1994

1994

And you open the door to my heart

deep wounds of rejection healed for all time.

Forgiveness filters sunshine through the darkness

and my soul sings.

Letterbox missionaries touch the weary

in this land steeped in materialism and self.

Children of the greed culture never satisfied

walk blindly past your beauty, their mentors silent and senile.

The flickering flame ignites

souls burning with passion reach out in love,

their message, peace and hope in your Kingdom to come.

Brother carrying brother homeward.

T. Hills

2003

Chapter 4

SURRENDER

For thus says the Lord God "Indeed I Myself will search for My sheep 

and seek them out.

As a shepherd seeks out his flock on the day he is among his scattered sheep,

so I will seek out My sheep and deliver them from all the places

where they were scattered on a cloudy and dark day.

Ezekiel 34 - 11 - 12

Winter turned to early spring as we continued to apply for work the morning mail inevitably bringing

one rejection after another.   A few days earlier a booklet had dropped on to the door mat delivered by Christians in a small local free church in the town.   It was missionary outreach by the world famous German evangelist Reinhard Bonnke.   I knew nothing of this man but the booklet From Minus to Plus was beautifully illustrated the message simple but direct and as I read each page I agreed whole heartedly with the contents, the world was on a downward spiral.   I felt a wet nose nudge the book out of my hand, it was time to exercise the dogs.

Days later William returned from an agreed interview involving a three hour round trip by train only to find the whereabouts of his interviewer were unknown.   This unethical behaviour was common in a market saturated by rogue companies, some appeared and disappeared only to start elsewhere with the same directors.    The following day he was due to sign on and still attempting to stay positive he left the house calling up the stairway "I'm off to the Joke Centre"

Now I was close to the edge caught in a trap of my own making.   Why did I make those choices, I was expert at cutting my nose off to spite my face.  Why hadn't I made provision for such a time as this.

Living in a tiny cottage paperwork invariably found its way to the one spare room and I noticed the booklet From Minus to Plus resting on top of a pile of paperwork on the window sill.   

It was a beautiful sunny morning, bird song drifted in the open window occasionally interrupted by the 

buzz of traffic racing down the hill.   The garden was bathed in sunlight but it would be late afternoon

before the west facing room caught the rays of the setting sun.   Picking up the booklet I sat on the edge of the bed once again reading through the pages.   On the final page I found the prayer of commitment,  I doubt I really believed at that moment that reading a simple prayer would result in what followed.

Dear Heavenly Father,

I respond to your invitation and come to you in the name of your Son, Jesus Christ.

I come with all my sins, heartaches...................................................................................       now I was kneeling, sobbing in complete surrender.   I could not fight this any more.   I cried out in desperation  "God help me"   if He really existed,  if He could hear my cry,  He was the only one that could fix my mess.   I was aware of my many failures.   My sins of pride.   My rejection of His very existence as I fell wounded by parental wrath was deadlier although nowhere near as sensational as the sins of the flesh.   I needed His forgiveness.

What followed changed the rest of my life.    Light seemed to fill the room, a sensation I could only ever describe as a warm thick liquid poured over my head, shoulders and down through my body.   What on earth was that?    I remained for some time in the afterglow oblivious to the passage of time immersed in a feeling of complete peace. 

Surrender

Battered, broken, bathed in pain

tears that flood, I'm barely sane.

An empty void I cannot fill

broken pride, my stubborn will.

Pictures crowding in my mind

painful memories taunt and bind.

Remembering how I turned from Him,

unforgiving, steeped in sin.

Loathing, judging, carried down

to a place I could be found.

As sunlight filled my tiny space

I reached to touch His saving grace

and felt a warm and flowing oil

poured upon my shattered form.

Hands that gently touched my soul

forgiving, healing, making whole.

My sudden joyful swift release

experiencing His Holy peace.

T. Hills 

2003

How could I ever fully describe what had just taken place to anyone.    I expected William to react but strangely he didn't.    I considered he probably thought I had finally lost the plot,  it would be all down to stress.   Although there was little change in my immediate circumstances I was able to face each day with the hope that things would improve.   The sense of peace and calm remained.

Within a couple of months I had applied for three jobs and attended two interviews both in the South of England.   I had also sent an application to From Minus to Plus for more information and details of the nearest Christian Fellowship.    When the telephone contact came I knew I was facing a move to another part of the country.   I kept the name of the caller assuring him if I eventually returned home I would get in touch.   

Now I was taking decisions to the Lord, seeking His counsel.   Would it be right to face yet another upheaval, should I wait for a different scenario.   I was now experiencing the occasional vivid dream, too real to be forgotten often waking in the early hours.   We considered the move which would mean leaving the relative security of our own home and at this point my acceptance letter remained awaiting my signature.

The dream that followed that night was vivid.   I was walking in a dark pre war semi detached house on the edge of an unknown town.   The rooms were filled with clutter.   Perhaps when we had cleared the junk and got around to decorating the place in pale colours it would look better.   I had always enjoyed the challenge of making a new home.   I walked into the rear dining room and for some unknown reason pressed my hand against the wallpaper.   It gave to the touch and I had the weirdest feeling there was a body behind the paper.   Walking back into the hallway I entered a long narrow kitchen.   The rear door opened into a garden.   Flowers of every conceivable hue brilliant beyond anything I had ever see in my lifetime bordered rambling beds divided by a path that led to a small gate.   Sheds on the left hand side of the garden were filled with every conceivable need.   Green hills rolled into the distance against a backdrop of a perfect blue sky.   It was breathtakingly beautiful.   I awoke suddenly with a start, it was only 3.0am.

Throughout the day the dream came repeatedly to mind, somehow I felt this was significant because my interviews had been held on a hot sunny day in lush Sussex countryside.   Flowers in full bloom were twice the size of their northern counterparts.   The gentle rolling downs the direct opposite of the barren often burnt heather moorland of my home.  I knew this was the right move and I signed my acceptance letter.

My daughter was delighted at the news I would be living in the next county.   She had given her life to the Lord three years earlier and had prayed for her wayward Mum.   Now we were not only mother and daughter but sisters in Christ.   Keen to get me into a local church she arranged to arrive early one Sunday morning and suggested we visit a few churches.    I felt very apprehensive after all it was thirty years since I last crossed a church threshold.   We arrived late for the start of the morning service and every head turned at the noisy intruders.   We were gently ushered into vacant seats and as I gazed around this simple house of God I noticed apart from a couple of banners and some flowers on a raised platform there was not a statue in sight.

Ten months later in a simple ceremony in the little Baptist church I gave my commitment to the Lord.

I was more than nervous at the thought of being immersed.   After all I couldn't swim.   Memories of my childhood attempts at the local swimming pool encouraged by my father's cry "jump I'll catch you" instead leaving me to sink like a brick had given me a lifelong fear of deep water.   Now the thought of my head being pushed under water never mind my whole body filled me with trepidation.  But I knew I needed to do this.    This would be my commitment.

My pastor arrived for the start of a series of bible study sessions.   During the course of our conversation I considered it appropriate to admit that although I now possessed a bible I was not brilliant at remembering anything these days, never mind bible text, and considered I had probably broke the sixth commandment many times.   How this godly man kept his composure I will never know.   That statement implied he was sitting in front of a mass murderer.   Observing his pallor I realised I had got the wrong commandment and quickly followed with " I mean honour your father and mother"

Perhaps very relieved he graciously forgave my numerical inaccuracy and said "That very much depends on the mother and father you had, tell that to an abused child"   I believe to this day that that man was a divine appointment.   The Lord knew his battered sheep needed a gentle handler who would led her to

believers baptism.   I remain eternally grateful to Dr. Graham Watts.

Now avidly reading every recommended publication by Christian authors I realised my experience was a shared one, that if others considered it a figment of a vivid imagination there were brothers and sisters who had been similarly blessed.   The witness statements of baptisms were dramatic and as the day approached, something or someone was reminding me thirty years was a long time in the wastelands, would I be called to account.    As the morning dawned I was filled with trepidation.

My testimony was simple.   Christmas 93 - a present from my daughter - the Holy Bible.   Weeks later it had remained in pristine condition the pages unopened.   February 94 depressed and sickened by personal events my daughter encouraged read Matthew 11 - verse 28.    April 94 - From Minus to Plus arrived on the doormat and more out of curiosity than intent I found myself reading the book from cover to cover.    I prayed the prayer of commitment, the testimony continued..............ending with  "finally I received a date for this baptism and I reached for my office calendar to mark today's date.

On a beautiful photograph of a waterfall the words for the month quoted Revelation 21:5  "I am making everything new" and on the day of my baptism on 16th July 1995  "1 John 1.3.    We proclaim to you what we have seen and heard, so that you also may have fellowship with us.   And our fellowship is with the Father and His son Jesus Christ.   I completed my testimony with  "Although christened as a tiny baby in accordance with the rites of my parents church, this baptism is my choice, my renewal and re-birth in the Lord....Jesus Christ.....my Saviour.

The time spent under the water seemed around ten minutes - it was a couple of seconds.   I felt I was not alone.   There was a stillness and peace perhaps too difficult to put into words.  Gasping for breath I was lifted up as the congregation shouted "Jesus lives"  The service was witnessed by my son, his wife and our five grandchildren, my daughter remained at the side of the baptismal pool holding my towel.  My  son-in-law took precious photographs that remain a constant reminder.   I am grateful that my church allowed this privilege.        One grandchild declared "I want to be baptized when I am older"  may she remember that - I pray with all my heart that she comes to know her Saviour and Lord.    We followed with a party of all parties and for three months I danced on air.   The past buried, new beginnings.

My pastor cautioned the euphoria would not last and that I would be seriously challenged in the months ahead but I was too happy to understand the implications or take his comment seriously.   I had much to learn.   Observers commented "she's got Jesus" it was meant as a well meaning joke, but how right they were.   Life was good.   William had found contract work in a factory, we had managed to find a tenant for our property in the North.   Our finances were slowly beginning to improve, we actually had money in the bank.

William accepted the the change with stoical amusement.   I was often the subject of ridicule amongst the non-believers in the family.   But there were no arguments this time.   William considered I probably needed an emotional crutch after all our lives had been one crisis after another for many years.

Welcomed into the church membership I was just happy to absorb the teaching and sing to the Lord.

I was oblivious to anything other than being happy to be in a flock led by someone I admired and respected.    In reality I was about to pick up my cross.

****************************   

Wastelands

Wastelands

Do you know how much He loves you

wounded soul, hurting lamb.

Did you know His heart was aching

as from the flock you ran.

Now you try to kill the pain

cover all your guilt and shame,

hide behind your pride and stay

with your burden every day.

Did you know the Shepherd King

left the flock to search for you.

Spent and wasted in the dark

your feeble cry would light a spark.

Ever faithful, ever near,

your simple prayer He waits to hear.

As hosts of heaven rejoice and praise

surrender to His loving gaze,

gently he will bring you home

to graze lush pasture round His throne.

As rivers of His mercy flow

you're healed, forgiven, white as snow.

Talitha Hills

2003

Chapter 4 - Wastelands

Chapter 4

Wastelands

The unfolding events of 1979 threw many hardworking skilled men on the scrap heap.   William became just another statistic.   The axe invariably fell on middle management those at the top safely entrenched

whilst the minions took up the slack working twice as hard for a meagre pay rise.   New companies appeared and disappeared.   

David March - Government University of Strathclyde - in his article "British Industrial Relations Policy Transformed - The Thatcher legacy wrote: it is widely believed by political scientists that the Thatcher Government transformed British Industrial Relations and curbed union power.   Indeed, and the pendulum swung violently right,  children of the greed culture were spawned.

The tragic human consequences were wrecked marriages, repossessed homes and a demoralized work force.  Jobs for life became a thing of the past.  Many men were now at the mercy of ruthless employers, it was show time for the hire and fire brigade some downright ruthless in their tactics.   Some men finished up in cardboard city as their wives clung to the spoils of their executive posts but that was never an option for me.   It was for better or worse.   I  remembered the encouragement received from my bank manager he said "It could happen to me.  Any day now someone from head office could arrive ask me to remove my personal belongings and go straight away"  Quite prophetically he became a victim himself. 

The financial stress was taking its toll.   My siblings remained untouched in successful businesses and

professional careers.   

Somehow William staggered through a period of minimum wage jobs with temporary contracts  anything was better than the degrading queue at the Job Centre.   When all that was left was a vacancy for "night security" on a building site we knew we were bumping along the bottom.    Ever cheerful he plodded on "its a job and its better than the dole"   Before long he was promoted to Inspector and then Assignment Manager, not that the pay was much better - these were just titles.

One bitterly cold winter night he was visiting a new contract which was virtually a shed placed in the middle of a field of surrounded by building materials.   The employee was suffering from hypothermia, no heating had been provided.   William reported the incident as he checked in at the end of a long night.    The manager who was known as a practicing Christian said "well if he doesn't like his conditions he can join the dole queue there are plenty waiting to take his job."   William was disgusted and commented "that's Christians for you"  Just another nail in the coffin of his opinion regarding those who certainly didn't practice what they preached.   Another take over and once again middle management were the casualties and William was informed "last in - first out".

My new employment as a legal secretary in a city practice had become a nightmare.    A new breed of young predator emerged, those who would quite happily stab anyone in the back to acquire their promotion.   The office buzzed with gossip as I returned from my annual leave.   My boss a salacious junior partner in the practice had succeeded in seducing his temporary secretary and now wanted this youthful barbie as his permanent assistant.  The financial director commented "I really don't like this kind of behaviour and you don't have to accept this, but I wonder if you would mind working for the new solicitor in the practice.   I will arrange for your salary to remain at the same level.

My previous employer in a small out of town legal practice was a pleasant young Jewish solicitor.  He  contacted me regarding a mutual case.   "Do you think you could get me in there" he enquired.   I prayed to God he was joking.   I replied "Ian you are too nice to work here"   For the next few weeks I worked for a rather quiet young man who had been promised the Barbie and having lost out to his opponent remained sullen and withdrawn.   I had had enough.   For the first time in my life I walked off the job feeling rather ill.  I resigned on genuine sick leave only to find William had just received his third redundancy notice.

And so it continued and sleepless nights followed as we searched for an escape route, sometimes talking until sunrise.   We were now fighting agism in the employment market.   I felt trapped every door slammed in my face.   There was nowhere to run.

We remembered a science fiction series called "The Twilight Zone"   A passenger on an airline glancing out of his window observes a small gremlin type creature with a malicious grin on its face slowly dismantling the plane's wing to the horror of its captive victim.   We knew the feeling, despite every effort we were going down fast.    Our grandchildren remained the only brief ray of sunshine in an otherwise hopeless situation.    

  *************************************

Chapter 3 - On the Edge

On the Edge

The waiting was over.   William returned home and the early days of marriage exceeded my greatest expectations.     We rented a simple cottage, maybe one day we would own a home of our own, but for now we were happy just to be together.   Eleven months later I was thrilled to discover I was pregnant.   A shadow loomed on the horizon as we suddenly started to argue once again about faith issues.   I always knew William was not prepared to raise any children in the Catholic faith but I had always hoped that in time he would accept my beliefs but now he was strongly objecting to the suggestion that our child should be baptised.   

After a prolonged and arduous labour my son was born.    This was the first grandchild in the family and my parents were obviously delighted, but that was short lived.   When he was two months old the question of  baptism was raised by my mother and I didn't dare even hint that this was a contentious issue.   After considerable pressure William eventually agreed, not that he believed in what he called "the mumbo jumbo" of any religious ceremony but he knew I believed that if my son were to die he would be in Limbo, an idea he found ridiculous, but seeing my very obvious distress he relented although he insisted I find a church in the area, and definitely not Catholic.

Our intention to baptise our son in the little church of St. Cross in the nearby village had been announced.   My parents were aware this denomination was Church of England and as the date for the ceremony drew near I received a threatening letter from my angry mother who wrote words to the effect  "if you go ahead with this you will burn in hell fire".     Totally traumatised and deeply wounded by her condemnation I was considering my response when I noticed a man standing in the porch about to knock on the front door.     I was surprised to see my new doctor who had merely called to check on both myself and my son as he knew I lived a considerable distance from any family support.    He was concerned at my obvious distress and I handed him the letter.   Having read the contents he asked "what sort of a mother have you got, the place for this is on the fire and without further ado he crushed the letter in his hand and threw it on to the blazing coals.    I thanked him for his genuine concern and he left commenting "he's a lovely baby and you are coping well, but if you need any advice or a visit just phone the surgery"

Invitations were sent to my family and declined.   Surrogate God parents were hastily summoned and the ceremony went ahead with the noticeable absence of all members of my family.  Deeply traumatized by rejection and the silence that followed I was angry, my little son shunned.  This merely supported William's opinion throughout his life as he observed actions far from Christ like - "Oh well that's Christians"     When our son was thirteen months old a rather feeble attempt at reconciliation by my offended mother ensued and an uneasy truce followed.   

My second child arrived two years later.   The pregnancy had been difficult but the birth swift.     Our little girl was born with the umbilical cord around her neck.   Despite strict instructions not to push some instinct told me "push for her very life"   The young trainee midwives somewhat unprepared for the arrival of a silent dark blue baby rushed her to the resuscitation table managed to clear her airway and as the oxygen mask was applied I heard her weak cry and knew she was alive.    In a vain attempt to mend broken bridges and placate my mother I managed to persuade William to allow her christening to take place in the Catholic Church.  Years later I would learn that the church in which we had married and our daughter had been christened had been destroyed in a huge fire.    Meanwhile William insisted his children would not be brain washed declaring "when they are old enough to make decisions they can choose for themselves.     

Now free to read, research and discuss historical events I discovered much had been hidden in my religious education.   I was now aware of the appalling atrocities and bloody battles fought in the name of a God of Love.   William had always been appalled at the thought of a God who stood by as little children were led to the gas chambers.   He said "If I ever see this God of yours I'll want to know why he allowed that for a start.   His comments were always direct.  To most he appeared to be a man of few words but when he spoke there was no doubting his sincerity.   He angrily declared "religion has been the cause of many wars" and the 1969 riots in Ireland along with the death of 500 merely supported his theory.   He considered John Lennon's recording of Imagine in 1971 just about said it all.    No hell below us, above us only sky. 

Now I was crashing and burning and for five cold years the only thing I believed in was the love we shared and our little family.  I was without doubt excommunicated from my birth church and alone in the dark of my disbelief.

Although William loudly professed his atheism he was a believer.   He believed that somewhere beyond our galaxy lay the answer to all his searching.    As a young child he accurately predicted man would walk on the moon and even his young classmates in the local primary school probably thought he was weird.   His excitement at being able to witness the event with his small son was a delight to watch.  The concept of any grand design was rejected,  he didn't believe in a satanic entity and any evil actions were simply the result of mental illness and antisocial behaviour.   He shared his love of all things scientific with his growing son. 

Then one Christmas as I was preparing the evening meal and listening to carols on the local radio station I heard the record  "A spaceman came travelling" and for a reason I will never quite understand I suddenly found myself believing that somewhere in history God had paid us a visit but I seriously doubted that the message to "love one another" had been taken on board.     

Time passed quickly,  the children were growing fast,  safe and secure in a loving environment.     Like most mothers I was consumed by family life.   We had been sold the dream and struggled to pay our mortgage and make ends meet.   Now I had two jobs, working as a secretary and running the home. Weekends became an extension of the working week.   Shopping, cleaning, cooking, washing, ironing.   Sunday roast, mow the lawn, wash the car and then the start of another week.   I would get to sit down at my desk come Monday morning.

William was eventually headhunted by a Blue Chip Company and for the seven years that followed we enjoyed a comfortable life style, top of the range Audi car, expense account and a much improved income.   It was absorbed by our teenagers and the property improvement craze,  our son was in his last year at university, our daughter searching for local employment.   There were never enough hours in a day and weekends continued along the same manic pattern with a hurried visit to the now elderly in-laws.   We were totally unaware of the gathering storm clouds.

***************************

             

Chapter 2 - Runaway

Runaway

In the very different environment of a state school I realised I had taken much for granted in my young life.  I became aware of the daily struggle some families had just to put bread on the table.   The injustice of a thriving class system left me confused and at times angry.   I attracted undesirable ridicule because I spoke with what others consider a "posh accent" nevertheless I made my own friends happily avoiding the "gang culture" and for four short years managed to survive revolting school dinners and weekend retreats where silence was obligatory.   At the end of this period the Sisters of Charity had achieved a small miracle where I was concerned.

Fast approaching my fifteenth birthday I was given the choice of continuing my education or taking a job as a junior secretary in a city firm.   I argued my case telling my mother "I want to be free" she replied "you are never free, you are always answerable to someone, I am answerable to my parents"   My father suggested I didn't have to work I could stay at home and help my mother in the busy household but I had another agenda, my own income would give me a certain amount of independence.   

The Head Teacher concluded the interview "you have seven passes and a distinction, perhaps you might like to consider staying on with us in the newly created fifth form"   Now I was deaf in both ears the urge to escape the convent walls strong.   I had made my decision and politely decline her kind invitation.   Later in life I would come to realise I had one outstanding qualification in the University of Wrong Turns.

The final day approached and the classroom fell silent as Sister Mary our English and form teacher stood to give her final address.   I considered this nun a saint.  By today's standards we were probably well behaved in the classroom although I had often been reprimanded for falling asleep in a Maths class, wearing my hair in a style that was considered provocative and gazing out of the window at a limping pigeon instead of concentrating on the lecture, but never in an English class.   I enjoyed her lessons and perhaps because she was such a gentle person I probably took advantage of her patient nature at times. 

Deep sunken brown eyes peered from her sallow face surrounded by the spotless white head dress.     This morning she managed a rare smile "today you are leaving us to go out into the world, some of you will be tempted and some will fall away"   Never ever thinking before opening my mouth the words were out, spoken with all the enthusiasm of a university zealot.  "Oh no, not me Sister Mary"   She turned in the direction of the outburst and smiled sadly.  Perhaps this holy woman knew I would fall at the first hurdle.

My interview at Mackintosh & Sons was successful.   The senior secretary May Sharples deliberately recruited her victims from the convent school.   She was present at my interview with the office manager.   May appeared pleasant enough, small, neatly dressed, never a hair out of place, a smile that never ventured past her lips.   She walked with a pronounced limp one leg encased in a caliper.   Cold steely blue eyes watched her young prey and she was always read to pounce.    Eventually during casual conversation her agenda was revealed, she was a member of the Church of England and it soon became clear she was obviously involved in warfare with any other denomination.

The office was dark, dingy and smelt of stale tobacco.   A small frail elderly gentleman with a twinkle in his eyes and a whimsical smile sat perched on a high stool smoking a pipe as he wrote in heavy bound ledgers at a desk that ran the full length of one wall with white pot ink well at regular intervals.   Layer upon layer of polish gave a greasy surface on which former inmates had scratched their initials.   The owner's grandson managed the stock warehouse and confided that the respectable May was not quite

what she seemed and that the office manager had a lovely wife.   Although I had observed their regular lunch dates in my innocence I had never imagined anything inappropriate.   I began to dread Monday mornings, the start of another week and after a particularly dreary day decided it was time to take action.   I knew I had to remove myself from the predatory gaze of the zealous Miss S.

My catechism answers had proved ineffective to her constant probing.   Seeds of doubt had been sown.

My parents continued to ensure my social activities included extended family, their friends and a Catholic Youth Club hoping somewhere down the line I would meet a suitable young man and of course he would be a Catholic.    My father had quite a few Jewish friends and business associates and Sam and Peggy gained the title of adopted uncle and aunt.   I always enjoyed staying at their home.   On Friday evening candles would be lit and prayers recited before the evening meal their deep reverence for God very obvious.    Much later in life I would own my first bible and realise my faith was firmly rooted in the God of Abraham.  

Every lunch break I would visit the local office of employment who were surprisingly supportive and sympathetic however the vacancies were much the same.   One day I received a telephone call.  Would I  be interested in a vacancy at a private hospital attached to the city's main infirmary.   There were quite a few people on the interview list but the kind man who had been earnestly searching for my escape route said "the other candidates have higher qualifications but I think you are in with a good chance, it will be more a question of whether they think you will fit in with existing staff, background more important than academic prowess.

Thank you Father God - those were the happiest working days of my life.   The senior staff were more family than superiors.   I was trained in every aspect of management.   I will never forget the polished wooden floors and the smell of rosewood that lingered in the reception area and lounge.   The steaming jug of hot coffee delivered in our morning break.  The gentle clink of tea cups announcing the arrival of the lovely Mrs Jones serving afternoon tea to the visitors,  her daily visit to the office a chance to stop work and chat in an otherwise busy day.

Apart from helping my mother in the evenings I was now studying English at night school.   Saturday remained the only morning I could just sleep in.   I was allowed to attend church dances, escorted to and from the venue by my father.   I joined a Catholic youth club and met a friendly bunch of teenagers.  I was still very shy and unaware of being anything other than my elder brother's glowing description "she's fat, ugly and her teeth stick out" and I believed him.    In every possible way my parents tried to ensure I mixed with what they considered "the right people - and their sons" but there was one place beyond their influence.

The time of testing approached without warning when one beautiful September morning my office door swung open and a young man walked into my life and stayed for forty years.   A routine maintenance visit was to change my life forever.   It would take a few dates before he would actually pluck up enough courage to kiss me goodnight, but when he did my fate was sealed.   I fell deeply madly in love.   

For the first time in my young life someone had found me beautiful.   We were both innocents and within weeks William suggested that one day he would like to marry me.    In the days that followed a friendship grew that would survive every obstacle life deals.   We laughed at the same jokes, enjoyed each other's company to the point that my mother suggested "you have to have one night a week at home"   Suddenly her helper was disappearing every evening and she was far from happy.

In fact William was considered totally unsuitable.    He was, as far as she was concerned, from the wrong side of the track and an atheist.    Alarm bells were ringing.   

During the weeks that followed our first date every effort was made to discourage the growing friendship.   Parental objection was obvious.   Nothing could come of this.   William was not suitable but this did nothing to dampen his determination.   Banned from home we frequented theatre, local cinemas, Wimpy bars.   Come hail, rain or snow we were happy to walk the streets totally oblivious to the cold and wet, just happy to be with each other.   I doubt anyone could make a beef burger followed by apple pie, ice cream and coffee last that long and no fast food had ever tasted that good.    Initially William's mother was equally unenthusiastic about the friendship but when it became apparent we were suffering considerable opposition she gave her blessing.    We decided to get engaged on my twentieth birthday and my mother reacted badly, I was told I had to leave home.   I loved my mother dearly,  people commented we were more like sisters than mother and daughter and I never deliberately planned to cause hurt to either parent but my decision was considered defiance, unacceptable, a coldness descended that would never be truly vindicated.

Twelve months after our first meeting William completed his apprenticeship and was immediately conscripted in the last intake for National Service.   After three months initial training the news came that his regiment was being posted abroad and would spend most of its tour of duty in Africa.    William was anxious, he wanted to marry before he left the country considering my parents would do their very best to change my mind in his absence.    I told him I would wait for him but he considered I should approach my father for his consent, failing that we should go for a Court Order.    I also needed the permission of the church.   An interview was arranged with the priest in charge of the Catholic church nearest his training camp.    He would have to receive instructions and sign a directive regarding any children of the union.   Wil sat patiently through the sessions and obviously agreed to the conditions however later he angrily declared "its blackmail - but I'll sign anything.  I want to marry you. 

We often argued about religion.   His opinion of Catholicism seriously coloured by the behaviour of

both my parents and the bloody history of the church.   He did not believe in God.   His mother complained "William was baptised in the Methodist church, we tried to get him to go to Sunday school but he wouldn't go.   He astounded his primary school class mates telling them "one day man will walk on the moon" and they probably thought he was "off his head"   William was a child born too soon.  He did believe,  he believed that the answer was out there, it was just a question of space exploration some time in the future.     At one point shortly after our engagement the arguments reached a zenith and I decided it was time to call the whole thing off.   He was broken hearted and my resolve melted away.    With a certain amount of arrogance I considered once we were married he would change, but William was not for turning.

Somehow the fact that I was so much in love gave me the necessary courage to face rising fear at the thought of confronting my father.   I expected the worst.   Walking through a smoke filled main office I approached his door.   He was seated behind a very large executive desk and motioned to the chair opposite.   I formerly asked his permission but added "we are prepared to go for a court order"   He appeared somewhat taken aback but I momentarily glimpsed respect at my new found courage.   He asked "can he keep you in the manner to which you are accustomed"  I took a deep breath replying "I love him that's all that matters.

Eventually the wedding day arrived.   I clearly remember standing shivering as my favourite Aunt slipped a long ivory gown over my head.   Outside in the gloomy dank drizzle of a late December afternoon the wedding cars had arrived to take the family to church.   Looking in the mirror to apply what little make-up I did wear an inaudible voice said "are you sure you really want this"

I turned to my Aunt and said "I don't think I can go through with this"   She laughed "its just nerves - everyone has them, anyway its a bit late for second thoughts everyone is at the church"   I knew my family were totally against this marriage and they had decided it would last a year.   I couldn't help but wonder whether William would take his marriage vow in a church as binding, after all he neither believed in God or that a church service was necessary, only time would tell.     I also considered the fact that I was about to make my vows knowing William had no intention of keeping his commitment regarding any future children.   

Six weeks later I stood on a dreary station platform as the steam train carrying his regiment hissed and clanked into the driving rain.   I was a grass widow.   My father suggested "your place is with us until William returns" but my mother rejected the suggestion.   Hurt and somewhat confused but intent on keeping fully occupied I joined the Red Cross and volunteered to work in a local hospital in my spare time.   I wrote long loving letters to William and saved whatever I could for the day we would have a home and a life together. 

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FOR SUCH AS THESE

FOR SUCH AS THESE

by

Talitha Hills

Preface

If you are seeking sensational revelation or literary expertise this simple testimony will not impress.

Prayerfully may it reach the hearts and minds of those stranded in the wastelands.

The Father waits - a still small voice calls across the desert of your mistakes, wrong turns, weaknesses,

your humanity.

Chapter One

Behind the Veil

Looking  back over my life's journey I can now see how very grateful I must always be for the

grounding and discipline I received as a child.   At the time it appeared relentless, unforgiving and

strict, but the instruction received both at home and school resulted in a strong moral code.   I was born into a comfortable middle class family in the leafy suburbs of a northern city at the beginning

of the second world war.   My father conscripted into the Air Force was eventually posted to Egypt and I would not see him again until I was five. 

My grandfather a generous loving parent gathered his daughters and their children and we moved 

from our respective homes to the coast and during the war years lived in a large detached house on the sea front.   I can still recall the heavy velvet drapes, dark furniture and a barren expanse of promenade that seemed to stretch forever.   Occasionally we would return home for a brief interlude and I can remember being pushed under the table in the kitchen as it was considered too late to make a dash for the air raid shelter in the garden.

Random events always come to mind as I think back to my early years.  I was fascinated by the

home guard in their metal helmets and the search lights sweeping the sky above the avenue totally unaware of the danger that might suddenly fall from the sky.   I did not appreciate my Mickey Mouse

gas mask.   Children of my generation were seen and not heard and excluded from adult conversation.

Seemingly encased in a protective bubble I knew nothing of the surrounding devastation or the appalling crimes committed against the Jewish people.   I was a total innocent and would remain in that utopia

for many years.

My mother was the centre of my world to the detriment of any future relationship I might have had with

my father.   At the end of the war the family gathered to welcome the boys home.   Shy and overly 

sensitive I remember nervously hiding behind my mother's skirt as a noisy stranger dressed in blue uniform appeared in the hall doorway and lunged for my mother.   For the first time in my young

life I experienced overwhelming jealousy and a distinct dislike of this noisy intruder.    My baby sister arrived later that year, she was beautiful and my father who genuinely loved all babies was totally

smitten along with the rest of the family.   My attitude towards my father was obviously causing concern as I clearly recall my grandmother telling my mother "you have to give her time"   I can never remember

being cuddled or told I was loved, but perhaps that was generational.   I was not "Daddy's little girl"

I would physically shake when he rebuked either myself or my elder brother.   It was a difficult

time made bearable by my grandparents.   I loved every minute spent with them, both at their home and on holidays spent at the very best hotels.

Post war Christmas was a special time when the family gathered at the Grand Hotel for the traditional Christmas dinner.   The pungent aroma of cigars drifted into the lobby.   Above the dining hall the

orchestra played accompanied by the gentle clink of glass.   In the opulent surrounding the choir boys

in their red gowns and white smocks sang Christmas Carols.   The celebrations continued and my beautiful mother would disappear into the night wearing a ball gown covered in tiny stars, just one event in a busy social calendar. 

The relationship with my father was deteriorating.   For the first five years of my life there had just been

my elder brother James, Mum and me, now with a younger sister and two brothers I was merely one of

the litter.   I became increasingly withdrawn and nervous, aware that all that was required was that I

was respectful and obedient otherwise I would incur his wrath.   I would close my eyes and look away

hoping to vanish from his glare, this was considered insolence.   My grandparents remained my rock

a constant unchanging shelter and they will always have a very special place in my heart.

My education began at a private preparatory school managed and staffed by Faithful Companions of Jesus nuns.   Eventually in preparation for my first Holy Communion I attended the confessional with absolutely no idea how many of my transgressions were considered serious enough to be confessed and so I confessed to the whole list of sins in the prayer book and duly received my penance.   The Communion Service was held in the school chapel.   At such a young age I could hardly have realised the significance of the occasion other than the excitement of dressing like a miniature bride in a queue of spotless innocents glowing in parental approval.   I accepted without question the ritual and traditions of my birth church and faithfully attended mass every Sunday, the only exemption allowed, illness or injury.

Somewhere behind a host of angels, saints, the priest and his helpers, somewhere behind the veil

was God.   Perhaps the altar boys had a better view of this mysterious God as they bobbed up and down. Whispering fidgets were silenced as mass began in a strange language and along with a sermon that seemed to last forever I sat patiently waiting for my release.   At long last the guilt ridden sheep encouraged and blessed were instructed to go forth and do better.   As heavy wooden doors opened into the wider world the flock scrambled into the isle and headed for pasture.

Sundays were always special.   A family day spent within the confines of our garden in the summer months and in front of blazing fires throughout the winter.   Traditional Sunday roast, sandwich and cake teas.   Both parents were talented musicians and we would gather around the piano to sing.   My love of music was birthed and remains a passion.

The last addition to the family arrived in my tenth year on the very day I had inconveniently succumbed to bronchial pneumonia.    Seriously ill and hallucinating from the affects of the drug M & B my terrified screams raised the household.    A woman appeared at my bedside.   When I screamed "the devil is chasing me" she pointed to the cross on the wall above my bed.  "Don't worry" she comforted "he can't touch you, look the cross is over your bed"

No doubt my frequent absence from school due to sickness had a devastating effect on my progress.   A severe attack of measles had earlier resulted in my being profoundly deaf in one ear.   Realising I was now hearing impaired my parents hasty acquisition of a private tutor was a last desperate effort to avoid failure in the eleven plus exam, however this merely resulted in my being a borderline case and I was asked to chose between further education at my grandfather's expense at the convent's senior school or 

move away to yet another convent school specialising in commercial subjects managed and staffed by the Sisters of Charity.    Allowed the choice and seriously influenced by a novel in my mother's Book Club at the tender age of eleven I decided that I would like to learn secretarial skills, eventually become a top flight secretary, marry my handsome boss and live happily ever after.    My elder brother had sailed through the same exam two years earlier, passed with top marks and was well into his second year at Grammar School.

At this juncture my father probably considered I would not amount to much.   His repeated attempts to explain the concept "if a man walks around a field measuring...." I was away through the field and flowers to another place my refuge in the noise and confusion of a busy home.   There was a modicum of promise in art and music.   My father, an incredibly gifted artist, suggested my art work was best viewed from the back of a moving bus.    Like a canary I would sing happily in my cage, the bathroom

having the very best acoustics, but I never craved the "spotlight"   In a new era of pop culture he considered I could be making a small fortune, but that was of little interest to me, like the birds of the air I sang not for the approval of others.    My father abandoned his project declaring I was "thick" a common expression meaning stupid.    

Struggling into puberty I was slowly realising there were two sets of rules in the family.   One standard

for my elder brother and myself and a much softer approach for the younger siblings.   As the eldest

girl I rapidly became the "go for" boys being mysteriously allowed to be just boys.   Perhaps my parents best hope was that I would marry well within both their religious and social circle.   My three brothers were enough to discourage any thoughts in that direction.    My mother commented "they will have to dig one up for her"

Remaining sensitive to criticism, offence and jealousy were my deadly companions and as I began to make friendships outside the family I became very aware that my lot was unfair and restrictive.   Innocent questions regarding faith issues were met with firm rebuttal and reprimand.   I was already questioning the status quo asking my mother "if only Catholics go to heaven, where does everyone else go?" suggesting my close friend Jean, her sister and parents were lovely people surely they must go somewhere.    I was promptly told "the trouble with you is you think too much" but I was spared the suggestion they were all going to hell.   There was only silence.   Rebellion was stirring.  

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Commandments for Sixty Plus

1. Ten Commandments for Sixty plus

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul and mind.
He got you thus far, so don’t forget to thank him daily - he doesn't mind if you sit
if getting up is a problem.

You shall not make for yourself any Idol.
Now is the time to prioritise and contemplate the approaching
final goal - that will take you to the feet of a REAL HERO.

Do not take the name of your God in vain.
Plenty of words you can use instead - Holy Smoke (my favourite)
Gordon Bennett (an old favourite) I don’t believe it. (courtesy of one foot in the grave)

Keep Holy the Sabbath
In the New Wave churches you will be considered just another wrinkley
and observers may question whether its a case of shekanna glory or raised blood pressure as you give it your all, unless you are one of the inner circle and then you will be called “An Elder” - beware of Elders who go right against the commandment  "thou shalt not slay".    GOD IS LOVE.

The Lord gave us this day to REST - REST - and pray - that you may extend your time and avoid a premature visit to the departure lounge.

Honour Thy Parents
If you are blessed to have them, or even one -
tell them you love them every day and be there for them. Prayfully in the distant future they will be waiting to welcome you on board.

Thou shalt not Slay
Try very hard to love and forgive the kid who has just trashed your car - even though you want to punch his lights out. Remember you are not up to the chase.

Do not commit Adultery
The odds against pashing your neighbour’s wife are now heavily stacked against you.
However the O.T. has many examples of seniors running amoke. Warning - avoid the siren call of a younger woman (men led the count here) – they are after your money - Not your body.

You shall not steal.
If you have enough its not a problem - if you haven’t, the temptation to use a
hoodie or a balaclava plus baseball bat might prove tempting - but you still have to run!!!!! not a good idea - you might finish up in Intensive Care.

You shall not give false testimony
That’s okay - if you can still remember what was said - where - and
when.

You shall not covet anything that belongs to your neighbour.
Not a problem - the hoodies will have taken it all - they are faster, fleet of foot,
and don’t mind wrecking your car, they just finish up with an ASBO. You are more likely to finish up doing “PORRIDGE” - not advisable - although some would say three meals a day were to their advantage - not to mention a third age University Degree, pocket money - free T.V. and the opportunity to witness to a captive audience.

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BEARING IN MIND ITS NOT OVER UNTIL GOD SAYS ITS OVER

Take time to stand and stare and enjoy the view.

Take one day at a time

Take kindly the counsel of the years gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
(Desiderata - Max Erhmann) - could he be Jewish!!

Singles - adopt a pet - then no one can accuse you of talking to yourself.

Always remember you are but a chicken compared to Moses, Abraham, and all the rest of the long lifers in the good book.

Keep your sense of humour - laughter is the best medicine in the world.

I have always held the belief God laughs with us - just look at the human race - if I am wrong I am obviously in for a great big smack.



Talitha Hills
2008
















TH.
Copyright 2006