The country is England, the town is Cheltenham in Gloucestershire. The year is 1949, late September. I was there, but in a baby buggy. Mum, Dad, my brother, and the rest of the family are highly clairvoyant. Even if I'd been old enough, I don't suppose I'd have seen anything.
Mum had just left my 5-year-old brother off at his infants' school and we were heading past St. James Rail Station (now gone) to cross the road at St. Gregory's Roman Catholic Church. She looked right and stopped -- gobsmacked. Passing the church side entry were two labourers, coming toward us. Between them was a fully decked-out bride: veil, flowers, flowing gown. Mum could see the girl's features and every detail of the dress very clearly. The figure didn't look at her, but seemed smilingly, aware of her presence.
Just as the group reached the church gate, almost opposite us, and Mum was saying "What on earth...?" the bride was no longer there. Just the two men, going on their way. In the usual rush of the day, she put it out of her mind as one-of-those-things, mentioning it to Dad that evening.
Neither of them gave it much credence until a letter arrived from Mum's eldest sister to say that her son Mike's bride of two months had suddenly died from a hitherto unsuspected brain tumour. They'd been married in Germany, where Mike was posted with the Army, and Mum hadn't seen the girl... yet.
The enclosed photo of the late bride in her wedding gear put Mum into a state of shock for hours. Dad, a confirmed Spiritualist, explained that as nephew Mike was more like a brother to his aunts and uncles, and very close to Mum when he was little. The vision was probably a sort of telepathic thought transference from the grieving young widower, rather than a spirit, as Mum had never met her.