Remembrance Sunday Nov 2013

Remembrance Sunday 10/11/13

Why bother with remembering? It is not a question that I ever recall asking myself

when I was growing up. Perhaps that is because my early years were the years of

WW11. Maybe my days in our church choir and the annual procession to the War

Memorial on the equivalent of this day each year made Remembrance Sunday an

occasion to be respected in this fashion. It was, in other words, a part of life. The

buses and cars stopped – people stood still – hats and caps removed – for this briefest

of times on this day, we remembered and we gave thanks. But today in this country

the majority will instead ask my initial question namely - why bother?

At one level the response is easy. It is summed up in the recollection that we should

not take our freedom for granted – they died that we might remain free. But today so

many other things – material, emotional and personal, demand attention that debates

about freedom, what it means and how much we value it, seem remote and irrelevant,

in other words not worth bothering with.

Yet I think we should bother and continue to do what we do. I watched a television

programme not so long ago and during the course of it we saw Simon Schama in

Tel Aviv on Holocaust Memorial Day – the equivalent, it could be said, of our

Remembrance Sunday – and Tel Aviv came to a halt at the prescribed time and

everyone stood and remembered just as they had in my youth.

And lest we are tempted to make the excuse that Jews are more religious than us let us

recall that it may be so, but that is not the whole story by any means.

Closer to the truth might be that we value what we have a lot more when we are in

danger of losing it. Freedom in Israel is constantly under threat from every side

whereas we feel safe and therefore our freedom is, in that sense, less valued.

The overwhelming secular argument for remembrance should be, it seems to me, that

recollection of the reasons for caring about freedom, ought to help us to avoid the

mistakes that led to its being in danger in the first place. An example of such wisdom

could have been our remembering how we were defeated in Afghanistan twice before

the present shambles. That knowledge of our history might have helped our leaders to

avoid the same mistake again.

History today is not valued as it was in my youth nor is it taught from the same

perspective. But sadly there seems to be a paradox here. The value of the, if I may

use the term, ‘socialised’ history as it is taught today seems to be in inverse proportion

to its usefulness in avoiding pitfalls that might otherwise be foreseen.

Remembrance can therefore be seen as vital not just in teaching us humility in

the face of the sacrifice of our forebears but also in safeguarding us against future

dangers. In that respect the nation that forgets its history is in danger of forgetting

why it exists at all. What does it stand for if it cannot remember how it arrived here?

Israel remembers its history and respects its ancestors and so should we. The

alternative is not a pleasant option in my view.

Tony Kidd

Who speaks for the child not yet conceived?

Sermon     29.9.13 (Boynton) & 1.10.13 (Harvesters)

I make no apology for revisiting a topic about which I have spoken on previous occasions, namely the way in which we deal with children in this country of ours.  I do so because several pieces of news have come to my attention recently and they seem to me to be inter-related.

For example, it is reported that there has been a huge surge in the number of women going to work in the UK and this includes a majority who are mothers.  In fact, over 70% of working mothers have dependent children.  This coincides with a situation where there are now more single mothers rearing children than ever before. 

That is, I hasten to add, not a case of my grinding an axe on the subject of single mothers but simply noting that a child has the right under the convention on the Rights of the child, to which the UK is in signatory, to be brought up by both its parents.  That is the responsibility of both parents to their child.

There is then the guidance issued by the Government Agency whose acronym is NICE (the National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence) which has issued primary schools with guidance addressed to ‘professionals’ and ‘heads’ (note not teachers) on how to ensure that children are taught social and learning skills.  It also asks them to identify parents who need help with being parents! (One wonders how much time must be taken up with this and how many boxes will have to be ticked accordingly.

Finally my attention was attracted to a report about an Islamic publicly-funded Faith School in Derby and its dress code.  There were two aspects to this code which I found interesting.  One was the requirement for all female staff, regardless of their personal beliefs, to wear head scarves and prohibiting them from giving any indication of a faith other than Islam, that is to say for example ‘not to wear crosses.’  Meanwhile another aspect of the code requires that all girls aged 6 years and over should wear the burkah.

The first requirement has already led to a female teacher being bullied into resignation by male members of staff.  It should be born in mind that the code was not introduced until AFTER the term had started.  But it is the requirement that girls must wear a burkah that worries me for two reasons.

One is the re-emergence of rickets in this country especially within the Asian community and it is happening, evidence suggests, because of the prevention of sunlight reaching the skin due to this style of dress.  There is then, of course, the side issue of girls having no swimming lessons because males tell them that the Islamic requirement for modesty prevents it.

I shall confine myself to suggesting that males who oppress females by presuming to dictate attire because otherwise they, the men that is, might become ‘inflamed’ as they call it, should grow up, get a life and learn some self-control.  As to the wearing of the burkah itself, the problem it deems to me is this: when a dress style coming from one very narrow strict, Wahhabist strand of Islam of comparatively recent origin seeks to impose itself on every part of Islam we all inherit a problem.  Whether it be the young girls whose whole lives may be impaired by illness or the teacher bullied out of her job by zealous male fellow teachers for not wearing a headscarf this is not the way we do things in England – is it?

Even though we may no longer have many Christians in our midst, nevertheless we still tend to think that loving our neighbour means at the very least not forcing him or her to comply with our way of doing things just because we say so, but Wahhabism does not seem to agree with this.  When our approach also carries the real danger of harming people for life then something has clearly gone wrong.

Furthermore this conduct could be argued to run completely contrary to the convention on the Rights of the Child to which we are signatories.  How does the burkah seem to tie-in with the right of the child to be as healthy as she can? Furthermore how can children be equal when one can be taught to swim at school and another can’t?

If parents have children knowing from the outset that they will not be able to care for them as they should, how does that square with giving them the most basic of children’s rights, namely the right to a safe secure home with both parents?  And when Government approved Agencies appear to acknowledge the shortfall in care and good parenting by suggesting teachers make up the deficit, again there is clearly a major problem.

‘Whatsoever you do to one of these little ones you do it even unto me,’ to quote Jesus.  The ‘I must have it all and my rights trump everyone else’s approach, seems to me to sell children short in too many cases, quite apart from its sheer downright egotism.  If you agree with any of this, pray certainly, but also write to your MP.

Tony Kidd

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My thoughts on Woolwich

Who was not shocked by the horrifying spectacle of an un-armed man being almost beheaded in a London street?  His murderers were two men who appeared to be motivated by a distorted, indeed one might say perverted, version of Islam.  In this version the single individual, in this case a soldier, unarmed, off duty and outside his barracks, can become a legitimate target for an onslaught by a man with a knife and a meat cleaver assisted by an accomplice with a gun.

This victim’s ‘offence’ was to be perceived as a representative of us, the unbelievers, who had invaded Islamic land and taken the lives of followers of Islam.  I use the word ‘us’ since this soldier was held to account for the actions of our Government and therefore we, all of us, are deemed to be participants in these events whether we like it or not. 

Once again John Donne’s words “every man’s death diminishes me” spring to mind.  We all ought to share in this family’s grief, as well as being part, albeit only by our positions as electors and citizens, of their loss. 

The reactions to this event have been predictable.  Neither of the perpetrators is white – both profess Islam – both tried to justify their actions as legitimate on the basis that Islam allows Jihad in response to crimes against the faith.  British involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan are seen as ample justification for this awful tragedy.

A week or so before Lee Rigby’s death, the domestic news was dominated by the conviction of a group of men of Pakistani origin who’s repeated rape and exploitation of vulnerable and under-age girls was, it was said, perfectly justifiable because they were “worthless Kuffirs,” that is to say unbelievers.  This gang’s conviction has prompted 54 other investigations into similar groups dotted around our green and pleasant land.

It would be easy to jump to the conclusion that Islam is the problem and that there is a simple answer.  It would also be easy to blame those who either opened the floodgates for immigration into this country or to those that failed to close them.  I however want to focus on another facet of these two events and I begin by recalling that in my nine years as a solicitor in private practice I was never involved in, nor can I recall being aware of, any criminal case involving rape perpetrated by a woman.  Nor do I recall any murder trial involving violence (as opposed to poisoning) or any case of assault involving grievous or actual bodily harm where the accused was female. 

You will note that I am not here confining myself to Pakistani or other non-white criminals nor am I limiting my observations to alleged followers of Islam.  I will explain my reference to “alleged followers of Islam” later.

My point is all the accused were male and I also observe that their conduct exemplifies at least two frightening characteristics.  Firstly there is an arrogance which manifests itself in actions, socio-pathologically directed against females in the case of the exploitation of those young women.  Secondly, there is the inability of some males to be able to comprehend any point of view other than their own.  This when coupled with a consuming anger and over-inflated ego, is indeed a toxic mixture.  When we ally these ingredients to a cause which offers, whether now or in the future, that to which a recruit thinks he is entitled, completely irrational behaviour is sure to follow.

What is lacking in the male figures who bomb, kill, maim and exploit as exemplified by the cases I have quoted, is the sort of courage and compassion which was shown by the women who confronted Lee Rigby’s killers and tended him as his life came to an end.

This short-fall, this absence of an ability to empathise, does not confine itself to any one creed or colour.  However it is apparent that it exists as a predominately male defect.  This defect emerges unless there is a positive role-model which enables the young male to learn to respect the opposite sex and this requires input from both parents.   Respect for the opposite sex means all members not just those of ‘our’ creed or colour.  This must be the case regardless of what some out-dated thinking concerning male supremacy may mistakenly suggest to the contrary.

It is here that we come to a marked difference between some creeds and others.  In part of his rantings intended to justify the totally inexcusable, Michael Adebolajo referred to the ancient concept of an ‘eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’  He tried to suggest that what he had just done by killing Lee Rigby was justified by the killings carried out by the British forces in Iraq and Afghanistan. 

Some commentators have seized on this Biblical reference to smear Christianity as well as Islam because both have the book of Exodus, from which the text comes, in their religious texts.  Exodus 21 verse 23 does indeed establish a law of reciprocal brutality.  It refers to the taking of a life and embraces injury to eyes, teeth, hands and feet as well as covering wounds, burns and bruises.  In Christianity however Jesus reformed this ancient understanding by telling his followers “do not resist an evil person but turn the other cheek.”  He added “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.”

Jesus explained that whereas he did not wish to abolish the old law, he had come to show humanity how to view things differently.  For Christians therefore there can be absolutely no justification for the sort of killing carried out by Michael Adebolajo.  In any case I note that the killer had indeed adopted a different creed after a Christian upbringing but I daresay that many Muslims would feel far more at home with the teachings of Jesus on this passage rather than the distortions taught to the killer.  He unfortunately had absorbed a hopeless, brutal and unreformed view of Islam from his teachers.  “By their fruit shall you know them.”

It is often speculated that the role of both parents in raising a child is essential wherever possible.  Especially with a male child this must involve learning to value the intuitive and compassionate characteristics that are more associated with a mother alongside the thinking processes and control of aggression that ought to be the input of a father.  A child needs to learn to honour both its father and mother who should provide their child with the safety, support and example needed to grow into a mature, independent, adult life.  Where that does not happen, other influences will invariably step in to fill the void.  The result of this can be life-destroying as it was for those young girls, as well as physically deadly as we now see all too clearly from the scene in Woolwich.

The death of Margaret Thatcher has brought to the surface some extremely hateful examples of the worst aspects of human nature.  People who should know better and set an example have allowed the vindictive politics of tribalism to take over when something more compassionate and considered was called for.

It is understandable that those whose jobs for life in the coal mines on a father-to-son basis were lost in the 1980’s should be unforgiving of the polititians who were seen to bring this about.  However, that understanding has to be tempered by three considerations.

The first is that in the 1960’s and 1970’s the trade unions used their power to bring this country to a pretty parlous state.  Those of us who worked through three-day weeks, rail strikes and electricity blackouts had to go to work regardless. We often trudged through streets stacked high with rubbish.  We who worked on through those days did not and still do not enjoy the inflation-proof pensions earned through those strikes.  Only those paid through the public purse and subsidised by those working in the private sector have that privileged status and that includes our members of parliament.

Secondly, when Labour returned to power after the Conservatives’ four terms in office, they chose not to revert to mining coal in this country, indeed they continued to close mines!

Thirdly, much was made in the 1970’s of the dirt and danger of mining in order to justify higher wages and protected pensions.  A generation later are there really advocates for resuming such activities?

My point is a simple one.  I do not care for bankers who never seem to be penalised for failure, whose rewards are obscenely out of proportion to the work they do and whose treatment of their ordinary staff leaves much to be desired.  They hold us to ransom for more money ‘or they will leave.’  Go, say I – please go.  So, equally, I did not and still do not, care for trade union leaders doing exactly the same thing.  To my simple mind Fred Goodwin and Arthur Scargill are just two sides of the same coin.  Each in his own way was in his own time guilty of using his power both unwisely and without regard for anything but narrow self-interest – ‘my bank,’ - ‘my members’ and nobody else matters just won’t do.

Furthermore, for people to rejoice in someone’s death reveals not only a shallowness of humanity but also a lack of thought that is quite breathtaking.  It is sad to realise that as a nation we appear to have made so little progress.

We live in one of the world’s richest nations; we are well educated and cosseted.  The poorest of our citizens is relatively rich compared with the poorest on the planet and yet we are prepared, some of us, to hold a party to celebrate a death while others seem to think that doing so represents some sort of humour.

Let’s be clear: over four hundred years ago John Donne made it easy to understand when he wrote that “Every man’s death diminishes me,” and, “Ask not for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”  We are all from the same thread and our actions have their effects and often do so far beyond our immediate imagining both in scope and time.

The unbridled greed of some in the sixties and seventies produced its counterbalance in the eighties.  In the same way the massive expenditure with borrowed money in the last decade is causing grief in so many ways now. 

We love to find a scapegoat and to say it is nothing to do with us.  I have no doubt that the miners who followed Arthur Scargill thought they were justified, but how many of them looked beyond their own heartland in order to see the impact of their actions on others.  Where was the compassion to temper those actions?  Equally, how many bankers, footballers or others with incomes of six figures or more stop to consider who pays for their lifestyles?

So what to do about it.  Well, let’s stop holding silly ‘parties’ for a start.  They are sick, not funny.  We should also realise that, as the world’s oldest current democracy, it is time for us to abandon the tribalistic and unthinking politics that passes for government now, and come up with a better model.  We can and should do better.  Political thinking (I use the word ‘thinking’ loosely!) is too polarised and self-interested in our land and we cannot and should not afford it.

Let us have far fewer MP’s but let us pay them well and get the best.  Let us select them rather than having them selected for us from the ranks of the politically ambitious who, often, have no experience of work or life outside their own little political bubble.

Let us develop a civil service free from trade unionism and awards that signify little beyond an ability to dispose of rivals more effectively than others.  Let us also take the National Health Service and Education out of the hands of politicians altogether.  Idealology ought to have no part in either.

Finally, let us try in this process to put some older, wiser and more experienced heads into the process of government to create a better balance in decision making.

We should remember we get the government we deserve.  We are all accountable.  It is time we started to make a change.

From East End Lawyer to East Riding Priest:

One Man’s Journey.

There is a school of thought which suggests that smell is the most potent of our senses.  This is largely because its receptor in our brain is located next to our memories.  This means that our memories can be vividly activated by an aroma which takes us back to where we first encountered it or some significant event with which it was involved.

The East End of London where I was born, and later spent five years training to qualify as a solicitor, was a place of memorable aromas.  Some were exceedingly odd to find just on the outskirts of the City of London.  For example, the smell of the smoke-house used by a local fishmonger for curing herring and haddock.  Similarly the aroma of the adjoining bakery at the back of the bread shop which was an unexpected pleasure.  These were good smells indeed, - unlike the effusions of the River Thames at Limehouse Reach which in those days were, to put it no more strongly, exceedingly pungent, indeed – challenging!

Nowadays I only have to pass either a smokehouse or bakery, both of which exist in Bridlington, to be, momentarily, back in the East End of post-war bombsites and boarded-up, unsafe houses.  Equally, aromas recall vibrant districts which were variously home to the rag trade, and therefore largely Jewish in character, or Chinatown, as it was known, with its many restaurants and colourful lanterns.

To say that the office in which I trained was a multicultural business, long before the politically correct commissars of our time got hold of the word, is an understatement. From bar mitzvahs to Muslim prayer mats and from the Orthodox weddings to liquor licenses for the Roman Catholic Church halls, diversity was at the heart of our office life and it all worked harmoniously.  Our office waiting room was a bit like a meeting of the United Nations.

The local hairdresser was Jewish and fiercely proud of his son at Oxford University. He left me in his chair half-done one afternoon because he heard on the radio that the second half of his daily double had just won at Kempton Park racecourse. He returned after about 10 minutes, finished my haircut and let me off the fee because he said I had brought him luck.

By way of contrast there was an occasion when I caused great concern on my train home one Christmas Eve.  I had placed a large plastic bag on the roof rack and it kept producing the noise of moving liquid.  It was a “thank you” gift from a Chinese client of a whole cooked chicken in its own sauce which provided Christmas dinner for the five of us at home.

The dark side of the East End came home to me some two years later and can best be exemplified by the very nervous voice of our receptionist as she told me that she had some clients in reception who wanted to see someone immediately and I was the only male in the building at the time.  The reason for her nervousness was that the clients were the Kray twins and they did not like to be kept waiting!  I survived as you can see.  I also saw them again briefly the next day to complete the task they had given me.

I cannot deny that it was a nerve-racking experience for a 20-year-old trainee.  On the other hand it was all part of what is sometimes called ‘life’s rich tapestry’.  There can be no doubt that the East End of those dim and distant days of the 1950’s & 60’s was something of a law unto itself.  On the other hand the same strange blend of criminals, celebrities, politicians and the police has emerged again in the last 15 years or so.  Just as in those days public houses like the ‘Prospect of Whitby’ & ‘The Blind Beggar’ could guarantee to have this mix alongside regulars from the immediate localities, I suspect that they or others like them would be exactly the same today.

Another recollection drawn from my early days in training relates to the day when I was taken by the Managing Clerk responsible for my teaching in Probate cases, to see the widow of a deceased client.  It was a strict Roman Catholic family of Italian origin living in a small terraced house near our office. When we arrived we were shown into a room which was very dimly lit with just a candle and with curtains drawn.  We were invited to sit at the table which had been laid with tea and biscuits.

My colleague conducted the interview with the widow of the deceased, obtained all the necessary information and documents and when the business part of meeting was over he said to her, “Ricardo looks very peaceful.”

I was somewhat surprised by this comment having noted that my colleague was looking at something behind me as he spoke.  I turned and immediately behind me saw something I had definitely not seen in the subdued light when we had come in. - namely, the deceased standing upright in his coffin with his eyes open!  It was my first encounter with a dead body and my world completed several revolutions before my equilibrium was restored.  That morning I learned that it was prudent to take nothing for granted!

My reflections on those early days begin first and foremost with the observation that my school friends, most of whom went off to university, remained young for far longer than I did.  Let me explain.  After about two months working in the office as tea maker, telephonist, post-boy, lunch-getter and runner of errands, my Principal sent for me.  He explained that I needed to do all that I had been engaged in to date, so that I might properly understand how an office functions.  He told me that he wanted me to know what sort of people were needed to make it work at its best and in order to understand that, I needed to be able to do the jobs myself.  Now the time had come when I had to expand my horizons.

In order to take the next step he asked me to put on my coat, pick up a briefcase, and walk a route he described to me which ended at Thames magistrates’ court.  I did as I was told and when I arrived at the court my Principal was waiting to meet me.  I asked him why I had been required to do what I had engaged in.

My principal told me that I had needed to be seen and recognised and so my walk had been watched all the way.  He explained that because we only acted for defendants, we were very important within the community and that this applied especially to the male members of staff.  I know that that sounds pretty sexist but remember I’m speaking of a time over 50 years ago when female solicitors were a rarity.  For instance, in my Law School class of 56 people, only four were female. Now I had been seen recognised and would be safe wherever I went in the East End.

My Principal then took me into the police station next to the court and introduced me to the Desk Sergeant.  He in turn took me downstairs into what was known as ‘The Museum’.  There he showed me the collection of knives, guns, thumbscrews, knuckle dusters, hammers, axes, whips, ropes of all kinds, bullet-proof vests, boots, swords, syringes, pliers and in fact anything that could be used by one human being to inflict pain, injury or death on another.

That afternoon not only did I see the implements themselves but also pictures of the results of their work from various pieces of evidence, including crime scene photographs gathered over many years.  Finally I was shown extracts from confiscated films of various sorts including every sort of sexual deviation imaginable!

I went on that visit aged 18 and came out aged 40.  Indeed, my wife Sue has always maintained that I did not start to be my real age until I was well past that time in my life.  I truly could not take in what I had seen that afternoon.  It is one thing to read books or newspapers but to see something of the reality is an altogether different experience.

My limited schoolboy horizon had expanded out of all recognition as the result of my East London experiences.  I was being provided with stepping-stones into the world which included the Royal Courts of Justice, Lincoln’s Inn, the Temple, Somerset House and hours spent in Brixton and other prisons where I interviewed clients.  I also spent a lot of time at various magistrates’ courts, the London Quarter Sessions, and The Old Bailey.

On the other side of the coin I also experienced my fair share of being taken for a ride to teach me, it was said, not to be tempted to get above myself.  For example. on one occasion I was given details of a claim which had been made against the owner of a merchant ship, which according to the Lloyd’s Register was moored at Wapping.  I was told to issue proceedings against the vessel in respect of the debt which was owed by its owner, and then to serve the Writ on the vessel.  I read that this was achieved by nailing a sealed copy of it to the mast which had the effect of ‘arresting the ship.’

I was left to my own devices in this matter (as a test I later discovered) and I set off armed with the office hammer and a supply of nails coupled with the necessary documents which I had very cleverly, I thought, placed in a see-through plastic bag. My pride was very short-lived when I was confronted by a very large vessel with a solid metal mast!

I had not read the amendments to the legislation which now allowed the service of the proceedings on a ship to be sellotaped instead of nailed in place.  Luckily for me the master of the vessel was still aboard who did know about this and helped me out!  The owners, it seemed, had not paid him either and so they were not his best friends!

There were two things that I learned early on in my career which have stayed with me ever since, even though the circumstances within society have changed so much since my training took place.  The first is that in those days there were only three professions, namely the ancient and long established legal profession, the church, and the new boy on the block namely medicine.  

These three professions shared two features of enormous importance I was told, since they distinguished them from all other means of earning a living.  The first was that they were based on vocation, that is to say a calling to be of service.  That vocation was exemplified by one’s duty to serve one’s client or in the case of the church, parishioners and for medicine, one’s patients.  One did this by affording total confidentiality and providing a personal service at any time of night or day if asked to do so.

It was explained to me that bills were usually to be delivered after, not as a pre condition of, providing the required response.  It was stressed to me more times than I care to remember that being professional meant never withholdings one’s services and always doing one’s best until the task was completed.

I had to put these early lessons into practice on a number of occasions, one of which was when, as a young solicitor, I had to respond to a telephone call from a hospital.  A client of mine had been taken, in a very poorly state, into Whipps Cross hospital.  She had only a few hours left to live and wanted to make a will.  The doctor who told me this and to whom my client had made the request, urged me to make haste.

Fortunately I had some suitable paper in my briefcase and when I arrived at the hospital I was able to write out a will there and then.  Since my client chose to appoint me as one of her executors, I asked the doctor and a nurse to witness my client’s signature.  She died two hours after I left the hospital at 3 o’clock that morning.

After my five years in articles I had been admitted as a solicitor in March 1962 at which time I became solicitor number 18,212 on the Roll of solicitors which in those days was unofficially limited to 20.000 at any one time.  The examination which I had sat in November the previous year comprised seven

3-hour papers lasting consecutively from Monday morning through to Thursday lunchtime.  Each paper had to be passed in one examination sitting and the total number of marks for the seven papers had to exceed an aggregate mark.  Furthermore each paper began with three compulsory questions which carried 60% of the marks.  There really was no place to hide (!) – and failure to achieve any of these requirements meant retaking the examination in its entirety.

Later in the 1960’s it became possible to resit one paper if it had been failed.  Then the papers were divided into two, with three subjects in one sitting and four in another.  Graduates were then required to serve only two years in articles instead of five which meant that many of them never fully understood office routines and practice.  It was said that the profession was modernizing and at the same time rapidly increasing its numbers to over 100,000 without any loss in quality.

Moving on from East London where I had worked as a solicitor for two years after qualifying I then spent time first in rural Essex and then in the Town Clerk’s Department of Bradford City Council.  After that I moved to a building society in Leicester and then spent four years with an international industrial conglomerate in London before returning to Bradford and becoming the secretary and legal advisor to a major building society.

It was during my second spell in Bradford that I became a Reader in the Church of England and later offered myself for consideration as an ordinand.  My vocation was tested and accepted and so I prepared to begin three years part-time training for non-stipendiary (that is to say unpaid) ministry.  I was sent to Oak Hill College in Southgate in North London at the direction of the then Bishop of St Albans.  That was because by that time we had moved to Berkhamsted in Hertfordshire so that I could work as a consultant to those working in the financial services area.  These clients included banks, insurance companies and mortgage lenders.  I made the choice to pursue that course after much prayer and in the belief that it was the right direction of travel me and for our growing family.

It was indeed a dramatic decision for someone who, had he stayed where he was, would have had a much more secure and financially advantageous future especially with four dependent children.  However, building societies were undergoing the change from mutual organizations, that is to say ones whose members’ interests were paramount, to commercial undertakings motivated by what I believe accountants are pleased to call “the bottom line”.

It was a shift of focus exemplified by the change of name of what was once the Personnel Department.  That department had been there in the past to help recruit personnel and then to look after them once recruited.  Now, as Human Resources Departments, they became a tool of management and, in the process, rapidly developed a far less caring outlook.

When I take stock and look back, I can see the recognition of this change as a distinct turning point in my life which led me away from the comfortable world of a commercial lawyer.  It came about because I had promised, with agreement from my management colleagues, that those members of my staff who obtained the right qualifications would have the opportunity to train to become solicitors.  In due course the day came when the first person achieved the necessary qualifications to go ahead and asked to do so.

However, when I met with the head of this new Human Resources Department, I was told that the society had changed its collective mind on such matters without any consultation with those actually involved.  I had given my word and several members of staff had worked very hard at evening classes to achieve the necessary qualifications.  They were now, due to a change of policy of which they were not made aware, cut adrift.  As far as I was concerned the breach of trust to which my staff had been subjected was unacceptable and, consequently, I left.

The move south was an enormous leap of faith into the unknown at the age of 47 with, as I have said, four children still in full time education.  It came after much prayer culminating in a lunch-time of prayer in Bradford Cathedral during which I believe I heard a voice which said to me, “Go and see what I shall show you”

Now I know that such experiences have to be tested and so I related the words and their context to an experienced Christian whose spirituality I trusted.  When she said that the words spoke to her, in other words that they sounded to be from God, then in much trepidation but with the support of my family we left the north of England for a new job and the start of college life.

We had decided to live in Berkhamsted because of the sign over an Arts & Craft shop on the High Street.  It said, “We are here to serve the Risen Lord.”  This was the sign for which Sue and I had been praying and so I enquired at the shop as to where the Lord was worshipped.  As a result I was introduced to the Parish Church of St. Michael and All Angels, Sunnyside.

When I tell you that one of my daughters-in-law now runs that same Arts & Crafts shop, I am compelled to reflect on where prayer can lead.  I had the privilege of conducting Lawrence and Jo’s wedding in the self-same Sunnyside church on the weekend after my ordination.  By the way, my ordination took place not in St Albans Abbey but in Bradford Cathedral in July 1989 after our recent return to the North.

A further turning point came when, after serving for two years as curate at Rawdon Parish church on the outskirts of Leeds and working as a consultant on my own account, I was invited to serve full-time as curate at the parish church in Ilkley. As a result I was no longer a lawyer or a consultant but now a full-time priest.  I could have remained full-time in the church but it was not to be because, when it was time to move on, the church could not find a placement which was able to accommodate a very difficult family situation which had arisen.  So, I now found myself out of work and in what seemed like a wilderness.

At this point I want to digress for a moment or two to talk about an item of attire ‘preaching tabs’ as they are known to clerics.  They are part of standard wear in formal situations for clergy of an evangelical inclination but are also obligatory dress for lawyers in their role as advocates, whether barristers or solicitors, to whom they may be referred to as ‘bands.’

This overlap in symbolism between law and church is no mere accident but is in fact indicative of their common origins at least in this country.  The role of the Lord Chancellor, whatever might have become of it in modern times, began life as a high church official who was also regarded as Keeper of the King’s conscience.  At court he was a trusted confidante and advisor to the Monarch - bearing in mind that such men, as exemplified by Wolsey, were often also cardinals or princes of the church.

Out of that role at court alongside the monarch sprang a parallel court system exercised by the Lord Chancellor dispensing justice based on an equitable view of matters and thus ameliorating what could sometimes be seen as a harshness and inflexibility in the operation of the Common Law dispensed by the monarch’s courts.

Just as an aside, we hear the faint echoes of this historical emergence of our legal system in the names given to the Divisions of the High Court in earlier years.  Indeed the very word ‘Court’ reminds us of the way in which the King would go on royal progress round the country to dispense justice, sentence criminals and settle disputed.  Hence the way in which judge’s travel round their circuits to do the same today exercising their role on behalf of the Monarch.

The Queen’s Bench Division presided over by the Lord Chief Justice is still the branch which focuses on the common law.  The Chancery Division, presided over by the Lord Chancellor, deals with cases where it has been difficult to find justice in the common law approach; an example with which we may be familiar relates to the seeking of Judicial Review of Government or other beauracratic decisions. 

Those who in earlier years appeared to argue cases for the often illiterate or inarticulate people who came before the courts became barristers and those who solicited work for them were to emerge as solicitors.  Those tabs or bands were worn to mark them out because, like the clergy, the wearer was seeking the sort of justice tempered with mercy dispensed by Moses in accordance with the two tablets of stone received by him on the Holy Mountain.  Hence the reference to preaching ‘tabs’ – short for ‘tablets’ and the link to advocacy and law.

I have mentioned all this by way of a practical demonstration that perhaps my pursuit of these two roles can be seen as slightly less incongruous than might otherwise be the case!

Returning to my story - in a strange sequence of events, Sue & I found ourselves on the move once again - this time to East Yorkshire.  There the family situation which had been difficult earlier, resolved itself but another, the third, turning point came with my spending two years in and then emerging from clinical depression  - ‘ dark night of the soul’ as someone referred to it..

Maybe this was the final stripping away of the remnants of the image I might once have had of myself as a highflying lawyer, senior building society manager or consultant.  Depression was a bleak and isolating experience but I was blessed with a very supportive family & friends, and I emerged.

I found myself able to serve a number of congregations who were without a priest and one benefice in particular in due course welcomed me as its ‘House-for-Duty Priest-in-Charge (that is to say unpaid but with a Rectory to live in rent-free), although I think that my wife Sue’s ability as an organist had more than a little to do with it - two for the price of one perhaps!

Thus began four very happy and fulfilling years of service based at Burton Agnes, serving 4 rural parishes. I learned to adjust to the pace of rural life, to recognise the demands placed on the farming community and to take the unexpected in my stride.

For example a funeral visit found me talking to a man in his 80’s who had been married to his deceased wife for over 60 years.  Neither the man nor his good lady could have stood over 5’2” tall judging from his height when I met him and from the wedding photograph he showed me.

Imagine then, my surprise when he announced in reply to the question, “Is there one thing about your wife that stands out for you after 60 years of marriage?” he replied, “She made the best cement in East Yorkshire.”  When I asked him to explain it came down to this.  When war broke out Violet was considered too short for the Services, so she borrowed an uncle’s small truck, acquired a cement mixer and offered her services as a repairer of airfield runways.  That was her job for the rest of the war and a letter from the authorities at Leconfield testified to the ‘excellence of her work.’

So here I am.  My “House-for-Duty” days are over.  They were brought to an end by the repercussions, now mercifully in remission, of a triple heart bypass.  In their place has come a great deal of writing, some copies of one fruit of which, I have brought with me namely “Sally’s Angel” a short story book for children up to the age of say 11 as well, I am told, for some adults of an inquiring mind.

So, what have I learned on my journey?  How, perhaps, do I view the roles of lawyer and priest as I look back on them?

Well, as a lawyer I provided a service, but as a priest I was the service.  What I mean by that is, that as a lawyer I took the instructions of my client and for a fee carried out work to achieve their objectives.  I got peoples’ houses bought and sold, obtained divorces, settled estates and defended the accused.  I did not become involved beyond doing the job required.  Indeed in many ways an involved lawyer is not much use.

However, the priest cannot easily be effective without a measure of involvement. ‘Time’ is the priest’s gift but is what the lawyer charges for.  The lawyer may sympathise but the priest must, whenever possible, empathise.

I have also learned that the work of the Holy Spirit, that mysterious third person of the Christian Trinity, is very much alive and well in many more people today than we may perhaps give credit for.  From my own life I will leave you with one last story about this from the recent past. 

In anticipation of some surgery I asked a priest to lay hands on me by way of preparation.  He did this as part of the prayers at a mid-week communion service and he also anointed me.  During this process I experienced a figure I recognised as Jesus coming to me and passing into me, and I heard the words,’ You in me and me in you.’  I felt a tremendous sense of reassurance.

The following day the operation took place under a general anaesthetic and, as I was being prepared, the anaesthetist asked me what I though I might dream about.  I told him that I did not dream in these circumstances, but had been told that I said things.  I asked him to remember if I said anything of note, and he promised to do so. 

After the operation the surgeon came to check on me and asked if I had seen the anaesthetist.  When I said I had not, he smiled broadly and said he would send him round.  When I asked if I had said anything he said, “Oh yes!”, but would say no more.  It was, he said, the anaesthetist’s story.

The anaesthetist, when he arrived, told me that after the anaesthetic had taken effect and I was well and truly ‘out’, I had suddenly said, “I see Jesus coming,” and all the indicators on the monitoring equipment went completely haywire causing absolute mayhem.  He eventually got things under control but said he’d never seen anything like it and didn’t want to ever again! When Jesus says, “You in me and me in you” it is something I profoundly believe in.

How do I look back on all this?  Well, I could sum it up in this way “true love has no need of lawyers.”  Jesus had no time for them and in my experience, on both sides of the fence, lawyers are only brought in when sadly love has been ejected.

On a personal note, what God has shown me, following that Bradford Cathedral lunchtime, has been a roller coaster of experiences which have been exhilarating, humbling and at times, inspiring.  And I would not have missed any of it.