunlight was to say the least disconcerting, then to see the Holy Water container with Angels above it and a demon face below was more than just unusual why he had done this I have yet to find out?
Walking into the body of the Church I felt as if I had been hit on the back of my head, realisation dawned that the Sunday in April when standing in my local Church I had in fact been taken to France because everything around me now was as it had been so many days ago before I knew that I was going to France Saunier knew. He had also made contact with me on the Tuesday before I had left Rayleigh on the Thursday. Feeling that what ever work I did in France might drain me I had gone to a young friend of mine who does Reiki in an effort to recharge my energies should I use any. While I had been in a semi trance state I could feel the presence of a man in the room with us, once she had finished with me I asked her if she felt something (she too is Psychic, honestly so) and her reply was: “A man stood in the corner, he has a commanding personality.” Something I had felt too.
I was amazed by the way the Church was dedicated to the memory of Mary Magdalene. From the stained glass window showing the Raising of Lazarus to the family at Bethany, he was after all the brother of Mary Magdalene something that many so-called experts argue about but I know the truth. I suddenly felt very at home in this little Church. I was however more than puzzled by a statue in the front of the church that had no right being there but with everything at Sauniere had in the church I wasn’t surprised, shrugging I walked on and out into the sunlight.
Making our way to the Villa Bethany yet another link with Mary Magdalene, like everything to do with this man it was an anomaly. He built this house yet never lived in it. He was said to have lost his Faith yet he had built an altar at the back because he was for a time banned from saying Mass in his Church, but with the Altar there he could say his own Mass in private something very important to all Priests. In the top bedroom Sauniere was laid in state after his death, so that his parishioners could come and make their farewells. I found all this very odd if the man had been so steeped in the black arts why was his link with Christianity so strong.
I did try to find the tomb of Marie de Negre the lady who started all that Sauniere and Denernaud carried on but never found it as I later learnt the actual tombstone was in a museum. Whatever he discovered and hid is not known and as yet lies undiscovered.
Leaving the village I was more than exhausted allowing ourselves an early evening meal we retired to bed. I don’t dream but sometimes Spirit do visit me in my sleep state and that night was to be a very different kind of visit. I was fast asleep the sound of the River Aude running at the back of our room was very soothing, when suddenly I awoke thinking my husband had called me I turned to look at him only to find him fast asleep. Then for the first time since doing my work I was afraid as standing between the window and our bed was the figure of a man his appearance was different to anything I had witnessed before as he sort of glowed can’t explain it any other way. He stood silently beside me all the time giving the impression that there was a great deal more for me to do. How long he stood there I don’t know but as he left I fell into a very deep sleep.Since I was last in France I have tried to get back but not been able to do so. In a Circle that I ran I was given the information that should help me solve the riddle and having read Ian Wilson’s The Shroud (his most recent book) I discovered that this part of France during the murders of the Knights Templars was actually under the protection of James the Second King of Majorca so that Phillip the Fair king of France and the reigning Pope Clement V would not have had any jurisdiction here. I also feel that whatever the mystery is it would be to do with something stolen by the French Crusaders in 1204 at the sack of Byzantium.
I will go back and hopefully get the permission I need to go to the two places I have been told from Spirit that could be what I am looking for. Wish me luck
St. Anne's Inn
As ever, intent on providing its readers with a chilling Hallowe’en tale, The Courier’s Kim Gandy drove psychic Patricia Putt, without giving her any prior information, to England’s most haunted inn one dark, windy night...
St. Anne's Inn
Source: Essex Enquirer 30 Oct 2002
By Kim Gandy
St Ann’s Castle, on the ancient thoroughfare that runs through Great Leighs, is, allegedly, the oldest inn in England, having been built around 1170. Its proximity to Leez Priory and the fact that it is bang in the middle of prime Essex witch country makes it a hotspot of spiritual activity, with more than its fair share of things that go bump in the night.
When we were within a mile of our destination, Patricia started to complain that her legs felt weak and she became visibly uncomfortable as we pulled into the car park. As we approached the steps to the entrance, she declared that “they” wouldn’t let her enter. However, with the help of a bible and holy water, we gained admittance.
I introduced Pat to the landlady, also called Pat and we set off on our psychic voyage. Our first stop was one of the bedrooms in which our medium heard a baby crying. Apparently, this was emanating from a tiny anteroom. She picked up on the fact that the mother of the child was also present and asked the landlady if she’d recently rearranged the room and why. The landlady stated that she had indeed rearranged the room at 2.30 that very morning, having felt a huge compulsion. The spirit mother had, it seems, compelled her to do it, as the room layout had interfered with the positioning of the child’s crib.
In the next bedroom, Pat saw a man dressed in hunting gear, apparently of the year 1380; as she was stating that she felt the man had followed the black arts, a crash of thunder and flash of lightning shattered what was left of my composure, sitting, as I was, just three feet away from where Pat had claimed to have seen him. At this point, I retired, quivering, to the landing.
Throughout the investigation, Pat perceived the presence of monks but described their behaviour as anything but Christian. She ‘felt’ the presence of nearby Leez priory, even though not particularly familiar with the area and having been driven there in the dark.
In the main bedroom, a royal connection came through, with a strong sense of Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth 1. (The Queen Anne is reputed to have stayed in this room: although the others may have, it is not documented.) The tragic nine days’ queen, Lady Jane Grey, Pat felt, had stayed here on her last journey to London. She then pointed to an area of the ceiling and said that a comprehensive search would turn up some “interesting documents”.
As we continued around the upper floor, several details connected including the fact that the mother of the baby and the man in red and black had been linked and that this man had, in fact, strangled the woman.
It was whilst we were in this room that Pat went into a trance and the country voice of a spirit called ‘Anne’ came through. It appeared that Anne was a young girl who had been tried as a witch. As tears ran down Pat’s face, the voice claimed to have asked ‘Mary’ to help her. It continued: “I pray my end is soon and the pain is not too much. I have had a good life in this place.”
Later, Pat claimed to hear buzzing “like bees”, which is quit feasible as monks kept honey bees to make mead. Another spirit complained that she didn’t like her remains having been disturbed. This story is corroborated by the fact that there is, in fact, a piece of rock outside the pub, locally referred to as the ‘scrapfaggot (old name for a witch) stone’. This had been driven over by a Second World War tank and thereafter removed to its present position. After this occurrence, all kinds of strange events started to occur inside the pub, including clocks going backwards.
The bathroom, it turned out, was the worst place in the house. Pat found herself drawn to an anteroom beyond the shower cubicle, which, after a couple of minutes she hurriedly left, claiming she could feel stabbing sensations and smell burning flesh. She insisted that awful things had happened and appeared reticent to go into too much detail. By now all the hairs on the back of my neck were on end!
Our last port of call was the cellar and Pat claimed that she could ‘feel’ darkness (although it was lit) and wanted to ‘claw her way out’. The cellar is, in fact, the means by which the monks would enter and leave the inn, via, reputedly, two tunnels connected to the priory.
After our chilling investigation, we repaired to the bar - which is very much in the present, with its contemporary music and sceptical regulars - and the two Pats began to compare notes. As Pat the landlady already knows several psychics and has also compiled a history of the pub, she was able to corroborate much of what Pat the psychic had touched upon, including the presence of the woman and child and the connection with royalty. The scrapfaggot stone story is not widely known and the bathroom has been the room that most psychics have shied away from.
Interestingly, the psychic had correctly picked up on spirits from different historical periods in the appertaining parts of the inn as, with most ancient buildings, some parts had been added over the centuries.
Sceptical though I may have been to start with, the ghosthunting tour proved fascinating from a historical perspective. However, the accurate timing of the thunder and lightning shook me rigid. I thought that only happened in films!
Jack The Ripper
The story comes in two parts but both link up in a most surprising way. Over the many years that John and I have worked in London we have had to find different routes into London so by passing the many traffic jams. Some seven years ago we decided to try out a new route...
Jack The Ripper
The story comes in two parts but both link up in a most surprising way.
Over the many years that John and I have worked in London we have had to find different routes into London so bypassing the many traffic jams. Some seven years ago we decided to try out a new route, this took us along Cambridge Heath Road (Stepney Green, East London) along a road named Cheshire Street, leading into Brick Lane. We travelled this route for many months with nothing special taking place until one November morning when I noticed a shadowy figure standing outside a new building (obviously one used for the ethnic people of the area) as my husband was still very sceptical of my Gift I chose to say nothing. Gradually, I noticed he was there sometimes for a week at a time, then I would not see him for months. In fact, he was once missing for a complete year.
When he returned he really made himself known to me, no longer a shadowy Spirit figure but strong almost a materialisation, and to my surprise he appeared to acknowledge me, raising his hat in my direction. Afraid this was my imagination I still said nothing to my husband. Then one morning he asked me “What are you seeing?” I returned his question with one of my own: “What are you talking about?” “I asked because I’ve noticed a strange faraway look in your eyes whenever we drive past here. The sort of expression you get when doing your thing.” I explained what I had seen, and to my amazement, he laughed but not at me and replied “Oh! You must have seen Jack the Ripper.” This did not please me at all. I did not like experiencing or seeing evil.
Not having been born in England but having heard some of the stories, I had always presumed obviously wrongly that the Ripper had carried on his murders on the other side of the London Hospital. The man I saw was about five feet, ten inches tall. Wearing an Opera hat and frock coat over evening trousers. In his right hand he carried a cane – a black one with a silver handle, it appeared to be in the shape of a dog’s head, a greyhound. I also found after a while that there were mornings when I was seeing the streets not as in the twentieth century but more in the late nineteenth century. There was an elderly lady who temped on the switchboard of the firm in which I worked and her family had come from the area, in an effort to get the confirmation of what I saw I would mention things to her, describe places as they would have once been before the war and she would always agree that what I said was right. Then I did not see him for two years; in fact, I had almost forgotten him until I met Lydia.
Lydia first came to see me in January of last year, I gave her a private reading and to all intents and purposes, she appeared to be happy and OK with the messages I had passed on. One day her daughter who also worked with us asked me if I could see her mother again as she was still having problems, as I was very busy it was not until June 2000 when I was able to see Lydia and her husband David. For some reason, I decided that she did not really need a Reading more just a chat, and this we started to have.
Once we had started talking I began to get a very uneasy feeling, I could sense and see children around her Mostly boys but some girls too, these children I knew had nothing to do with her or her family. The children looked very much like those who came from the late nineteenth century. Eventually, I had to ask her if she or David her husband had ever felt a presence in their bakery in Bexley High Street, she went pale and silently nodded. David would always do his baking for the day in the early hours of the morning usually beginning around two o’clock, helped by a young man, who had one morning on feeling as if being watched turned to see a figure in black disappearing through the wall of the building, he ran out of the shop as if the hounds of hell were after him. Another time he had been drawn to a spot in the kitchen and for an unknown reason just burst into tears. These facts he had tried to keep from me. It was on hearing this that I finally decided I would go to the bakery and do some work, give freedom to Lydia and her family and peace to the Spirit. I had no idea what I was letting myself in for. I did decide, however, wisely as it turned out to take a friend with me, someone who would if I got into trouble be able to assist.
We arrived at the bakery just after two on a Saturday afternoon; Lydia and David invited us into the shop. Geoff my colleague walked in front as I was about to step over the threshold I heard a voice quite clearly say to me “Hi, I’m Jack.” Puzzled I turned round there was no human or Spirit person to be seen but standing by the pavement edge I could see a black Landau (a four-wheeled horse-drawn carriage, that could have its back or front lowered independently, a fast vehicle.) Once having entered the shop, I can only say it was the most depressing feeling that I have ever experienced washed over me. I could now fully understand why Lydia was feeling as she did, and David’s short temper and tantrums could easily be understood. In fact, I could now sympathise with the customers I would not want to have my tea or lunch break in a place where the atmosphere was so heavy and depressed.
Slowly, I began to see and feel the Spirits of the past and it has to say this particular building certainly had a great deal going on in it, nearly all bad.
I could feel the presence of a tall man and I got the name of Albert Arthur Church, tall thin, and carrying a cane in his hand (not the one I had previously seen) Geoff and I walked around a bit more. We went into the actual bakery part and back to the shop as we were in the little area that joined the bakery to the shop, I could see a stain on the floor near the fridge. I asked about this and was informed that no matter how much it was cleaned the stain never left it always returned. It was here that David had burst into tears and where I was feeling very uncomfortable.
So, in what has to be the biggest moment of stupidity I allowed myself to go into Trance (please see the video) One thing I always do is give the information to my sitters and ask them to do the research.
I talked about a children’s orphanage that was further up the road at the start of Bexley High Street. These children lived there at a time when no records were kept. I talked about a friend of Church’s who had been a teacher at Blackheath School and was interested in Cricket. I described the colour of the cricket blazer. I talked about a medical background, his father and he tried to become a surgeon but failed at that too. I described a family crest and motto. He also liked little boys. After coming out of Trance I have to say that for the first time ever in my working life I felt unclean. See the tape for information given by the Spirit concerned.
Having done my work to clear the Spirit I did try very hard to forget the incident until one day Michelle, Lydia’s daughter came to me in the office and informed me that the research done by her mother and a family friend led to a man called Montague John Druitt. He had a medical background because his father had been a renowned surgeon; he too had tried but failed to follow his father’s footsteps. The high garden wrought iron fence belonged to the Bexley Mental Hospital where his mother and sister had committed suicide. He had taught cricket at Blackheath school but been sacked for his inappropriate attention to the little boys I had even given in full detail the colour of the blazer and cap of the team. Druitt had committed suicide in December 1888 and the last murder had taken place in November. I did get the feeling that the murders were committed by two people. He did five and his friend did three. There was quite a difference in the last from the first. They hated women and by removing their private parts that was their way of showing how little they thought of the female sex.
On the Tuesday morning, after I had done the first clearance in the shop, I walked out of my bedroom and felt as if I had been pushed in the small of my back. I fell down almost striking my head on a bookcase we had at the time. An accident that could have killed me.
A few weeks later I woke up in the early hours of a Friday morning going to the toilet by now it was October. I had a strange feeling in my legs one that usually denoted that a far from friendly Spirit was near. Looking out into the garden, I saw first my rotary washing line then to my horror a figure in a black frock coat, with a walking cane and opera hat standing nearby. I quickly rushed for my Prayer book and Holy Water, blessed both my husband and myself, and went into the garden to do the same by now he had disappeared.
I had to go back to Bexley on more than one occasion. He is now away from the Baker’s shop but I feel not completely away from Bexley High Street.
Horse & Groom Pub
One of Braintree's oldest pubs has more than just spirits behind the bar. (writes Nina Morgan).
Following a visit by a medium, it would seem the Horse and Groom, in Rayne Road, has a number of ghostly characters lurking in the corridors and cellars...
Horse & Groom Pub
One of Braintree's oldest pubs has more than just spirits behind the bar. (writes Nina Morgan)
Following a visit by a medium, it would seem the Horse and Groom, in Rayne Road, has a number of ghostly characters lurking in the corridors and cellars.
As Patricia Putt moved from room to room of the 1782 pub, she picked up on the spirits of soldiers, servants, children, and even a brown dog.
Mrs. Putt, who has made numerous TV appearances in her capacity as a medium, saw a woman from the Victorian era dressed in grey, wearing a bonnet. The same figure has also been seen by customers as she drifts past the bar area.
Landlord Kevin Price, 47, who is undisturbed by the supernatural occupants of his pub said: "I see her most days. Years ago, I actually spoke to her.
"I thought it was someone looking for the toilet, then she turned left and walked into the wall."
Mrs. Putt, from Rayleigh, said: "I really felt sorry for her. She was obviously there for her half crown a week. I got the feeling she was unloved. I think she is still there because that is the only life she knows."
In the upstairs rooms Mrs. Putt sensed the spirits of injured soldiers, possibly from the First World War, and was particularly troubled by the vision amputee.
In this room, Mr. Price would sometimes find the light had been mysteriously switched on and the curtains parted.
According to the book Give Them Ale Enough by Braintree historian Michael Bardell, the pub stabled horses during the First World War.
As Mrs. Putt ventured to one of the attic rooms, she claims a spirit told her this was where they "pleased the travelling man".
This led her to question whether the pub had ever been used as a brothel.
Following her visit, she said: "It was a fascinating place because everywhere I went, I didn't see the same spirit twice."

Testimonial

"I can hardly describe how Patricia’s work has helped me. In a long process not only did she support me in finding peace with my father, who had left when I was four and never tried to reach me again. Helping him to get in touch with me and actually apologise to my mother and me opened a whole new dimension to a closure that had real therapeutic value. This continued when my mother died and Patricia not only provided me with her messages to me, but also with people and names she could never have known, because I had not even thought about them for a long time. My trust in her is absolute and I do not say that easily. She works with an integrity that I deeply respect and I hope to get her to work with some of my clients who have been haunted by "unfinished business" with loved ones".
On the 31st May 2016 my first book was published by Austin Macauley
What happens when someone meets their Soulmate? The answer should be simple, you live happily ever after - right? What if you both are married to other people, and have responsibilities that cannot be ignored?
Vicki is a Medium and has been told that something will happen when the Purple Michaelmas flowers. Exactly what, she doesn't know, but she knows it will bring great happiness but also heartache in equal measure, for everyone knows that for every moment of pleasure has to be paid for with one of pain. Is she strong enough to ether the storm the Purple Michaelmas brings, or will it be her downfall?
This is a story that affects everyone. Love, laughter, and loss. But, when you believe in Spirit as I do, the book gives you hope. It is a romance with a great difference. I know that everyone who reads my book will be able in some way to associate with it. The love story is Vicki, an English housewife, and Dieter Schmidt, her husband's best friend. The book starts in the mid-1980s and ends fifteen years later. it is written in the present and in memories that keeps you moving constantly.
You can order it online from Foyles, Amazon, R. W. Smith, and many other book stockists. Click here for more information and an introduction to Purple Michaelmas by Patricia Hutson.
Spiritual Medium In Essex
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Ring 01268 784 082 for Ankhara Psychic Services.