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.
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