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The Lord is My Shepherd
by
Alf Droy

Click here to download the book in PDF format to read offline.

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Index

Preface

Introduction

1 My Formative Years P 1-21

2 Out of the Frying Pan - into the Refiner’s Fire P 22-39

3 Shepherded into Evangelism P 43-59

4 Pub Evangelism P 60-73

5 A Time of Testing and Reflection P 75-86

6 Revival In Cambridge (My Jerusalem) P 87-92

7 Israel O Israel P 93-111

Glossary P 112-114

Preface

I’ve known Alf Droy for thirteen years and I can safely say that I have never before or since known anyone quite like him!

There’s no doubt that anyone who meets him will never forget him. He’s a man full of passion for life. He’s supportive, kind and willing to do anything for those he knows to be in need. He’s a great laugh, able to enjoy a ’wind up’ with people from all sorts of backgrounds. He’d be great value in any company.

When you read his life story you’ll see why! He’s experienced an awful lot of very difficult experiences and yet has come through to this stage of life with a joy and purpose outstanding to all who know him. Why? Because he came to trust in Jesus Christ in the most amazing circumstances and with the most radical of personal consequences. It’s a great story!

Finally, let no-one assume that Alf Droy is anyone’s ‘pushover’. He combines a warm, witty and gentle personality with opinions which he holds on to like a dog with a bone! Some of his theological opinions are very controversial and have received little favour, and are certain to polarise the readers’ opinions. Whatever your theological conclusions, having read the book you will know that in meeting Alf Droy you will have met one of the most interesting men in Cambridge today!

Graham Daniels

Director of Christians in Sport

Introduction

This autobiography is dedicated to my children, Kim, Leigh and Kerry from my first marriage of 20 years duration, and to Daniel from my second marriage which is still enduring after 20 years. Pauline is not only a loving supportive wife to me, she demonstrates her love and concern for others warmly. Most children inherit money and family possessions on the death of a relative, but I believe this book may prove to have more lasting qualities. Perhaps in future the children of my grandchildren Amelia, Louise and Richard will enjoy reading of their ancestor from the 20th century and of my lifestyle and customs. My nephew Andrew Hoare will regard this book as a valuable inheritance as his grand-parents and parents have already died leaving only memories and photographs which fade with time. Hopefully this book, primarily written for my relatives might lead others who are not part of my immediate family into effective evangelism.

I hesitated about producing this book, not because I thought the message that was contained within it was irrelevant, but because in my opinion, there was too much of me, and too little of Jesus. However, the Lord has released me to give free expression of what He has accomplished in my life, and given me a greater liberty than I have ever been aware of at any earlier time, to testify to His goodness towards me, and His outstretched welcoming arms to all others who would receive Him, perhaps having been influenced by something I have written.

I make no apology for my pride in the Christ who died for me, and it would be dishonouring to His name, if I did not testify to the fullness of His Grace. I pray that this book may cause some people to realise that the time remaining is shorter than they had thought, which might cause the hesitant to reflect on their lack of obedience to their declared faith, and their own mortality. May the reader be encouraged by my experiences of how the Lord has carried me into lofty places, through provoking me to exercise my own tiny spiritual muscle. I do not consider myself in any way superior, or for that matter any less loved by God than any other, but I know that it is God’s will that everybody should be saved. I have often felt embarrassed, and have hesitated at times when I have clearly heard what I am commanded to speak out to those in full-time ministry, who through the very nature of their position speak out to congregations far more often than I do and therefore would appear to be a worthier vessel than myself, but God uses the foolish to confound the wise!

I awoke one morning during Lent 1983, and again contemplated a problem that had been troubling my conscience for some time. My tax affairs were under investigation and although I knew I could lie and cover up my evasion, my better nature was telling me to confess and make a clean breast of my embezzlement despite the risk of imprisonment. I remembered that Dad had been called into the tax inspectors office to explain his financial affairs and he had talked his way out of trouble; I was confident that I could do the same but today was different – I just did not want to tell another lie. I hated the deceitful character I had become. I speculated whether one’s life was all mapped out, with points being awarded or deducted by some ‘ethereal being’ or ‘imperial court’ for performance. My accountant would always explain our previous years financial results by turning to the profit and loss page of the annual accounts. I mused that this supernatural being would not judge the commendable bottom line figures presented, but rather the methods used to achieve the results; before passing a final judgement of worth. My wife and I were well set up financially, as we owned two sports shops and a health club in the centre of Cambridge. We supplied sporting equipment as wholesalers and installed our own gaming machines to an extremely diverse market. I was currently negotiating with the Cambridge City Council to open the first amusement arcade in the city. Six years into my second marriage we were settled in an imposing house, which we furnished with expensive items. We had enough money to indulge in regular holidays abroad because I had not declared my true taxable income. I was thought of in the local community as a successful business man and was well on the way to realising my ambition to be a self made millionaire at 50 years of age. I could clearly see I was materialistic and self indulgent. As an employee I had deceived my family and cheated my former employer. Latterly as an employer, I was cheating both customers and the tax authorities. Even at 49 years of age I was physically fit, having three times won the veterans title of the Cambridgeshire Squash Championship. I was a minor celebrity locally in the sport of squash rackets, having played in representative teams for both Cambridgeshire and England and had been elected as the founder chairman of the Cambridgeshire Squash Rackets Association (SRA). I coached widely, in England and abroad, both individuals and teams. My wife and I also ran about 50 miles in training every week, taking part in many half marathons over a number of years. Superficially I may have appeared on the outside to have everything going for me, a good reputation, a fit and healthy body, an attractive younger wife who loved me, plenty of money, but inside I was a mess. I reviewed my own life; married at the age of 21; irreconcilably separated and divorced at 43, leaving three teenage children aged 19, 17 and 15 years of age respectively for my former wife to raise single handedly. Perhaps all the years of heavy drinking, whilst serving nine years in the RAF, combined with ten years as a member of the Round Table and 13 years as a Freemason had dulled my sense of decency. All that I held as desirable and respectable had turned to ashes. I realised that I was morally bankrupt!

Suddenly an authoritative voice impressed itself onto my ears:-

I realised that my life was an open book to a Holy God and that He knew the reason for every action I had taken, or not taken. There is a Redeemer and He wanted to save me! I am nobody’s fool and can recognise a good deal when I am offered one. Walking away from a failed marriage had not solved any of my problems, I had only washed my hands of the responsibility for failure. I could not, with impunity, turn over a new leaf as I would make a new year’s resolution, and avoid punishment without repentance for my past sins. I was morally and spiritually responsible for my own behaviour to an omniscient God. I leaped from my bed determined to be obedient to Jesus’ possible final offer. My wife was taken aback at my revelation although she calmly accepted my decision to confess all to the tax authorities. Later that day whilst wondering over the consequences, she felt compelled to read 1 Timothy Ch 1:19:-

Spiritually this day was the most significant day of my life, the day that the Lord revealed Himself to me. He released me from a bondage to sin that I had previously been unaware of. I knew what it was to suffer the pangs of a guilty conscience and to find relief through appeasement, but this release was completely different. Accepting Christ as a living Messiah meant the restoration of all broken relationships. Where previously, people whom I had vilified in some way, had their feelings mollified through my apology, without having forgiven me, Jesus forgave me on their behalf. As it is written in Psalm 51 ‘against God only have I sinned’. The instant I had genuinely repented of my sins, I experienced a peace in my heart beyond human understanding. I visited the office of the Inland Revenue without making an appointment and asked to see Mr Heap, the chief tax inspector, who was investigating my tax returns for year ending April 1982. I had obtained a large mortgage on our house, having increased its value by building an extension and paying for the cost out of undisclosed profits that I had embezzled from my various companies. Mr Heap was dumb-struck when I placed before him bank statements for a secret bank account in which I hid the money I had secreted away. I asked of him ‘What happens now?’ I had fully expected him to call for a policeman, who would hand-cuff me and lead me to a prison cell. Mr Heap said the fraud was too big for his jurisdiction and that the Fraud Squad would have to be informed. Later that day I wrote a letter to the Worshipful Master of the Masonic Lodge of which I was a member, informing him that I had become a ‘born again’ believer and no longer wanted to be associated with Freemasonry. At that time I was unaware that if I had progressed through to the 33rd degree as a Freemason, I would then have been calling on the name of Satan (Lucifer) for my guidance!

The very night of my confession to the tax inspector, I began to receive an incredible series of visions and dreams with revelation of their meanings. I have written fully of the revelations given to me in my apocalyptic book Wake Up! The Lord is Returning. I have read somewhere that a divine encounter is often the catalyst that releases the giftings of the Holy Spirit; and so it proved to be, for on the following Sunday, whilst I was on my morning jog, I was shown seven signs:

1 The reading of Job Ch 13, during my Bible study time:-

7 As I passed the next field, a white horse trotted towards me. I understood it to be the horse of Revelation Ch 19 and I was aware of ever present evil close by (in the previously passed field) and the need for constant vigilance and spiritual discernment. I wrote down my spiritual experiences at the time and sought interpretations from several Cambridge Church leaders with whom I enjoyed a friendly relationship. Four were Anglican ministers, one a Free Church leader and the other person was my house group leader. I never understood why not one of them asked me to explain why I had given them copies detailing the visions and revelations and none of them offered me an interpretation. Some weeks after my conversion, I found that my conscience was still bothering me. I had been invalided from the RAF after nine years of service, owing to a weak lower back problem. X-rays taken during my admission as a patient into RAF Hospital Wroughton, had revealed a prolapsed introverted disc (PID), for which on discharge, I received a 20% (per cent) war disability pension. I had lost 30 pounds (lbs) in weight, since taking up squash and was no longer troubled with back problems. It was the continuous receipt of this pension that was bothering my conscience. I wrote to the War Pensions Office and told them that I now felt perfectly healthy and no longer qualified to receive this pension. My candid action placed an even greater strain on my ability to meet all our bills. As a finale to this week of revelation, I experienced a dream or vision, in which I was on my knees praying in a huge darkened auditorium and yet I could see clearly. I was aware of beautiful prayers, like chords of low sung Gregorian chants, echoing in my ears. I could sense other worshippers close by, yet there was no one near to me. I felt I was one of a huge congregation worshipping God. I knew myself to be in the throne room of God, whilst He listened to the prayers and praises which went on unceasingly. I understood my own body as being a temple belonging to the Lord. I was a living stone in a greater temple infinitely larger than my brain could conceive of, it was an awesome experience. But I am getting in front of myself. In order for my reader to understand more fully my fears and inhibitions and my release from the 50 years of darkness and bondage that I lived through, I shall start at the beginning.

I was born on 22nd September 1934, at 25 Gerrard Road, Islington, which is within the sound of Bow Bells, therefore I am a ‘Cockney’, as anyone who has heard me speak will discern. I was conceived out of wedlock, although my parents married on All Fool’s Day, 1st April 1934, and so I was not what was euphemistically called a ‘love-child’, which back in the 1930s bore a stigma. No members from my father’s side of the family attended my parents’ wedding, I presume Dad’s family disapproved; perhaps they considered themselves of higher social standing. Although I was the first child of a new generation and a male to boot, Grandad Trixie and Grandma Cissie Droy, with seven children of their own, disinherited me. Although Mum’s parents, Grandad and Nanny Rosam, (Harry and Maude) were financially poor, they did not complain of the adversities of life. Mum often repeated the tale that one particularly cold winter, during the years that Grandad Rosam was unemployed, he used to hope for snow to fall, so that he could earn a few pence by clearing the snow from the pavements for the London County Council (LCC). He travelled many miles on foot on hearing that workers were being ‘taken on’ for a job. He finally found regular employment as a maintenance man, with the Pearl Assurance Group, based in High Holborn, that lasted until his retirement. Mum’s elder brother Harry had died in infancy of meningitis. My grand-parents also had two surviving sons to provide for; my uncles Albert and Charlie. Albert had developed poliomyelitis at 13 months, this left him with a wasted and shortened right leg resulting in his walking with a bad limp. He attended what he called a ‘school for cripples’ for most of his school life The 1930s was a time when back-street abortionists operated in unsanitary conditions with non-sterilised instruments, and no after care being provided, often leading to post-operative complications. Many an unfortunate impregnated female, seeking an abortion, for a variety of reasons, risked not only their health, but their life also. Not for me the good old days, but I am appalled at the present abortion laws in Britain, which were introduced to stop the earlier tragedies but have led to a greater carnage. Thankfully no stigma is attached at the turn of the 20th century to being born out of wedlock. I never told my parents how grateful I was to be born to them, I was too tongue-tied and embarrassed, but I hope I communicated my love for them in meaningful ways. Not long after my parents married, Mum resigned from her job with the Initial Towel Company, where she was employed to wash and iron laundry that customers brought to the shop. Mum laboured at this back breaking job for 12 hours each day, and six full working days each week with no paid holidays. British society today would never accept such conditions, although there are still areas of exploitation being exposed in the 1990s. Following my birth, until we moved to Greenford, Mum worked for a friend in a haberdashery shop in Holloway Road. The friend was the separated wife of the landlord of the Star public house (PH), the local pub. Albert regularly wheeled my pram to the shop, at the time for my feeding, until his parents moved to Greenford.

In 1936, at the age of two, before the general availability of penicillin in hospitals, I suffered an acute appendicitis. The poisoned sac in my abdomen ruptured during its extraction, resulting in the poison spreading throughout my body. Following the operation, I spent a further six months in hospital, lying flat on my back, in my bed, with the bed-head raised towards the ceiling. Glass rods were inserted into my abdomen draining contaminated blood from my body into a receptacle. It was a wonder to me, having seen other patients in hospital propped up in a similar fashion, that I never slid out of the tucked-in sheets, onto the floor! I was discharged from hospital with 24 boils covering my tiny body (a decade passed before, in my late teens, I was finally freed from the plague of boils).

Within two years I was again admitted to hospital for emergency surgery, having fallen from a table onto the floor, twisting my intestines in the process, this time over a Christmas. Albert remembers that at a family Christmas get-together everyone was singing the song He’s the Little Boy that Santa Claus Forgot, when Mum burst into tears at my absence! After recovering from surgery I was transferred to a convalescent home to recuperate, again for some weeks. My earliest childhood memory is indelibly etched in my memory. The event occurred during my convalescence, brought about by my refusal one day to eat every morsel of the lunch put in front of me. Together with some other children, I was transferred from the dining table to a cell (at least that is how I remember the room), from which we were allowed to leave on eating the cold and congealed food on our plates. Some children were physically sick at this treatment; others were slapped because they cried. I do not think that the Board of Governors of that hospital would have approved of the aftercare, which was quite Dickensian. As the resistance of my companions weakened and our numbers dwindled, I felt even more vulnerable to the intimidation, but also very determined. I was the last child remaining in this cheerless room. As the daylight faded and the room got colder than the food, I felt quite alone and unloved. I cried long and loud, but it was not until bedtime I was allowed out, with my congealed food still uneaten. At six years of age I was fortunate to have survived two life threatening operations and had 40 stitches in my stomach to remind me of my experiences. These operations occurred long before keyhole and cosmetic surgery were practised and the appearance of my stomach bears witness to that fact.

Nanny and Grandad Rosam, were persuaded by Nan’s sister Charlotte and husband Bill, who occasionally visited them, that life was better in Greenford, which at that time was still a leafy suburb, in the country, a one hour journey by train from Islington. In 1937 they rented house at 26 Burwell Avenue, in the adjoining street to relations. I do not know how reconciliation between the families was made, but Mum and Dad persuaded Grandad Droy to drive them over to Greenford on a Sunday, quite often for family get-togethers. On these occasions both sets of grand-parents, together with me and my parents, would visit the nearby pubs and during the drive would comment over how much nicer the district was than the area they lived in. Trixie was persuaded to buy a house as an investment, which he would rent to my parents. He must have been concerned for his childrens’, future, for magnanimously he agreed to buy a ‘paper pitch’, (as opposed to a paper booth which is a tiny weather proofed house), outside of Waterloo railway station, in order for Dad to develop his own business. These transactions were completed in 1938 and we moved to 17 Bourne View in Greenford, less than a mile distant from my grand-parent’s house. I remember clearly being dressed in my Sunday best and being taken round to my grand-parent’s home, on the day that Mum came home from hospital with her new baby daughter, my youngest sister Jean, who was born on 24th February 1940. In that same year in the September of 1940, on my first day at school, I remember throwing a tantrum as Mum left me to the tender mercies of a teacher; my tears soon stopped once Mum was out of hearing! It was much later that I realised how very well blessed our family was in settling into what we thought of as the ‘countryside’. My grand-parents continued to bring some of Dad’s brothers to visit on a Sunday. They would enjoy a pre-lunch drink at the Ballot Box PH at the foot of Horsenden Hill. One of their amusements was to offer me a bag of crisps or a lemonade as an inducement to sing a song as a party piece. I never refused to be lifted onto the table and give my own rendition of the requested song. I would do anything for a treat, I became an extrovert at an early age!

On the occasion of my own engagement to be married, Mum advised me to buy the most expensive betrothal ring that I could afford. She explained that many a time following her marriage she had pawned her engagement ring to finance her through the week. Until that conversation I had never realised that my parents had struggled financially to keep free from debt. I will never forget the picture of Dad going off to war in 1940, dressed in his army uniform, with his kit-bag on his shoulder, smiling bravely, whilst he kissed and hugged us all in a final goodbye, prior to his departure, for what turned out to be six long and poignant years. Whilst away, Dad wrote letters home regularly, which for security reasons were heavily censored, full of nostalgia and love for us. Mum would gather us children around her, and read the well-thumbed letters over and over again. We would then break into a sing-song of all the popular love songs of the day. Our concert often lasted for an hour or so. My favourite song even today is a song from that era, ‘You’ll Never Know’ (just how much I love you). Unfortunately these nostalgic times were never repeated following our evacuation, although I often asked that they should.

All through the war years, in order to keep Dad’s business going, for the first three years Nanny Rosam and then Mum, for the remainder travelled, by tube train into Central London, over an hour’s journey from Greenford. They did this, without complaint, Monday to Friday of every week, despite the ‘blitz’ and in all weathers. Mum coped with running the paper-pitch, whilst Dad was soldiering, whilst seeing to the needs of her three children (all aged under six at Dad’s conscription). My health gave continuing cause for concern, both of my eardrums were perforated which caused dreadful pain, quite often a bloody discharge soaked my pillow case. I was often comforted throughout the night in my mother’s arms. Eventually my perforated ears healed themselves, only scar tissue remained. Both inside and outside of my body, there is visible scarring, as evidence of pain and suffering. On occasions, if I was off school sick, I accompanied Mum to the paper pitch, for there was no-one else to look after me. I remember the tiers of bunks constructed along the platforms in the tube stations, where civilians who lived or worked nearby might sleep during the air raids. Sometimes during the height of the blitz, the workers would not be allowed to leave the underground shelters, being detained there for their own safety throughout the night. I never ceased to be fascinated by the partly deflated barrage balloons, over central London which seemed to fill the sky. At night, during the earliest air raids of the war, I recall looking through the drawn curtains of my unlit bedroom, watching the searchlights, trying to catch the enemy bombers in their beams, in order to give the ‘Ack-Ack’ gunners a visual target to aim at. I will never forget the night sky on these occasions which was lit up like a big cinema screen by searchlights or tracer bullets.

During the air-raids that occurred whilst we were at school, classes were abandoned as the teachers transferred the pupils in their charge to the school’s underground shelter for safety. We rehearsed air raid drill weekly to avoid any panic measures. Our education was badly disrupted but at that time as far as I was aware, the routine of earlier generations was probably little different. Many a morning I got to school early and surreptitiously climbed onto the roofs, in order to look for shell shrapnel. Some pieces of iron shrapnel were the size of a man’s hand, other pieces were quite small but each piece was jagged and needed careful handling to avoid cutting a finger. I remember spitting on my fingers as a precaution in case the shrapnel was hot to the touch, for I had earlier burned my finger on a piece that could not have fragmented very much earlier. How commonplace and natural it seemed at the time, but how macabre now! I stored my shrapnel at home until Mum objected to the proliferating pile. I did not protest at the disposing of this rusting collection of jagged metal because I realised that it was potentially dangerous.

Every evening the members of the Air Raid Patrol (ARP) patrolled the streets, to ensure that no chinks of light shone through the drawn curtains of any window. I don’t think the German navigators were put off their bearing by this ploy, for their bomb loads were destructive and well targeted. Early on in the war, at every air raid, Mum accepted the advice of the ARP, who urged us to leave our beds, and walk the half mile distance to the deep shelters allocated to our neighbourhood. We sleepily arose from our beds and made our way to the shelter, until the ‘all clear’ signal was sounded, when we were allowed to return home. On some occasions having sounded the ‘all-clear’ and being allowed to leave the shelter, a second wave of enemy bombers attacked, and we were urged to make that tiresome journey all over again! I remember carrying bedding and walking through darkened streets, illuminated only by a dim blue light from a street lamp. Wearing a coat hastily thrown over my pyjamas, our family shuffled in convoy with our neighbours, to and from our respective homes and the deep shelters. Not many families owned cars during the 1930s and 1940s, which made our ‘sleep walking’ very tedious and it was also very wearing on the nerves. The broken nights sleep made everybody irritable and tired; us kids more so than the adults. Mum could not cope with three fractious children and successive nights of disturbed sleep. so she decided that on future occasions, she would ignore the warning of an imminent air-raid and would trust our safety to chance! Shortly afterwards we had an Anderson shelter constructed in our back garden. A hole about 1.2metres (m) deep and 3m square was dug, into which was poured a reinforced concrete lining. Above the ground a semicircle of corrugated iron was bolted together and then covered by earth about 0.3m deep. These shelters were named after the Lord Privy Seal, Sir John Anderson, who was the government minister in charge of civil defence, who had commissioned the development of a reasonably priced but well designed shelter that could be built, in the garden of every home and made available to every family on demand. The short walk to our new shelter was pure joy in comparison with the neighbourhood deep shelter system.

Evacuation from our homes, when we were awoken by the air-raid siren, in order to travel to the communal underground shelter was no longer necessary. It proved to be little different for us to fall back to sleep, from being disturbed by a call of nature in the night. We were more disturbed by Mum rushing around in agitation and calling out to us to hurry than we were by the air-raids themselves. One night Mum spotted a huge spider in our shelter and from the time of that incident, she again trusted our preservation to chance. We never used the Anderson shelter again, other than as a playhouse. Early in 1942 Mum bought the new Morrison in situ house steel shelter, so named after Herbert Morrison the British Home Secretary. Our new shelter was 2.5m long, by 2m wide and 1m in height. The shelter dominated the floor space in our front room taking up most of the lounge. It was built like a giant Meccano construction kit, four steel legs, supported the steel roof, which doubled as a table top, to which was bolted 50mm steel mesh sheeting enclosing three sides. Entry was gained by crawling on all fours, in through the front or fourth side, as if entering a small tent.

Initially the bombing raids were carried out at night, but daylight raids soon became a common occurrence, as the enemy grew both more powerful and more desperate for an early victory. I occasionally saw enemy planes being pursued through the sky by our fighter aircraft. On one occasion whilst playing in the school field during a lunch break, an enemy aeroplane flew by, just a few metres over our heads, no doubt the pilot was ‘hedge-hoping’ hoping to escape detection. On another occasion a bomb exploded in the next street to where we lived, but that was the closest we came to the war zone. All children were issued with gas masks which we had to carry at all times, in case of a gas attack. Walking to school one morning one of the boys caught me full in the mouth with his gas mask, which he had been swinging around over his head as a cowboy might throw a lasso. Blood was flowing from my nose and mouth all over my clothes. On arrival at school the teacher cleaned me up and consoled me as best she could. I am sure that this incident was the cause of my protruding teeth, for in pre-National Health Service days, funding for specialist dentistry was a family responsibility and ortho-dentistry was not well advanced anyway.

The LCC decided to build reinforced shelters above the ground in every street around our neighbourhood. I believe they were built because it was felt that the blitzkrieg might be extended, which fortunately was not the case. Presumably these monstrosities were constructed as an alternative to the more distantly located deep shelters. These huge constructions, which I never heard of anyone ever sheltering in, took up half the width of the roads and were about 30m long and 2.5m high. The LCC did not demolish them very quickly after the war, the shelters became a traffic hazard and I became a statistic. One day, forgetting my kerb drill whilst playing, I ran from behind the street shelter (built immediately outside our house) and was bowled over by a passing car. I rolled over and over coming to a stop with limbs akimbo, as I crashed into an unyielding brick wall marking the boundary between a front garden and the pavement. It was fortunate that I did not finish up under the wheels of the car and that I did not break any bones, I had escaped injury very lightly. I did have plenty of cuts and bruises both internal and external but they soon healed although I was off school convalescing for many weeks.

It had been drummed into me to never let my two sisters out of my sight, so we always played together. Whenever an air raid alarm blasted out after school hours, or during school holidays, Nanny Rosam would come looking for us wearing slippers and apron, she knew instinctively where to find us. I well remember, during an air raid, when we were playing in the street, becoming aware that the loud engine noise associated with Germany’s V1s and the V2s (doodle bugs) had run out of fuel immediately overhead. I knew that these pilotless planes were little more than huge bombs that exploded on impact with the ground. We huddled around Nan’s skirt, but there was no need to panic as the rocket drifted about a mile from where the cut-out occurred. She used to round us up and then take us to our house until Mum returned. Mum’s time of returning home was not dependable, as trains were often delayed, so Nan would tuck us up in bed. Nothing appeared to frighten Nan, she was a tower of strength to Mum and a great comfort to her grandchildren.

My first pet was a stray cat that I found pitifully mewing in an alleyway, it was obviously distressed and Mum reluctantly agreed that we could keep it. Tabby was greatly loved by us all, but I really wanted a dog. Mum delighted me when she gave me, for my birthday, a Jack Russell puppy that I named Jip. Jip and I were inseparable, except at night as Mum would not let Jip sleep on my bed. One Sunday morning as was our routine, we children were dressed in our best clothes and walked our dog to our grand-parents house where we had lunch (Mum followed on later after tidying the house etc). Horse riders often cantered along the roads near our home and I, as I had done many times earlier, simulated the rolling gait of the horse by running alongside of the horse with one foot in the gutter and one on the kerb. I tripped and fell headlong, breaking both of my protruding two front teeth. Once again the blood from my mouth soaked my clothing only a short distance from where I had received my previous bloodbath. Not long afterwards one front tooth had to be removed for I had exposed a nerve that became infected (poisoned), causing my face to swell and was very painful. The teeth either side of the resulting gap grew unevenly during the following years.

I suppose I have been in denial throughout most of my life, offended that Mum had bundled off us children as evacuees to Hunslet, (a town in Yorkshire) well after the blitz of London had ended. Mum was a slimly built attractive 34 year old auburn haired 1.6m (5 '3") tall female, who was ‘chatted up’ on the train taking us to Yorkshire by a string of servicemen on the same train. I had never heard before the interaction between the sexes, that sparked flirtation and I was surprised that Mum seemed to respond, but I just hoped it was out of politeness. It was only at this time I became fully aware of the possibility of my parent’s marriage being under threat. I knew deep in my being that we were being ‘dumped’, in order for Mum to have time to consider the position of her marriage and of us children, she was in a similar situation to many of her contemporaries, and who am I to point the accusing finger? I lodged with one of Nanny Rosam’s brothers, Uncle Alf and his wife Aunt Doris. Pat and Jean lodged with Doris’ sister Bertha and her husband, who lived on the opposite side of the same street. My memories of Hunslet are very hazy, but I do remember running along large diameter water pipes, that had been laid at the pavements edge in the gutters, as an emergency measure. I also recall for devilment climbing into the structure of an arced iron bridge-support, that crossed the River Aire, and running along this one m wide surface! What made this so dangerous was that iron bolts used to secure the structure protruded through, leaving a ‘dimpled’ effect and possibly I could have tripped and fell either into the river or onto the pavement ten m below! I did this on several occasions, sometimes when it was wet and windy, which was even more scary. I could write of even crazier escapades, but I still cannot believe how unconcerned I was then, for I was well aware how dangerous such behaviour was. I always sensed an alienation from our Yorkshire relatives, although we were loved by them and accepted by the school children with whom we played. We were in some indefinable way separated from them by a common culture and language. I was never able to decipher the Yorkshire brogue very well. We could have been living in a foreign land, but fortunately our evacuation was only of six months duration owing to the war ending. On the 8th May 1945 Britain celebrated Victory in Europe Day (VE Day). I well remember the street party in Hunslet that we attended prior to returning to London. The houses we lived in had no gardens front or rear. A narrow pavement dropped at the kerb into cobbled narrow streets, too narrow for vehicles to pass each other by without mounting the kerbstone. The housing units ran from one end of the street to the other and a veranda style walkway ran the whole length of the rear of the houses at first floor level. Our party was held in the street behind the houses in which I was living. The standard of education in Yorkshire was way behind that of my old school; which, considering that I had spent such a lot of time in air-raid shelters, did not say much for the education in Hunslet where schooling was never interrupted by air-raid drill or air-raids.

I visited my Uncle Albert, my oldest living relative at 76 years of age, in the emergency ward of Guy’s Hospital in April 1999,where he had been admitted having suffered his third stroke. I wanted to spend some quality time with him, for he had played a large part in my formative years. During our conversation concerning the publication of this book, Albert whilst reminiscing told me that he had travelled to Hunslet to bring us children back from evacuation and the journey back to London was a nightmare, for we children were practically uncontrollable. I know that we were all excited at the prospect of being re-united back home. I asked Albert why Mum had not travelled with him and without thinking of what he was saying and to whom, he told me it was due to Mum being very ill recovering from an abortion! I was numbed by his chance comment, but the declaration only confirmed what I had believed in my heart since those days. Albert confirmed that which my heart had told me, Mum had succumbed to the attentions of a lover, with whom she sought to escape from the misfortunes of her teenage years. She was carrying her lover’s child, which I believe she would have birthed if the war had not ended. However he turned out to be a married soldier stationed at Greenford, whether she was aware of this fact, prior to their relationship, I will not know this side of heaven. Mum’s recovery, from the effects of the abortion to full health, took some weeks. Nanny Rosam staffed the pitch until Mum was stronger. However as soon as she was able to work, she went out every night dancing!

I was unhappy with Mum’s changed life-style, having firstly ensured that we were safely tucked in bed for 7.30pm,she went out. One warm summers evening we were enjoying ourselves outside so much that we were 15 minutes late in getting home. Mum was furious with me for making her late and dire threats were made if I should be late again! We three slept in a double-bed, but as soon as Mum went out I would introduce some noisy games, which resulting in Mr and Mrs Edwards, our neighbours banging on the wall to quieten us down. I realise now that this protest was my appeal to alert others of circumstances over which I had no control, but would wish to alter. After some weeks of our noisy games, Mum was persuaded to act out a charade that she was going out as usual, but instead returned to the Edward’s home, in order to listen to the noise we created. We really got a tanning that evening! I sense retrospectively that I arranged this behavioural exhibition to persuade Mum to revert to earlier happier days. Unfortunately my cry did not result in Mum staying at home. I knew that Nan disapproved of we three children being left on our own every evening, for she never came around in the evenings any longer, even though she knew we were on our own. Albert has confirmed, supported by Jeannie’s memory that his mum (Nannie) adored us. I was overjoyed to be reunited with our mother and grand-parents, but I was distressed that my dog was missing, never to return. I was never given a satisfactory explanation of what fate befell Jip. I was fond of the Enid Blyton stories that were read aloud by my school teacher in class and ‘The Five’ were my special friends. I wrote a short story with my two sisters and I and our dog Jip as the main characters, which I was often asked to narrate to the school children in the other classes. I am sure it was my concern for our future united family life that caused my failure of the eleven plus exam. I had been away from school recovering from the car accident, which might have made a difference.

I had been christened as a baby and on my return from evacuation, at the age of 11, following a series of confirmation classes I was confirmed by the diocesan Bishop into the Church of England at All Hallows Church in Horsenden Lane. In my days at junior school I thought that everyone born in Britain was a Christian, regardless of denomination. At morning assemblies in my school, Roman Catholics (RCs) and Jews were excused from joining in with Church of England members ‘C of Es’ as children who had been christened were known as (that is, the remainder of the assembly). I did not understand the purposes of assembly, although I enjoyed the singing. I did ask one or two of my classmates who were excused why they were sent back to the classroom early. I am sure they didn’t know the real reason for they would silently shrug their shoulders. I did not regard the times of assembly as ‘worship’ of anybody, let alone Jesus the Son of God the Father. I don’t know if any of my schoolmates knew better than I. I attended church services, three times every Sunday, and I supported the youth club, which met in the church hall every Friday and my scout-pack was also affiliated to All Hallows Church. Following Dad’s demobilisation my attendance at church was not as regular.

I was almost 12 years of age when I received my first ethereal experience. I had been lying awake, terrified by the thought that one day I would be pronounced dead, only to wake up in a coffin, to realise that I had been buried alive. I do not remember if I cried out to Jesus, but I certainly received assurance from Him that my fears were groundless and that I would be quite safe in His hands. I received my first supernatural vision a few weeks later. As a child I had never experienced a nightmare or bad dreams, although I did sleep-walk on several occasions whilst I was living with my Aunt Lizzie, during the separation of my parents. I occasionally experienced pleasant dreams, during which I could walk 20-30m above the ground. I would call out to people on the ground who would stop and wave, but for some reason they couldn’t join me in the air. My second spiritual experience was a visitation. On this occasion I was wide awake, for it happened in the middle of the iling, yet not unfriendly or threatening, neither of us spoke. I turned on my heels and fled! I have written the sequel to this event in Chapter 3.

On the 15th August 1945 Britain celebrated Victory over Japan day (VJ Day). I expect there were street parties again, but my sisters and I were taken to Southend on Sea by Mum for our first ever family holiday over the week when the celebrations were held. I went to the cinema three times during that holiday and on each occasion I watched the 20 minute film of the fireworks display in London that had taken place as part of the celebrations marking VJ Day. I wished Dad could have shared this holiday with us but Dad did not return to England for his eventual demobilisation until early in 1946 and it was very soon afterwards that my parents separated. I understand from Albert that it was another trader at Waterloo who told Dad of Mum’s lover, which led to a blazing row, within weeks of Dad returning home, which ultimately ending in their divorce. I can only assume that Mum’s abortion had meant that she had decided that her affair was of the past and was to be covered over in her attempt to restore their marriage. Perhaps she had decided to ask for Dad’s forgiveness, but Dad was too hurt to forgive. Mum took us children for a weeks holiday to Southend in the summer of 1946. Dad came twice for the day. I experienced very bad sun-burn on the final day of this holiday and subsequently suffered a great deal of pain, as blisters formed all over my back and then burst, as I was tormented into scratching my itching skin. I was as ginger as Albert and, like him, I was freckled all over, which was the reason that my skin was so easily burned by the sun. My father’s parents and all their children were of dark complexion with jet -black hair. Dad never had a grey hair even though he had been very ill for some years.

The Christmas before Dad returned home, one of Mum’s ‘friends’, a soldier named Bill, had taken Mum and we children to a matinée performance of a pantomime, at the Shepherds Bush Empire. I have thought that he must have been the man ‘responsible’ for our evacuation although he loved Mum until the day he died, as he told each of us three, whenever he saw us. It is only right for me to say that I have never stopped loving or praying for my first wife Pam and our children, so I can sympathise with Dad, for I shall continue to pray to God for them until I go to be with my heavenly father. The night prior to their separation, I crept out of my bed and listened from the top of the stairs to their voices raised in loud argument. I was bewildered as to why they could not love each other as I loved each of them. I crept back to my bedroom and cried myself to sleep, realising that it was not in my power to prevent what was happening. I often wonder if I had made a tearful entry, whether it might have influenced their decision to separate. It later became obvious to me that five years of separation involving a great deal of struggle, after only five years of marriage, had resulted in recrimination and unforgiveness. Mum and my two sisters moved in with my grand-parents, whilst I chose to live with Dad. It was ironic that, within weeks of my father’s return home he suffered the loss of that which he held most dear; the permanent loss of his wife and children.

Following my parent’s separation, after school I used to have tea at Nan’s house with my sisters and Mum at the end of her working day. She was a factory worker for Glaxo Pharmaceuticals at their head office a half a mile distant from Nan’s house. Dad would join me at Nan’s and having eaten his dinner would take me home. As the evenings grew lighter and longer Dad would take Mum, Nan and Grandad and us children out to the Black Horse PH at Greenford. We three children would play in the pub’s garden which ran alongside the Grand Union Canal, where we had great fun with other children who like us were enjoying an evening out with their parents. The pub was frequented by re-united families with their loved ones relaxing following the hard times they had experienced. I loved to hear the pub’s resident pianist knocking out familiar tunes and the singing by the appreciative consumers of the songs that I had grown up with. Family and community singing was the most common form of entertainment before the advent of tv. Nan used to invite Dad and I over for lunch on a Sunday they would all go down to the Black Horse leaving us children at home in the charge of Albert. Lunch was often delayed because Grandad was often the worse for wear. After lunch we children were packed off to the cinema whilst the adults slept. In some way I hoped that my living at home with Dad might lessen his loss and also that Mum might return home when she realised how much she missed normal family life. During the early months of separation, Dad and I continued to live at our home in Bourne View. But once Mum had regained her independence and found a boy friend Dad knew that reconciliation was not a possibility. Mum wanted her boyfriend John to be able to have Sunday lunch with her and get to know her parents. When these visits occurred Dad and I would collect my two sisters, from Nanny’s house and they would spend the day with us. After lunch Dad would take us to the cinema, and then home for Dad’s favourite tea, of cockles, winkles and shrimps in sandwiches. Later we would walk the girls back to Nan’s house before returning home to our empty house. On the Sundays that Mum went to visit John’s parents in Watford, then Dad and I were welcomed at Nannies!

Most of the boys who lived in my street with whom I played, were three or four years older than I and were in the senior classes of our secondary modern school. I was thrilled to be allowed to join their gang. I always accepted whatever they collectively decided to do and joined in all their adventures and expeditions. As a group we walked to Wembley Stadium to watch the speedway racing each Thursday evening (the journey took about half an hour). The team captain Bill Kitchener (a former motor bike world champion) was my hero. Our gang regularly went to the cinema, where we were often successful in ‘bunking in’. Our trick was to wait for someone to leave the cinema through an unguarded emergency exit, when we would just walk in as our unknown benefactor left by this door! The long school summer holidays of 1946 to 1949 were particularly memorable. With my friends I regularly travelled by steam train to Denham quarries to catch frogs and newts, which I sold to my school friends. On most days of any holidays, I used to play on Horsenden Hill, which was the local play-area for children. Our playground extended over many acres of woodland. We flew kites, played ball games, had fun on the swings, climbed trees, and generally led a healthy outdoor life, untroubled by sex pests. I didn’t even know what a paedophile was until I was an adult and therefore not troubled by them. Scrumping fruit from gardens and allotments provided my friends and I with a wicked thrill, because I was well aware that I was an accomplice to theft. Sometimes I would feel quite ill if the fruit was not ripe or I over-ate. It served me right, but I wish that I had not been so easily led. Catching butterflies in the summer and tobogganing in the snow during winter offered a seasonal variation of fun. However, I was not convinced that school days were the happiest days of my life. Collecting conkers was fun, my friends, being older and stronger than I, were able to climb the trees and shake the conkers down. My own efforts of throwing sticks into the tree produced few conkers and was a fairly risky process, particularly if other children were also throwing sticks or bricks from the other side of the tree obscured from my sight by the huge trunk. I felt very privileged at being included in the games and expeditions of these older lads and I enjoyed no longer having my two sisters in tow the whole time.

My ready acquiescence to follow the lead of my peers led me to accompanying them on more daring stealing expeditions; no longer from unattended allotments and gardens, but from high street department stores with security guards. We pocketed smaller items and put larger objects into shopping bags, which we would take into a secret place and share out between us. I was too frightened to take stolen goods into our house and hid my trophies in a weatherproof sack in our garden! One day I took to school a serrated edged bread-knife that I had stolen from Woolworth’s store. Whilst showing the knife to a friend during a lesson, it fell to the floor with a clatter. On questioning by the teacher as to what I was doing with such a dangerous weapon, I confessed to her and then to the headmaster, what had happened and together with the rest of the boys, whom I had named The police were called and we were all questioned by them. They then took us to our homes, where our parents were interviewed over our activities. Fortunately our crimes were found out very early into our adventures and we were not prosecuted. The police gave each of us a caution, which proved to be a salutary lesson that frightened me, but only convinced me from having any third party involvement in any further stealing. I suppose the excitement of this sin entered into my psyche, for my ‘taking ways’ continued until I became a ‘born again’ believer. I was a strong-willed child, perhaps because I did not receive much parental correction, but I am inclined to think that my confidence had grown because quite a lot was entrusted for me to do. Every Saturday morning I queued with other shoppers for hours to obtain bread and vegetables that were in short supply. I checked the prices charged, was never short changed and carried the shopping home unaided. I was given sixpence (old money) a week for doing this task as pocket-money. I supervised my sisters welfare, often for many hours, without their coming to any harm. I do not remember any of my family ever saying I was uncontrollable or even especially naughty. Dad had not long been discharged from the army, he had never struck me as a punishment and he did not do so on this occasion, although he was obviously distressed by my conduct. I now realise my parents were both worried sick by my involvement with these older boys, they were anxious that I broke my friendship with the gang and found friends of my own age.

As the summer drew to an end, Dad explained that because he was concerned at the influence that could be exerted over me by some of my older friends, who in the following term I would join in the senior section of our school, he would like us to move back to his parents home, prior to the next school term. Also with the long days he would be working, Dad knew he would not be troubled by my lack of parental control. He wanted me to return home from school to a house with a responsible adult in charge, to provide for my welfare. Granny Droy was prepared to assume the role. I agreed and we moved to 72, St Peters Street in Islington. I was glad to be able to please Dad by accepting his authority in this way. It is never easy for a child to be uprooted from all that is familiar, placed in a new environment and to adjust without distress, but I suffered in silence. I did play with all the other children of my age in the neighbourhood, but I never made any lasting friendships; today I cannot even remember any of my play-mates names. I did have a childhood girlfriend named Judy Harbour who lived a few doors away from our home in Bourne View. I remember feeling very gauche at her birthday party, the first party I had ever attended. I only attended one other birthday party, that was my cousin Rita’s. At the second party I was 14 years of age and the only boy present. We played ‘Postman’s Knock’ and through connivance I was continuously called outside to kiss each of the girl ‘postmen’. I was not interested in the opposite sex and was quite embarrassed. I never had a steady girlfriend until I met the girl I married.

Once Dad and I moved to Islington, I would travel on the Friday evening directly from school to Greenford in order to spend the weekend with Mum and my two sisters. I continued to attend both scouts and youth club meetings, but only infrequently. I shared the bedroom of Mum’s unmarried brother, my Uncle Albert. Uncle Charlie had been conscripted into the Royal Army and also married Eileen in 1946 and no longer lived at home. Dad used to collect us all from Nanny’s house on Sunday morning and our Sundays were little different from what they had been before we moved into central London, except that Dad and I would travel back to Islington together. As in the days when we had lived in our family home in Bourne View, we would walk the girls back to Nanny Rosam’s home and then Dad and I would travel by bus back to Islington, always on the top deck, because I enjoyed watching people about their business in the thoroughfares below. The journey took a little longer than by train, which I didn’t mind because I desired Dad’s companionship more than any other person. Having been denied fatherhood for so many years, I hungered for restored relationships. I knew that Dad suffered the same longing for family companionship that I yearned for.

Grandad Trixie Droy was a charismatic figure, always immaculately and expensively dressed in a smart suit. A portly 60 year old man with black hair and a ready grin, he had an eye for the ladies and spent little or no time in his own home and he didn’t lift a finger to help Granny. He was the ‘patriach’ of the Droy’s, just as I became the patriach on his death. Cissie Droy spent her days, in her slippers, working hard to keep ahead of all the household chores that needed attending to. This is a characteristic that I have inherited from her, even now friends are mystified over my wearing slippers when outside of our home. Occasionally she would dress up in her ‘glad-rags’ and accompanied by her daughter, my Aunt Lizzie, would visit the Star PH, on the intersection of Noel St and St Peter’s St, where Grandad ended his evening in this small pub 200 metres (m) from our home and about the same distance from the home in which Mum grew up in, at 13 Provence Street. At the higher end of St Peter’s Street, about 1,000 m long was Islington Green, where the Collins Music Hall was located. Phyllis Dixie and Gypsy Rose Lee were two of the regular performing acts, who, amongst others, disrobed on the stage. In those days naked women were only allowed to pose motionless, like an artist’s model. Grandad was ever present, always sitting in the front row, with his racing binoculars around his neck! St Peters Street ended at the Star PH and became Wharf Road, some 1,000 m long, which ran into City Road, just a two minute walk away from Petticoat Lane Market where Dad often took me on Sunday mornings, when I was not at Greenford. I was amazed at the number of people he knew throughout the district. He always answered my question of, ‘How do you know that person Dad?’ with ‘Oh that’s a cousin of mine’, or, ‘I went to school with him.’

The houses on the opposite side of the street in which Mum grew up in, were hit by cluster bombs and turned into ruins during one bombing raid and the houses which backed on to them in Noel Road were also destroyed. The LCC had not cleared this bomb site and this unsightly yet unrestricted area became my playground. My derring-do from my exploits in Yorkshire were repeated. Sufficient to record here that in my playing, I daily walked or ran across the third story brickwork that had been exposed following the removal of the roof trusses after the fires caused by the bombing had been extinguished. I remember that this play area only looked clean when it was covered in snow, which melted very quickly!

Four of Grandad Droy’s six sons worked for him in his business as a turf accountant, travelling to the various horse and dog tracks around the country. My Uncle Reggie was the youngest son, and lived away from home in digs. Reggie was single and only a few years older than myself (although he was the first of the brothers to die. I spent more time in his company than with any of my other uncles. Quite frankly, none of them put themselves out to show that they loved me. As Christmas was approaching I thought I would demonstrate what I thought of their indifference by buying each of them something and tell them it was an early present as I didn’t want to risk buying presents at the last moment! Some of them were shamed into giving me some money but this generosity was never repeated. Uncle Frankie was the eldest child of the family. He and my Auntie Ethel lived three houses away from Granny Droy’s house and although they had children of my age, we didn’t play much together and I was not often invited around to their house. Frankie had a ‘steady’ job which did not allow him the freedom to help very often in the family business. Uncle Tommy was separated from his wife and lived with my grand-parents. Uncle Johnny like Uncle George was married, but did not have any children at this time. Both Johnny and George lived in London, but in adjoining postal districts to Islington. Most of my great uncles were barrow boys operating in Petticoat Lane and Chapel Street market. Grandad’s brother, Harry Droy, ran the boxing promotions at Caledonian Road Baths, Islington. It would be true to say that Dad’s family knew the seamier side of life.

My grand-parent’s home was a four-storied terraced house and Granny Droy’s family occupied the basement and ground floor area. Whilst Aunt Lizzie lived with her husband Lennie Bellamy and their two children (both younger than I) in the top two stories. Initially I had to sleep head to feet between Dad and my Uncle Tommy, which was not to nacceptable conditions as standard. The water used for cleaning crockery and metal cooking pans was poured into a ‘slop’ bucket after use, in which it congealed into a greasy mess. When the bucket was full it was carried down several flights of stairs and the contents flushed down the toilet, which was installed in the basement. I came to really hate the circumstances I found myself living in. The house had no bathroom, nor central heating, which was common at that time. Once a week I bathed in a zinc bath in front of the kitchen fire, into which Granny periodically poured further kettles-full of hot water. Initially I was embarrassed undressing in front of Granny, but she was very considerate and always busied herself until I was submerged. Once I came under the supervision of my Aunt Lizzie, my cousin Evelyn (Auntie Lizzie’s eldest child), who was two years younger than I, was allowed to share bath nights with me, I protested at this intrusion on my privacy. Perhaps Evelyn’s curiosity concerning my body was natural, but I felt uncomfortable with this turn of events. My objections went unheeded, until I told Dad of my embarrassment. He understood my feelings and from then on, once a week I was sent along to the Theberton Road public bathhouse, where everybody in the neighbourhood went for their weekly bath. Looking back our home life in Islington, it was primitive by comparison to our home life at Greenford, where we had a bathroom with running hot water, and a front and back garden.

Each house in St Peters Street had a cast-iron circular coal-hole cover built into the pavement at the street level immediately above the coal cellar, into which coal deliveries were poured through into the coal-cellar below. The coal had to be shovelled from the coal cellar, into a coal scuttle and carried through the lounge into the kitchen, where there was always a warm fire. Keeping the basement rooms heated meant continuously stoking the fire in the kitchen and the living room, which involved constant refilling of the coal scuttle. It was back breaking labour for Granny, who was always complaining to me that none of the men in the house ever filled the coal scuttle unless shamed into doing so. During the cold and wintry weather no room in the house was warm. All the family huddled around the fire place. When I had to answer the doorbell or make a call of nature, it took ages for my blood to warm up again! Today’s background central heating may not be as inviting as a coal fire, but it sure produces a cleaner, warmer and less labour intensive environment to the times I experienced as a child, although I still enjoy sitting in front of a natural fire. The wash-house (laundry room in modern parlance) was entered through the kitchen, where Granny ‘blued’ and boiled the washing, before mangling and pegging the laundered clothing out to dry on the line in the small bricked-in back yard, very hard work for a frail old lady, remembering what I have written about stoking the fires and cleaning the resulting ash from all surfaces in the house.

I was an avid reader of comics. The owner of the local corner shop operated an exchange system for which he made a small charge. I became adept in stealing comics by inserting another comic into the pages of the comic I was about to purchase. My deception was soon discovered, but I protested my innocence and the episode was soon forgotten. My earlier escapade had not taught me anything. Uncle Lennie, like my Grandad, was an independent turf accountant and was totally disinterested in my well-being. Never speaking to me unless he wanted something done and then I was ordered to do whatever chore he had in his mind. He too, like my Grandfather, was a heavy drinking, foul mouthed womaniser. I hardly ever saw Dad and never spent time talking and sharing with him.

Once a week I would be given entrance money to attend the Collins Music Hall (really I was the childminder for my younger cousin Evelyn). This form of entertainment no longer attracted much of a following because usually the theatre was 90% empty, for most families could not afford evening entertainment. There was supposed to be a shortage of food and clothing after the war, though you would not have believed this to be true, from the food we enjoyed at my grand-parents’ home. The Droys and Bellamys did not want for anything, most of the food that I came to know of as being in short supply, appeared on our dining table. Most goods were available on the ‘Black Market’ and my family could afford to buy whatever their perceived needs were. Clothing was rationed at that time, but that did not bother me. However, I was bothered by the rationing of sweets! Each child was entitled to only a 113g in weight per week. On one occasion I bought the one month’s allocation one Saturday morning, and ate the lot by lunch time! I was aware that many of my friends’ parents had little or no money to spend even on food, let alone luxuries, which always made me feel uncomfortable. At no time did I feel better off than or superior in any way to my school friends. I am not sure that the wealth of the Droys was a blessing, for neither of my parents’ families were Christians. Grandad Rosam died at 78 years of age, outliving Grandad Droy by a decade. Nanny Rosam died in her mid 60s, having spent three years in St Alban’s Mental Hospital, in Shenley. Granny Droy was 70 years of age at her death.

On one occasion I was walking with Dad and his brother Tommy through the park, Tommy was hunch-backed due to a childhood illness and shorter than Dad’s 1.6m (5 '3") height. Tommy worked at Highbury Billiard Hall, where he played snooker against the punters for money; a fairly precarious life style. A man stood silently stationary on the pavement in front of us, blocking our passage. He was a well known local villain, named Dummy Snow. Dummy always seemed so menacing to me, probably because of his size, but undoubtedly his broken nose and cauliflower ears, together with a scarred face, which attested to his many fist and razor fights, completed the picture of a man not to be trifled with. Once Dummy recognised my companions, he acknowledged them deferentially, by standing respectfully to one side, nodding his head and raising his hand in salute. As we passed him by, the brothers both unsmilingly answered ‘Hello Dummy’ without breaking stride.

Eventually, the new school term that I had been dreading duly started. Prior to the term commencing my Granny bought me my first pair of long trousers to wear to school. I felt very self conscious, but nobody passed any comment and I quickly overcame my embarrassment. The boys at the Tudor Rose Secondary Modern School, in the main were rough and coarse and not very bright. I was the brightest child in the class, but because we were taught at the speed of the slowest among us, I did not learn anything new in the academic year. I was always called out to the front of the class to narrate stories aloud to my classmates. My teacher maintained that I could read aloud better than he could. In the eyes of the teachers I had achieved my potential. I attained the highest marks of my age group following the end of year test, but I don’t believe I learned very much during that academic year. I wondered if perhaps my studies at the Horsenden Road School had been blessed by high calibre teachers, or whether, because I was unsettled when away from our family home, my interest in understanding new insights became less important. My family never encouraged me to succeed academically Natural acumen was held in higher regard than book learning. I did initiate and supervise the school library single handedly whilst at secondary school, which introduced me to classical books and to the Encyclopaedia Britannica and increased my appetite to learn more. I was very studious, but with no ambition or inclination to push myself forward. My father’s absence for the duration of the war, my evacuation followed by the family break-up and then moving to Islington, had been very traumatic and deeply scarred my future life. I was recommended for and awarded a place, at the Northern Polytechnic following an interview, the result of which was that I was accepted into the highest intake class without taking the written test, that all other potential candidates had to take. It was at this time that I became interested in the smutty side of sex as an adolescent. I read salacious books and paid attention to the graffiti which was scrawled everywhere and stimulated my fertile imagination. The ‘Poly’ was a trade training school, that I attended for the remaining three years of my school days. During my first year at the polytechnic, I received tuition in painting and decorating, carpentry and joinery, plumbing and heating, and bricklaying. After one academic year my teachers on checking my year’s results, decided which stream of the building industry I was best suited to. I was streamed into the trade of plumbing and heating. A normal school curriculum was pursued, but we also spent time on building sites and had tuition in preparing technical drawings. I managed to maintain a place in the senior stream each year but I did not have the ambition or the need to succeed drive exhibited by my classmates. Once my second years class work had been assessed, and during my final school year, I was one of 13 boys from a school numbering 200 students, selected to study architecture with the view to continue study into further education at university.

I was always glad to visit Mum at weekends, mainly because I had a break away from Aunt Lizzie’s vituperative tongue. She said such horrible things about my mother and poisoned my mind against her. She also coached me to learn swear words and repeat them to Mum’s new boyfriend, later to become my stepfather. Following my return Lizzie would interrogate me over what took place over the weekend. I developed a distressed mindset over the mental cruelty. I was exposed to threatened violence by Lizzie, when I tearfully sobbed I would tell Dad of the mental cruelty to which I was subjected. Many of my readers will, by this stage, consider that I had suffered an unfortunate start to my life. I believe it was all predestined by God to develop and equip me for future service. I pray that I am able to finish my task (race) successfully. On the Sundays when Dad did not visit my sisters, I returned to Islington alone. It was always dark when I arrived at the Angel tube station, because it was quite late in the evening. I steeled myself to walk through the unlit and deserted park, which I always hurried through. One never heard of muggings, rapes or murders in those days and although I was fearful, I never told anyone of my fears, for I was still hopeful of seeing our family restored. I would not have been allowed to travel alone if Dad had known of my anxiety.

Lizzie often took her children over to the Star PH where they were given treats of lemonade and crisps. I was taken along if the weather was warm when we could play outside the pub, at which times I was made responsible for the safety and well-being of my younger cousins. During the inclement evenings when it was so cold or wet my cousins were permitted to sit in the pub with their parents, I was left at home and an excuse was found to send me to bed. I was quite frightened on the occasions I was alone, during the long winter evenings, when the weather was wildly windy. In the silence, that followed a noisy gust, the empty house creaked eerily, my imagination led me to believe that I could hear the soft tread of a burglar’s foot on the stairs. I had to summon up all my courage during such evenings to visit the toilet in the basement, which I delayed as long as possible. I was fearful of negotiating two dark landings and passing several doors, from which a nefarious burglar might jump out and overpower me. Dad returned home one Saturday evening at 7.00 pm and was surprised to find me in my pyjamas in bed, and was concerned that I may have been unwell. I was alone in the house, as was often the case, Lizzie having given me my tea, took her two children to Dad’s brother Reggie’s wedding party and sent me to bed. Lizzie obviously did not know that Dad would come home from the dog-track early to freshen up prior to attending the party. It was my good fortune that Dad decided, as an afterthought, to check my bedroom to ensure that I had already left with Lizzie and her children. On my assuring him that I was not ill, I then had to explain why I had not gone to the wedding party with Lizzie and her two children. I broke down in a flood of tears, confessed that I was miserably unhappy, my loneliness and all my frustrations came tumbling out. I had not spent much time with Dad, who like his own father, was at home very little. Dad insisted I accompanied him to the party. I was reluctant because I knew that Lizzie would make me suffer for what she would see as disobedience. Lizzie’s face was a picture when she saw me walk in with Dad. I do believe that if Dad had not looked in my bedroom, Lizzie would have told him I had a temperature or some such tale and my unhappiness would have continued. I never did learn what Dad said to Lizzie, but they must have had an argument for Dad decided that we should return to our home in Greenford. I was elated for this decision meant that I would have more time to share with Dad. Our daily travelling in and out of central London committed Dad to an extra 2½ hours away from home and it was fairly costly to travel for him, but he never complained.

I was fortunate in that I was granted a free educational season ticket, in order to continue my studies. The train I travelled on every morning to school, for the two years I attended the Northern Polytechnic, stopped at 17 railway stations between Sudbury Hill and Holloway Road. The journey lasted an hour, with a quarter of an hours walking to and from our home and the tube station. I must have been one of the earliest commuters! I enjoyed the one-hour tube train ride, as Dad always travelled most of the journey in my company, I revelled in Dad’s company. Dad was able to buy a reduced priced weekly workman’s ticket, because he was travelling before 7.30 am. Dad could have delayed his own travelling arrangements by a couple of hours, but he knew how much I appreciated the time spent in his company. He changed trains at Kings Cross Station to the Northern Line, whilst I continued on the Piccadilly Line train to Holloway Road Station. Although I lived farther from school than any of the other children, I was always the first person to arrive in the playground. My early arrival meant I always played in one of the two opposing sides at cricket or football, depending on the season. Play was halted only when the whistle was blown for assembly at 9 am. Dad spent most morning, around his mothers house, making arrangements for transporting all the paraphernalia needed to run a mobile betting shop to the race track, where the stall would be positioned. After an early lunch Dad would catch a bus to arrive at Waterloo Station, in time to receive the first editions of the ‘Star’, ‘News’ and ‘Standard’. There was always great demand for all three editions of these newspapers. He often ‘sold out’ before the later editions were delivered.

The return journey home from school also passed quickly, as I used to complete quite a lot of my homework on the tube train. Quite often in the winter, it took longer to return home owing to the ‘pea-soupers’ (fogs), that London suffered. Smog often proved deadly to the old and frail, but to me returning to an empty house it was just another depressant. I would light a fire and get myself some tea, before completing my studies. Dad returned home at about 7.30pm when he would cook a meal for us both. We owned a television (tv) set as early as 1946, but there were not many televised programmes in those days, whilst the radio was a constant source of pleasure. I spent a great deal of time studying, to escape the trap of boredom and loneliness. I always waited up for Dad, on the three evenings of the week, (including Saturday) when he did not return home until midnight. We would have a short conversation concerning the events of the day whilst we shared a pot of tea, during which time we bagged up all the small change Dad had received in his daily taking at the newspaper pitch. It gives me pain to admit that I regularly stole small sums of money from Dad’s waistcoat pockets, about 10 shillings (50p) a week. For years I suffered with a troubled conscience due to this aberration. It wasn’t until I had children of my own that I confessed my crime to my father and asked for forgiveness. Dad made light of my failure by saying that all kids stole as part of the growing-up phenomena, and there was nothing for him to forgive. My heart and conscience were so greatly relieved by this absolution. I now think that this episode is a good illustration of God forgiving His truly repentant children. With my funds, which I am sure Dad would have given to me if I had only asked, I used to buy drinks and cakes in a café before I went into the school playground and had enough over on occasions to sneak off classes and visit the cinema in the afternoon. I was the register monitor and the register was not given to the teacher to check those attending on the occasions that I skipped lessons. Dad had fought throughout the North African Desert Campaign, as a sergeant in a tank regiment, without sustaining injury. Many of his regiment lost their lives or a limb throughout the various campaigns. Dad and I shared a bed, quite often he would recall his wartime experiences in charge of a tank crew. But mostly he would agonise over the cruel hand of fate over his life. Dad believed his fatherhood ed and the weather became warmer, my enthusiasm for attending scouts, youth club and church re-awakened. As a boy scout, I had thought of myself as a Christian, for I lived in what I had been led to believe was a Christian country. I had never received satisfactory answers to my questions on obscure Bible passages at Sunday school or confirmation classes. I could see no reason to continue attending church four times each Sunday. My best friend Peter Perryman, in whose company I spent much time, persuaded me to join his Sunday morning football team for the under 18 years of age league matches. It was a very good standard of play and I enjoyed a game that I had not had much involvement in before, other than as a spectator. I had a natural aptitude for the game and was always selected to play. Our team included two youth internationals and some other players who were on the books of professional teams. Peter’s parents were very good at whist and taught us teenagers the skill of playing cards during the long summer evenings of 1948 and 1949. After we had improved our game well enough to explain the reason why we had played a certain card, in response to the game plan opened up,they felt we would be confident enough to attend whist drives, where we often received praise for our knowledge of the game plan.

Mum remarried on 22nd July 1949, I refused to attend the wedding. She moved to Plymouth with her new husband and my two sisters, Dad and I then shared our weekends together without distraction. Invariably on the Saturday we would visit the home of Dad’s parents for lunch, before watching a football match at White Hart Lane, or Highbury. On Sunday morning I played football whilst Dad cleaned the house and prepared lunch. During Sunday evening we would listen to the radio or watch TV together. I could have played football on Sundays and continued to attended evening services, but I felt it better to make a total break from my former routine. Mum wrote to me regularly and although I had not visited her during the Easter half term, she was most insistent that I visited her during the long summer vacation. Dad had been living an unfulfilled life for four years at this time. Together we faced the fact that at almost 16 years of age I could never have the family life I yearned after. Dad said he believed I would be happier if I lived permanently with my mother and sisters and took his place as head of his house. In my heart I knew that Dad would prefer to move back into Islington, to save on the expense and time taken by commuting. Dad was also being badgered by his family because Uncle Reggie was shortly to marry and wanted to take over the tenancy of our home. I would not willingly move back into Islington, although Dad arranged that if I chose to, we could have continued to live in the house with Reggie and Pat, following the completion of my final term at school, whilst continuing to commute daily into London for my degree course. I was shortly to sit the entrance examination of the College of Preceptors. I now believe that I was afraid of not passing, as well as hating the quandary in which I found myself. On reflection I acted stupidly. I reasoned that if I moved to Plymouth, Dad would have a more agreeable way of life. I could not bear to think that I was a burden to him, and I really hated the thought of extending my commuting to yet another school of learning by a further three years. I felt quite embarrassed at my last Monday morning school assembly when I was called to the podium. The headmaster said I would be sorely missed at the school, particularly by the cricket team, as I had caught or bowled six of the opposing team out on the previous Saturday and had amassed the highest individual amount of runs and had been declared as the ‘man of the match’.

As a teenager I collected stamps, but because I had few friends of my age to swap my duplicates with, I was never passionate about this hobby, which I often dropped for months on end and returned to later. During the 1948 Olympic games held at Wembley Stadium, I collected cigarette packets and matchbox covers, that were of different design. On cycling up to the stadium each evening I always found quite a few foreign packets discarded by spectators. Albert took me to the opening of the Olympiad, he had been given free tickets for almost every day of competition, owing to his job. Albert was working as a telephonist at Alperton when the switchboard had been operated manually. The automatic exchange was introduced just before the Games started, but the manual system was retained to allow an especial facility between the organisers of the Games and their many links to keep events running smoothly. Albert was the personal connector between clients (have you dear reader had recourse to use that archaic manual telephone system?). I developed a habit of regularly going to the cinema and buying magazines about the life styles of movie stars. I was familiar with all the latest releases of films in which my favourite stars had appeared and which film they were currently appearing in and who their co-stars were. It was this interest that resulted in my starting an album of autographed photographs of film stars. At one stage I had a collection of over 300, which I passed on to my sisters eventually. It was at this time that I developed my one and only crush and it was for an older woman, Esther Williams, the Olympic swimming star. I was infatuated by her! I had no interest in girls. My only interest was the pursuit of knowledge and sport. As a hobby I cut out action pictures of sporting events from newspapers and pasted them into a scrap-book. I had become very much a loner, particularly after our first summer back in our own house in 1947, when Dad caught me with my older friends scrumping fruit from our own back garden, on his early return from a race meeting that evening at Wimbledon which had been unexpectedly cancelled. Dad didn’t punish me but teased me for years over my gullibility in telling the older boys that he wouldn’t be home for hours.

I had no wish for the high life, I enjoyed school routine and my sporting interests. I was a quiet lad, not wanting to attract attention in any way. When crew-cut hair styles were fashionable, I kept the traditional style of short back and sides. Teddy boy hair style and Edwardian suits, brothel-creepers and winkle-picker shoes were all the rage during the early 1950s. I was not interested in being fashionable or wearing designer labelled clothing. At no time did it cross my mind to have my skin tattooed, or my nose or ear pierced in order to wear a stud or any other jewellery. I had no desire to own a motor bike or a car, being contented with travelling by bus or bicycle. I guess that I was a very ordinary boy, who had missed much of the joy of a normal upbringing. I had not had an idyllic childhood, but it could have been much worse. Perhaps in a funny kind of way, I went through a similar process to many children who had lost their father or been bombed-out (made homeless) during the war, as they came to terms with growing up. I was conscious of the fathers of other families who had served overseas during the war, contentedly resuming their pre-war life. All that had happened in my situation was that I had exchanged my mother for my father. In effect I was raised in a one parent family tragically missing out on God’s best designs for families. This chapter is about a lonely boy, who yearned for a normal family upbringing; during a war that had beggared our nation, costing the country dearly in terms of broken families’ through both death and divorce. It was only later in my life that I became aware that no citizen is exempt from the expediency of its elected government. Each country is entrusted to the government it deserves.

My earlier dream of a restoration of our family had turned to ashes. I did not have any possessions only some changes of clothing, which I packed in a suitcase on moving to Plymouth. My school days were over, except for compulsory night school attendance in support of my apprenticeship. For a few weeks I attended a few Sunday morning services at an Anglican Church in Salisbury Road, the street in which my family then lived. Mostly those attending, were pensioners and being only a teenager; we had little in common. Unlike my previous church, which had been well heated and well attended, this church was unheated and damp and therefore unwelcoming, in a mausoleum of a place. I decided that my attendance at Church was irrelevant. Until we moved house I became a member of the Boys Brigade, which was affiliated to the Methodist church (adjoining our basement flat), it was a more modern church and was at least more user-friendly. Mum allowed me to enjoy the summer holiday, but just prior to my two sisters returning to school, she enquired whether I intended to permanently live with her in Plymouth, or return to London to live with Dad. I told her that I had decided to live with them, but I didn’t tell her I had left school early having already made my decision. I don’t remember if I even told her of the entrance exam I had been groomed to sit. I really did not want to be a plumber, but I had no success in the several office and factory jobs I applied for and agreed that I should look for a job as an apprentice plumber. I successfully applied for a position as an indentured apprentice plumber with John Ford Ltd, a plumbing and heating firm.

At the age of 16 years, I had been sharing the only bedroom in the flat with my two sisters, aged 13 years and 10 years, whilst Mum’s double bed was in our lounge. Within a year of my moving to Plymouth, my family unsurprisingly were allocated a council house within a new council estate under construction at Whitleigh, near Crownhill, five miles from the city centre where my firm’s headquarters (HQ) was based in Park Street (which was later demolished in the redevelopment of the city centre). Our new three bedroomed, centrally heated house at 12 Dorchester Avenue, was of a Cornish Unit construction and was luxurious compared with our former flat. After we moved I ceased attending the Boys Brigade and never attended church regularly again until I married for the second time.

Initially I made the half an hour journey to work by bus, but the bus fare was four pence half-penny (4½d old money – about 2p new money) each way, which was a princely sum to me when earning less than £2.00 per week. Buses were infrequent and were therefore practically full from terminus to terminus. Quite often I would have to walk home because I was often working at a place mid-way between the two termini. My sister Pat often recounted the tale of her watching me from the front seat of a full bus, carrying her home from school. I was waiting at a request stop vainly attempting to wave the bus to a halt when it became obvious from the sound of the engine that the bus was accelerating and not slowing down. Despite the prospect of a three to four mile walk to endure, I was wearing a wide grin as the bus passed me by. I remember telling Pat that I had thought to myself at the time, ‘Oh well, at least it isn’t raining!’. This tale always caused much laughter, for my cheerful disposition and ear to ear grin was attested to by everyone who knew me. I bought myself a bicycle soon afterwards, which saved me both time and money.

I served a full five year apprenticeship, not realising until three years of service, that because of my time at a trade training school I was entitled to serve an apprenticeship of only four years, also I should have been receiving a higher wage. I was intimidated into submission by my boss with the threat of losing my job if I chose to ask my union to take up my case and chose under threat to accept the situation. One of the earliest contracts I was employed on was at the Western National Bus Depot at Plympton a contract taking several weeks to complete to specification. The contract included replacing worn, rusting iron guttering and down pipes with pre-formed asbestos which was believed to be less corrosive and would require little or no maintenance. In those days the injurious effects of asbestos were unknown. Working quite often in confined spaces, it was my job to caulk the joints between material surfaces with an asbestos fibre, which was very friable on the addition of a little water, but hardened like cement when it solidified, completing the bonding. At the end of each working day I was covered with splashes of this mixture from head to foot. Some months later I worked on a contract laying asbestos water mains through several miles of farmers’ land in the Roborough area of Dartmoor, this contract went on for many months. I often reflect that the Lord must have protected me from asbestosis for no one was agitating for the wearing of protective clothing in those days. Whilst attending Plymouth Technical College, I often cut my hands on lead sheeting or tubing, which I regularly worked with in seeking to improve my practical skills for the forthcoming exams. Sometimes I despaired of the infected blood coursing through my body (of which I wrote in Chapter 1) as ever being restored to normal. Once or twice I suffered lead poisoning, the veins of my arms becoming so enlarged and colourful they looked like a modern-day motorway map! I recall on one isolated occasion that I had spent some days painting a protective rust proof paint inside the large water storage tanks of a hospital. I had used an electric light connected to an extension lead, plugged into the main electricity supply, as the main source of light. On refilling the tanks, I stupidly lowered the light bulb on to the surface of the water and watched the bulb ‘swim about’ as I pulled the rubber coated lead first one way and then another. Fortunately I suddenly became aware of the danger of my actions, and I carefully and slowly worked myself to a position of safety. I felt quite shaky at my narrow escape from death. I had been crouching on dry wooden planks which were traversing the galvanised iron tanks. If the planks had been wet, or I had put my hand into the water, or touched the tank, I would have been electrocuted, but I only became aware of the danger later.

During the summer months whilst living in Plymouth, I played cricket for the Plymouth Nondescripts. I was an all-rounder and loved this sport. I played football for the ‘B’ team of Plymouth Argyle Football Club (FC), (the fourth and most junior of teams for the two seasons 1951-53 in the Devon minor counties league) having been recommended to the manager Jimmy Rae, by the manager of the Sunday League team in London that I had previously played for. I was overawed at sharing a dressing room with international players such as Jack Chisholm, (England) Billy Strauss (South Africa), and Bill Short (Wales) who played for the premier team. I neither managed to break into professional league football, nor move into a senior squad, although I did play representative football for Devon, as a member of the National Association of Boys Clubs. On match days when I had not been selected to play for Plymouth Argyle, I played for the Virginia House under 18 years football team. I arranged a friendly match between my former London-based team (the name of which I have forgotten), at Gunnersbury Park (near Hammersmith) over the following Easter holiday weekend.

Our coach party slept at the Clapham deep shelters that Saturday night. Dad, accompanied by a lady named Joan, came to watch the game. Afterwards they took me to London Zoo, where Dad actually asked for my approval of his intended proposal of marriage. I was so pleased to give my assent. At least I had guessed correctly that Dad would enjoy a more fulfilled life if he did not have to worry about my upbringing. The Registry Office wedding was held on the 26th April 1952, when Joan became Dad’s adoring wife. I didn’t attend the ceremony, I wish that I had, but the journey to London took four hours by steam train and was expensive on my low wage. Dad had sold the paper pitch and was working for Lennie in his Betting Office in Kings Cross Road and had set up home with Joan in the flat over the stationery and sweet shop that Lizzie was now running in St Peters Street. I did visit Dad and Joan quite regularly, although not as often as I would have liked. Later they had two daughters, Vivienne and Denise and they were a very happy family for 22 years until Dad’s death through emphysema. Dad’s health deteriorated until he reached a time when he could no longer climb the two flights of stairs to get to his home. They had to move to two other third floor flats before they were allocated a ground floor flat in a new high-rise block in Packington Square, where his family enjoyed the remainder of their time together. Joan had to move to a new flat in Popham Road, after Dad died Both my natural parents died of smoke related illnesses and Joan died through an asthma related condition, in1989.

At the age of 17, I became curious in supernatural phenomena, in crossing the divide between the living and the dead. My interest in psychic phenomena was aroused by reading an article in the Sunday newspaper, ‘The News of the World’, about Harry Edwards, the spiritualist faith healer. I bought psychic magazines and looked for spiritual enlightenment, through the Spiritualist Church and experimented with faith healing, spirit writing and emptying my mind of thought, in order that I could be more receptive to spiritual vibrations. I clearly remember on the 2nd June 1952, being invited to the home of Alf Screech, the plumber under whom I was working as an apprentice at the time, to watch on TV the special public holiday celebrations on the occasion of Queen Elizabeth’s Coronation. Having watched the ceremony on TV, we played cards until enjoying a late tea. Once we had cleared the table of our dirty crockery, it was decided to hold a seance as part of the fun. Alf’s parents were spirit mediums and held seances in their home every week. A spirit guide manifested itself as a Chinese mandarin, with arms loosely folded, bowing his head repeatedly, smiling at me whilst addressing me. I was told that the material trappings of life, particularly money and success, would be my prime interest, but that at about my 50th year, I would walk through the heavenly gates of gold and silver, as my spiritual life took a change of direction. This prophecy was fulfilled, for I was almost 50 years of age when I became a born again believer. It does seem strange to me that the spirit guide did not lie, nor curse me, but could in fact only bless me, with the message of promise that his medium delivered (similar in fact to Balaam not being able to curse the Israelites, Numbers Ch 22 to Ch 24). However, on reflection, perhaps I was being told that my life was not sanctified and that I would remain a subject of Satan until I repented and was born again, thereby changing the spirit guide’s words into a subtle curse. My own spirit guide was an American Indian named Silver Birch or so I was told. I was also told that if I developed the habit of staring transfixed at a mirror and emptied my mind of all thoughts, after a minute or so my face would change into an image of this guide. I was willing to try anything, but I did not experienced any kind of manifestation, mainly because I sensed that such behaviour would be unwise. Alf also introduced me to picnic days on the beach, which was great fun and new to my experience, even though I had lived only a few miles from the sea during the two previous summers. I had declined previous invitations to attend the weekly seances at the home of the Screeches, but following my intriguing introduction I did occasionally attend, more out of friendship than interest.

At 18 years of age I became interested in ballroom dancing, but attending dances and having dancing lessons proved to be expensive. I needed a larger income to finance my new hobby. I worked overtime on Saturdays in order to earn extra money and gave up playing in football matches. Perhaps I should have persevered. In time I may have become a full-time professional with Plymouth Argyle, but the effort didn’t seem worth the slog, with so many other gifted players on the club’s books. The wages were at that time only £8 per week, no higher than my wages as a plumber and the prospects of a career in football were uncertain. Even at that time all players were advised to insure themselves against sports injury, for fear of receiving a crippling injury that would result in being laid off work. Due to the sustained practising of dribbling with the ball at my feet whilst running and jinking, passing the ball repeatedly from foot to foot to improve my control, I had become pigeon toed! It was not long before I had corrected my gait. I enjoyed attending the dancing studio and quickly made some new friends. I overcame my shyness with girls, but not my self consciousness over my ‘gappy’ wide grin. The school of dance which I attended organised a coach trip to Torquay where the Devon and Cornwall Open Dance Championships were held. I was surprised to see Mr Johns, my plumbing instructor from the College of Arts and Technology, with his wife as his partner, competing in the preliminary rounds. Having watched from the gallery as one of an appreciative audience, ecstatically clapping the wonderfully executed syncopated dance routines exhibited, I determined that I would venture further than Mr Jones into the heats, in later years and so events proved.

I knew of the Bobbie Cooper School of Dance, to where most Plymouth couples who were interested in competitive dancing gravitated. Finding an unattached attractive dance partner, prepared to enter into a platonic relationship in order to practice dance routines for four or five evenings a week, proved to be very difficult. Pam was a sophisticated young lady, three years older than myself and was employed by a firm of solicitors as a private secretary. I always made a bee-line for her when the next dance was announced and tried regularly and unsuccessfully to persuade her to be my full-time dancing partner. I chased Pam so persistently that rather than be embarrassed by my unwanted attention she stopped coming to the dance studio. I thought her refusal to accept my overtures was owing to my larger than life approach to circumstances or my uneven toothy grin, which was the reason I decided to have the remaining chipped front tooth removed. This tooth had grown unevenly in the space meant for two teeth. I was pleased with my new denture, I felt more confident in my appearance. Whilst at a dance in the Spa Ballroom in Torquay, I met Barbara, a very pretty and talented girl who lived in Newton Abbot. Barbara was also searching for a permanent competitive dance partner with whom to enter into dance tournaments. We decided to team up and we worked hard over six months at developing our combined skills, achieving some small success. Because of the hour of travelling it took for either of us to make the journey to the others home town, our practising was limited to weekends only. Achieving a higher placing in a tournament than Mr and Mrs Johns was the highlight of this brief relationship

Pam started attending the dance studio again after an absence of some months. Once again I tried to persuade her to become my dancing partner, she was finally persuaded by other dancers, friends of many years standing, (who had witnessed my own improvement over a short time) to try out her own undoubted but untried competitive dance skills with myself as her partner. Pam allowed herself to be persuaded. Like myself, Pam had proven her individual skills in passing the gold medal award for individual ballroom dancing. Pam and I often travelled to the Hammersmith Palais in London for dancing lessons from Wally Friar, a former world dance champion. Wally believed Pam and I had the qualities to become his professional successors. We always arranged our dance lesson in London to coincide with a dance competition, for all the top dancers and would-be aspirants like ourselves competed. I was too overawed to speak to those we competed against, but mostly they were friendly and helpful. Pam would have a fitting for a new ball gown, made by a top fashion designer during our weekend trip, when she would stay with family friends, whilst I stayed with Dad and Joan. I avidly read dance magazines repeatedly and recognised most other competitors from pictures printed of them in magazines either dancing or collecting their prizes for their success in competitions. Neither of us were romantics, we never went to restaurants for candlelit dinners, picnic lunches on the beach was our idea of fun. I am afraid I never developed the habit of giving chocolates or flowers as presents, probably because of my frugal upbringing. I often used to walk several miles home from a late dance as I could not afford the taxi fare. Pam and I enjoyed going to the beach on Sunday, where she introduced me to her circle of non dancing friends. Over a period of time our platonic relationship deepened and developed romantically with our constant companionship. One married couple, Les and Margaret Cardew, whom Pam had known since her school days held weekly ouija board sessions, at which they summoned up friends who had died. Les and Margaret had other friends who held weekly seances, which I attended over a few months, but Pam, because she was a practising Roman Catholic, chose not to accompany me. I learned that everyone had an aura and my aura was coloured blue or turquoise which identified me as having portrayed healing power. Certainly my mother believed in my gifting, she always claimed she felt better after I had prayed for her. Over many years, whenever my mother was sick, she asked me to lay hands on her and pray for her healing, or release from pain. After I married and moved abroad, she still asked me to lay hands on her ‘in absentia’ and even that worked!

Having completed my five years as an indentured apprentice plumber, my entry into the RAF was further delayed whilst Pam and I took part in the Devon and Cornwall Open Amateur Ballroom Dance Championships. We were delighted to dance our way into the Grand Finals at our first and only attempt. We had been dancing partners for only two years and had become the top exponents in Plymouth of modern dance, but once we married and moved to Malta, our situation changed. No couple would dance against us, but instead wanted us to teach them all the latest dance routines! We were regarded as exhibition dancers, a situation we had grown accustomed to, but not an area in which we had ever been approached by dance hall managers or studios to perform in. We would please the others attending dances by dancing exhibition routines, but our efforts were very low key and not for reward. I would not have asked Pam to marry me so soon into our relationship if it had not been for the inducement of an extra six shillings a day pay award that married servicemen were paid. I wish we had waited longer, I always felt that I had married for the wrong reason.

Pam’s parents, Frank and Muriel Tunstall were the proprietors of The Ferry Hotel PH, which they had managed for almost 20 years having been licensees for most of their married lives. The dockland area of Devonport in which the pub was located was very seedy, but some real characters frequented the pub. Frank and Muriel were nominal Roman Catholics and paid for Pam’s private education at a Catholic Convent school. Since Pam’s schooldays she had regularly attended services of worship in Mount Pleasant Catholic Church, where we married on 4th February 1956 during the leave period granted, following the completion of my basic military training (square bashing!) at RAF Bridgenorth. We had planned to marry on the 29th of January but were told I could not leave the unit prior to all other personnel of my intake departing. I even arranged an interview with the chaplain to plead on compassionate grounds, but all in vain. However it appeared that on being given an overseas posting, different rules applied and I was sent on embarkation leave prior to the unit’s dispersion. It had proven unnecessary and expensive to alter our wedding plans, but we had no choice. Our wedding ceremony was a shortened version of the full Catholic wedding service, because I was not of that faith. I also had to promise that I would not interfere with the upbringing in the Catholic tradition of any children from our marriage. Once we married I never again attended a spiritualist church, or played the ouija board. I found both the Church and spiritualism to be of no further interest to me.

On arrival in Malta on the 9th February I was posted for trade training as a pay clerk to RAF Luqa. For the two months before Pam joined me I had lived in a barrack-room dormitory on the camp. My recreation times were taken up between playing cards and sport. I started playing football again and quickly regained my former enthusiasm. During the evenings I would accompany friends to a nearby dance studio for relaxation. The studio had no dance instructor and because of my obvious ability, I was approached to become the official instructor. Before long I was giving individual lessons and most of my free time was given over to teaching, for which I received payment, but automatically I had forfeited my amateur status. On Pam’s arrival, we moved into a one-bedroom flat on the top floor of a block of four flats also occupied by servicemen’s families, in an area named Marsa. When the cricket season started, I was selected to play for the Administration Wing team as I had been for the football team, and I played on each Thursday (which was ‘sports afternoon’) until I was posted to RAF Takali some 15 months later.

Perhaps because I was not a ‘shift’ worker, I was detailed to become a permanent member of the Guard of Honour, formed to parade before visiting dignitaries, and occasionally to fire a rifle salute at funeral services. I well remember practising the ceremonial drill prior to the Queen’s birthday parade at the parade ground in Floriana with the other armed services in 1956. The military services of Britain paraded in Floriana and marched through the city streets of the capital Valletta for the march-past salute at the ceremony of the city keys being bestowed on Her Majesty’s (HM) Services through Queen Elizabeth’s emissary. I was the right hand ‘marker’ on the front rank of six men and was the only man who did not respond to the ‘eyes right’ order, so that our column did not deviate from our course. My companions in the ‘other ranks’ at these times were all Church of England (C of E’s), however on the occasion of Station parades, all RCs and Jews, were ordered to ‘fall out’, whilst the padre offered a prayer to the God whom the rest of us on parade presumably worshipped. The padre’s prayer meant nothing to me at all. Shift worker or not, for several weeks after my arrival I was detailed to take part in night patrols around the camp and airfield. General Nasser of Egypt had the temerity to ‘liberate’ the Suez Canal from control of what was left of the British Empire and there was much talk of war. Within a few weeks of regular night patrols, a dog patrol team was sent out from the UK and my part in the likely war was over.

Initially our aspirations had been to save up as much money as possible, in order to finance a mortgage on my demobilisation when I intended to take up my trade again. I decided to sign on for 12 years service in the RAF because the pay I received as a long term serviceman was greater than I could earn as a plumber and I was enjoying my change of occupation, not to mention the lovely climate of Malta. I had also received the added inducement of a £100 gratuity for signing on. Over the Easter of 1957 I was given a free flight to the United Kingdom (UK) in an RAF Shackleton aircraft which was in need of a specialist refit. I returned to Malta on a commercial air flight after my two weeks leave. During my leave period in the UK. I had intended to buy a motor car (with the money I had saved from teaching dancing). Unfortunately, on arrival at the London office of the Ford Motor Company, I was required to sign a document agreeing to my arranging for the car’s immediate shipment to Malta, whereas I had intended to leave it garaged in England, until returning from my posting. Although I could have lied and escaped detection I felt uneasy in proceeding with my earlier plans. On the flight back to Malta, the airliner flew over the American Sixth Fleet, which was steaming out to the Suez where again Britain was rattling the threatening sabre once again. It was an impressive sight! The cost of my seat was £32 at the time and I confess I was apprehensive of a ballistic attack against our aircraft, which would have meant I had paid to attend my own funeral!

Pam made her intentions clear to me very soon after her arrival in Malta, that she did not want to prepare my breakfast. We did not argue over this matter, although I had always nursed a belief that love could better flourish if all meals were shared together. Pam discussed the subject at a party with an army wife who had long ago refused to cook her husband’s breakfast and recommended Pam to do the same. I was the third member of the tripartite conversation, sipping on our drinks at the time but my views were not sought! We received a letter from Pam’s younger sister Sheila, who had married some time before our marriage, advising us that she was pregnant. Pam’s reaction was jealousy, she also wanted to have a baby, although we had not discussed earlier starting a family. Pam had previously obtained a secretarial position within the RAF Malta HQ administrative system, obliging her to get out of bed at the same time as myself, in order to prepare for her own day’s work. We did have breakfast together from that time, but only until she stopped working later into her pregnancy. During the earliest weeks of Pam’s pregnancy, when suffering morning sickness, she would irritably say that if I wanted more sex than was acceptable to her, then I should look elsewhere for satisfaction. Later, whenever we had a minor altercation,, she would not compromise over our differences but would withdraw sexual favours until I submitted to her conclusions! She would nurse her hurt feelings and I would respond by pretending that I was not bothered by her indifference and I fell into the sin of denial which only exacerbated our problems. I remember that we cohabited six weeks without sex and no other expressions of love. Pam had refused me sex one night, soon after the birth of Leigh and childishly I determined that we would not make love again until she asked me, for what I had previously believed to be joint conjugal rights.

Shortly after ‘signing on’, I volunteered to be posted to a smaller station in Malta, RAF Takali where two of my friends were working in the pay accounts section. There was not the opportunity to play sport at RAF Takali as there had been at RAF Luqa. Takali was a much smaller station and the times of duty on the station were different than those of RAF Luqa and internal unit sports leagues were non-existent. In order to have the weekends free, personnel were ordered to start work at 7.30 am throughout the week and work through the Thursday sports half day. On alternate Wednesday nights I was detailed to sleep on the premises to guard the night safe which housed the pay of the men who served on the outlying signal stations, whose pay I was responsible for calculating and which was distributed on the following day. (I never understood why our officers could not have collected the sum of wages to be distributed from the bank, and deliver it earlier in the day of the pay-parade concerned, - no big deal, that was how we arranged matters at RAF Luqa). My extra duties were totally unjustified, for I was the only married airman in the accounts department, whilst four other airmen of my rank, all of whom were single and living on the campsite., could have shared this duty with me. At every other unit I knew of, the night duties were shared on a roster basis. I was also the Accounts section’s sole member on the funeral party which practised and performed very regularly for surprisingly quite a few personnel died, even when not on active service. One of the non commissioned officers (NCOs) in charge (I/C) of the pay accounts section, through vindictiveness, threatened me with disciplinary action, if I continued to give dancing lessons, forcing my compliance with his orders. My previous section officers at RAF Luqa had not adopted such a tyrannical attitude. The lame excuse given to me was that I was a serviceman for 24 hours of every day and was not allowed to have any other employment. I was just beginning to experience how the ‘old boy’ network could be used to spoil the advancement of my career in the RAF. I regretted my posting to Takali, where I was truly victimised. The only happy memory I have of Takali is that my daughter Kim was born whilst I served there, at the Queen Alexander’s Hospital at M’dina which towered high above RAF Takali and close by. I was dogged in all my subsequent postings by superior ranked people who sought to crush my spirit and who seemingly found satisfaction in inhibiting my aspirations of promotion, by awarding me very negative annual assessments.

Alcohol features very highly as the fuel needed to stimulate a party or to relieve boredom or loneliness for servicemen when off duty and feeling homesick. Amongst the servicemen, bottles of spirits were available very cheaply. The aircrew brought back duty free supplies and wines from some of the countries they flew to and most of the crew were amenable to bringing back extra supplies to order. Pam and I had many aircrew friends who invited us to their parties and of course we hosted our own. Often I would attend stag nights or farewell parties on the occasion of a colleague completing his tour of duty. I drank to excess on most such occasions and confess inebriation, not nightly or even weekly, but more often than was good for my well being. Pam accepted my behaviour because it was intermittent and was common among servicemen overseas. Weekends and during leave periods we spent our days on the beach in the hot sun, bathing in the Mediterranean Sea. We returned to England in August 1958, Kim was two months old and Pam was two months pregnant with our daughter Leigh. Our bodies were well tanned, but because the weather was abysmal during my six weeks disembarkation leave, we were hardly ever able to display our tans on the beaches around Plymouth.

Malta was affectionately known as ‘The Island of smells, bells and pregnant women’! It was certainly an eye-opening experience to accept from my non-religious upbringing. Roman Catholicism was the national religion and the people were very law abiding and hard working. Churches were packed out at every service, which were held several times every day. Those unfortunate to arrive late knelt on the steps leading to the church entrance. It was a common occurrence, during street processions on ceremonial occasions, to witness devotees flagellating themselves in penitence for their sinful lives. The most prevalent way to express sinners’ mortification, was for the mortified to shuffle on their knees in line (as a chained slave might do) behind an icon that was paraded at the head of the procession. A brass band played a suitable mournful dirge, presumably to attract the attention of those engaged in more mundane activities. All public transport and most private cars featured a religious cameo, which included pictures of the Madonna prominently displayed. This was done to ensure that anytime an accident occurred or was narrowly averted, drivers would genuflect to thank the Holy Mary for protecting them from harm. As a side benefit it was believed that would-be thieves would not steal from a car displaying a shrine. Contraception was frowned on by the priesthood and one couldn’t buy any form of birth control from any chemists shop. On one occasion Pam inadvertently left our flat in a sleeveless dress, a policeman sent her home to dress more modestly! When swimming in the sea or sunbathing on the beach, Maltese females, including their young children were fully covered from shoulder to ankle, in a black cotton garment, that went as far as their wrists. They took this precaution for the sake of modesty and in order not to reveal their bare skin, which might provoke the lust of a beach boy.

Two and a half years service in Malta ending in August 1958 was followed by less than a year of service at RAF Innsworth in Gloucestershire, which was followed by a further two and a half years posting to Singapore between June 1959 – December 1961. With the constant comings and goings of personnel, there were always plenty of invitations to parties. At least I could choose my friends, if not my immediate superiors. Pam and I enjoyed a very good social life, totally different from my former civilian lifestyle, although service life as a married man in England was little different from that of my civilian counterparts. Whilst serving overseas, I was entitled to overseas family allowances which greatly increased my non-taxable income. In Singapore all personnel were expected to employ an ‘amah’, a servant woman who also carried out the duties of a nanny. Her wages were paid for courtesy of the British government. Meenachi, our Indian amah, had two children and loved our two little ones as if they were her own. She lived in Seletar village some five miles from the village of Sambawang, where we lived, which itself was 13 miles away from the RAF station where I worked each day. This arrangement enabled Pam to spend more quality time with the children than she would have been able to provide in England. We lived in our two bedroomed bungalow at Sambawang for a few months until I was fortunate to learn of a large house in Hong Kong Park, which the owners were prepared to temporarily rent to the RAF as a hiring. This palatial home was about five miles nearer to my work place, which was very convenient. The only drawback was that we had to find a new Amah; for Meenachi was not prepared to travel the extra distance to our new home. We kept in touch with her though, through my friend Stan Brockelsby, who moved into our former home.

Shortly after moving into our fine new house, Pam became pregnant. She had not wanted a third child and made my life a misery badgering me to help her find an abortionist. Fortunately although we tried to find a local doctor who might perform the operation we were unsuccessful in our searches. I know that Pam loved our son Kerry who was born in the Queen Alexandria Hospital at Tanglin on the 21st December 1960, but the truth was Pam was a career girl and was anxious to return to full-time employment. After a few months our lovely home in Hong Kong Park was taken from us as the landlord decided to live in the house himself. We moved to another bungalow closer to the RAF station where I served, but the accommodation and the Nee-Soon neighbourhood was very run down. On the plus side we did secure the services of a new live-in Amah a single Malayan girl named Chua who lived in her own room of our bungalow, which was convenient for baby sitting. I learned to play badminton to a reasonable standard whilst stationed in Singapore. My Malaysian colleagues were extremely good teachers. Academically I studied and passed the General Certificate of School Education (GCSE) examination in Mathematics, English Language, Principles of Accounts and the General Paper to ‘O’ (Ordinary) level in business studies. I also passed by correspondence course the Royal Society of Accountants (RSA) Intermediate Examination in Book-keeping. My attempt to remuster to air-crew during my time in Singapore with all my trophies of education came to nothing, on failing the preliminary entrance examinations.

I was selected from the list of applicants to receive a week’s holiday from the humidity of Singapore by enjoying the cool air of Fraser’s Hill jungle camp in the highlands of Malaya. The fortunate few were taught how to survive in an unfriendly jungle but in an enjoyable setting. This memorable break occurred just after my family moved from our RAF hiring in Nee-Soon into married quarters at RAF Tengah, where we lived for our last six months in Singapore. I thought our family life would be inviolable in this environment. Life was certainly far more relaxed, with a bus service from the married quarters to the Station swimming pool and cinema and the Navy, Army and Air Force Institute (NAAFI) Club. Surprisingly the camp was struck with a water-born infection when, during a water supply breakdown, all homes were provided with water from the emergency water supply vehicle. The water tank was contaminated and almost everyone on the unit fell sick. The hospital was filled to overflowing with servicemen and their dependants. People were collapsing like ninepins and confined to their beds; not the safe environment that I had thought it to be!

Following my six week disembarkation leave on returning to England in December 1961. I was posted to RAF Hospital Wroughton in Swindon where I served until 1964. Muriel Palin, the wife of Eric one of my colleagues from work, offered to mind our children whilst Pam took a full-time secretarial post at the hospital where I worked. Pam was so excited to return to the work place. In return Pam gave half of her salary to Muriel. Unfortunately Muriel found that looking after her three youngsters and our three at the same time was too tiring and she gave Pam a months notice to find someone else to look after our children. Pam was desperate to work and searched around for someone – anyone – the result was a tragedy. We employed a young girl from the village. We very soon realised that she was rifling through our possessions and stealing money. But Pam was prepared to put up with that, despite my protestations. I had tried several times, unsuccessfully, to obtain another overseas posting for I was as equally desperate as Pam that she should become a full-time mother and I was unhappy in my work-place. I remembered that as a 12 year serviceman, I was allowed by the Queen’s Regulation to re-muster to my previous civilian employment, in order to sharpen up on my earlier skills, prior to my return to civilian life. For a year prior to my remustering to my civilian trade, I was allowed day release from the RAF to attend Swindon Technical College. My posting to RAF Waterbeach was delayed until after I had sat for the City and Guilds Certificate in Advanced Plumbing Technology, which I was delighted to pass.

Prior to my final posting I played at centre forward for our station football team in the finals of the RAF Hospitals Cup. I scored a hat-trick but my team still lost 4-3. It is strange that every time my life changes direction I am gifted with a marvellous experience as if to crown my former situation. On leaving school, being declared man of the match in my last school cricket match, obtaining a place in the grand finals (the last six couples) at the Open Devon and Cornwall Ballroom Dance Championships, prior to conscription, and then scoring my first and only hat-trick on posting for the final time. We moved from our married quarters, back to the home of my ‘in-laws’ who had always been very good to us and had provided accommodation ‘free of charge’ for uncertain periods of time. The first occasion was for three months when my tour of duty in Malta had ended, which was repeated on our return from Singapore for a similar period whilst I sought a family home. We also spent our Christmas and summer holidays each year with my in-laws when we were in England, partly because my family were also living in Devon, but mainly because both sets of grand-parents loved to see the kids as often as possible.

Following my period of leave, I drove my recently acquired Morris 1000 Traveller to my new unit. I had spent much of my free time looking for family accommodation and was fortunate to find a house in Chesterton, which the RAF were anxious to include as an RAF hiring, but I had to defer any progress because my unit was put on a war footing. Turkey was thought to be contemplating invading Cyprus. I had been stationed at RAF Waterbeach only a month when I was issued tropical kit and an identity card that had an enclosure written in both Greek and Turkish. I was bundled off to RAF Innsworth in Gloucestershire, where I waited with the other airmen for a Command decision whether we would be posted to Cyprus as a support unit or dispersed. Naturally I would have been separated from my family and my tour of duty would have been on a war-footing, with all the ramifications that such a posting implies, but I would have welcomed the opportunity of service somewhere bathed in Middle Eastern sun. On my return to RAF Waterbeach, I found there was a letter awaiting my attention from the secretary to the Registered Plumbers Association (RPA) congratulating me on my recent award and offering me the opportunity to apply for two interviews for job vacancies. The RPA were prepared to recommend me for both positions, one as an estimator, and the other as a technical sales demonstrator. Both positions paid far more money than the £8.16s old money (£8.80p new money) that a plumber could earn working a 44 hour week earned prior to my conscription. I was astonished but was unable to do anything about any future prospects at this stage. Pam joined me in Cambridge during August and the children were all set to attend the local school for the Winter term. Pam found a job working for a travel agent and we employed a lady to look after our children and cook our meals, whilst we were both at work.

I was disillusioned by my irrelevancy at Waterbeach. I worked in the stores, painting walls, sweeping floors and digging ditches, a monotonous waste of effective manpower. My lower back was giving me trouble due to leaving my desk job after eight years and being on my feet doing manual work all day. I applied for a medical discharge and was advised that I would be discharged very soon. I wrote to The Nuralite Company Limited (Co Ltd), one of the two companies whose job specification I had received, and applied for an interview, which I successfully negotiated. I was offered the position of a regional technical sales representative and was provided with a Mini-Minor car plus £1100 per year salary and a limited expense budget. The Nuralite group manufactured a sheet roofing material which was a mixture of asbestos and tar which, after processing, was cut into manageable 2.5m by 1m sheets for storage. My job was to demonstrate to users on site and to apprentice plumbers in Technical Colleges throughout East Anglia, the versatility and durability of Nuralite. I also called on architects, to persuade them of the advantages of this sheet roofing material over other more proven materials. As a born optimist with a big smile, I had a natural aptitude for commercialism and was always friendly and helpful, which put my clients at ease when in my company. I had been employed for a month or so when my employers sponsored a sales promotion in which I won second prize, which was flattering, if slightly surprising. I soon realised that to do my job properly, I spent much more than my monthly expense allowance, which meant that I was effectively subsidising my employer, I started to scan the local papers for other job opportunities. Within a year of leaving the RAF, I had applied for and been appointed to the position of area sales manager for Naylor Brothers (Clayware) Ltd, a large privately owned company, that manufactured vitrified clay products for use in drainage and purification. At the age of 31 years, I enjoyed an income that placed me in the top 10% of wage earners in this country. On leaving my former company I had virtually doubled my annual salary and exchanged my Mini for a Corsair, with my expense account only being governed by my effectiveness. An American team of sales consultants were employed to explain to our sales force their successful sales technique, in order that we might learn some useful pointers. Some of my colleagues were upset by the implication that their performance could be better, but I thought my employers were acting wisely in presenting our sales force with a good market update on technique. My colleagues resentment over the week of training was muttered over in the evenings, on our return to our hotel. Finally the resentment was publicly expressed, during an honest appraisal of the conference In exasperation the leading marketing consultant said that he was not trying to teach experienced salesmen how to suck eggs, but to consider whether our administration could be more efficient. He said further ‘There is only one man in this room who could put on a white suit and wearing a carnation could go into the West End of London and sell anything, and that’s Alf’’

I was greatly flattered and uncharacteristically dumbstruck! I no longer suffered from a low self ego. My success had cultivated a desire in me to be liked and even admired for my achievements. I now realise that an overweening pride is equally as poisonous to human character as a low self esteem.

I should have been served with a termination of tenure notice, once my demobilisation was finalised. I was well aware of the correct procedure and used that knowledge for my own advantage. On returning home from work each evening I would pop in to the local pub for a pint of beer or two. It was here that I befriended Pete Dixon, a local bookmaker, who had divorced his wife, some years earlier. He showed me over his former matrimonial home, which was fully furnished, even to linen, crockery, cutlery and furniture. The contents also included a washing machine, an electric floor polisher, a vacuum cleaner, a lawn mower and all the other garden equipment that one needs to start up a home. If all the items which we were given for free were bought as new on moving to a new home, by a first-time householder, the total cost would amount to a princely sum of money. Most families have to scrimp and scrape to furnish or equip their home or garden; and here was I being offered them without any extra payment. Pete sold me his three bedroomed semi-detached house with garage, complete with contents for £4,600, which gave us the opportunity to start off in civilian life, from a secure financial position. We vacated our subsidised RAF hiring and moved into the village of Histon where we lived for 11 years until October 1976. Two years later, we moved into the second of the three houses we occupied in the village, each home larger than the previous one. Our second house was a four bedroomed semi-detached house with integral garage. Our home cost us £9,500 in 1966 and having built a single storied study and storeroom into our garden we sold it for £14,500 in 1970. Our final dwelling place was a three bedroomed detached house with integral garage, and free standing double width caravan garage, in which we housed our two cars. I used the integral garage partly as an office and partly as a weight training room. Having lived in this lovely home for two years, we had a double storied extension constructed in our garden providing a large lounge on the ground floor and a bedroom with en-suite bathroom above. Each time we moved we increased the size of our house and the size of our mortgage. We were climbing the ladder of worldly success, which had become so important to us.

On moving my family to Chesterton, I had signed on to play football for Chesterton Athletic FC, and I regularly played for them until the end of the 1967 season. I then joined for one season, the Bell School of Languages FC playing in the South Midlands League before signing to play for my local team, Histon FC until 1971. I was piling on the weight at this stage, caused by too much wining and dining with customers and lack of sufficient exercise. I could no longer command a regular place amongst my protégés. I still turned out for the occasional social game for the Cambridge Round Table soccer team. The Round Table is an international organisation run on behalf of its members as a social club for businessmen under 40 years of age. It was at a Round Table cricket match that one of my fellow ‘tablers’ offered to teach me how to play squash rackets, for Stamford Round Table had challenged our cricket team to a game of squash in return for the thrashing we had just handed out. My sporting career became revitalised.

Our family quickly settled down into village life and our two girls enjoyed their new school. Kerry was soon at school which allowed Pam to return to full-time employment as a medical secretary at the local hospital. Some years following her continuous loyal service she was offered the post of Medical Records Officer. As our children grew up and we were better able to afford baby sitters, Pam and I found ourselves enjoying freedom to visit friends either in their homes or join with them for a meal in restaurants or enjoy dinner dances. On becoming a member of the Round Table and then on my joining the Freemasons, another ‘male only’ club, I was mixing with people who often did not have children and who were successful in their profession. Some of the men with whom I became friendly had divorced and re-married someone that they had formed a greater attachment for than their former wife. Some of my friends were unhappily married, as indeed I was, but chose to form secret liaisons in an effort to ignore the outworking of an unsatisfactory marriage, perhaps as in my case in order to retain the affection of their children. I had been a heavy drinker for some years, which I believe was connected with my unhappiness at home and my inability to change my marital situation without causing permanent damage to my relationship with my children. Unfortunately our opposing strong wills caused too many difficulties for me to feel comfortable coping with and I had secretly vowed years earlier that I would leave my wife, when the children were adults. I stayed in the relationship purely because of my love for our children.

At this time I was entertaining clients and their wives and generally finding myself enjoying a life-style that I had only witnessed on the cinema screen. Almost inevitably I found myself flirting with some of the wives with whom I danced and often I had to refuse their blandishments. But in the way of the world often portrayed on the cinema screens, having been married for 12 years, I succumbed to the temptation of taking a lover. It appeased my conscience to know that my lover’s husband was also enjoying extra marital relationships outside his own married life. Although sex played a part in this extra marital relationship, it was the comfort of being able to talk about a whole range of concerns that I never found occasions to discuss with Pam, that so appealed to me and to a lesser extent the spicy thrill of an illicit liaison. My mistress and I were not in love and did not demand of each other any undying commitment. The cause of the ending of our relationship was her husband’s relocation outside of East Anglia. I knew myself to be on the slippery slopes leading to greater wickedness, when about a year after my lovers departure I experienced casual sex as a means of self gratification. I did not look to repeat what had seemed to me to be the eminently suitably arrangement that I had previously enjoyed, but invariably the ladies who were interested in a single ‘one off’ liaison were not only bored with their marriage, they wanted to establish a permanent relationship with me, or I suppose any other man willing to give them more attention and affection than they currently received from their respective husbands. However, I did not want my family to think that I had found a more suitable partner than Pam. I was certain that once out of this marriage, I would never again risk the pain of an unhappy (although never a violent) marriage. I loved my children and I had never wanted to hurt them, but the final decision to leave home came when Pam overcome with stress at my philandering, broke down at a party one night, stayed the night with friends and later went home to her mother for a few days, in order to let us both review the situation. Our marriage problems were now in the public arena, and I saw no point in trying to repair something that had been broken years earlier.

I had habitually masturbated as an adolescent and did so until I separated from Pam. It gives me great sadness to admit to this aberration, but I was told that Lord Baden Powell encouraged masturbation as a good and healthy expression of moving into puberty and reportedly said that around 13 years of age, one should not repress the sexual urge. Fortunately I had a fear of impregnating any female which prevented me from forming any sexual relationships until I knew I was involved in a relationship that would blossom into marriage. My reader will understand that girls may bestow sexual favours on a male she is sexually aroused by, as an inducement to a more permanent relationship. This decision by her may have previously been reached with an earlier boyfriend with whom the relationship soured. I am not suggesting that such a girl is promiscuous, but I imagine all mankind would prefer a virgin for a partner. It also follows that a girl on becoming pregnant may insist on having an abortion even at the invitation to marry. I could not afford to take such risks, knowing how fortunate I had been to have parents who elected to marry at my conception, despite the protestations of my father’s family. However, my parents relationship had not lasted, and there was no guarantee that my relationship with Pam would be any better. The reason why I believe it is necessary for me to record this weakness which became a habit is because I want to urge everyone not to accept such non biblical advice, for masturbation leads one into greater sin and is ungodly. It is increasingly harder for the mind of our youth to remain sexually pure owing to the advent of explicitly sexual scenes in our living rooms on most TV channels and the advent of the pornographic shops in our high-streets, with their paraphernalia and magazines on open display. The Lord has used my unredeemed experiences on many occasions when counselling Christians suffering from depression and even suicide over this same weakness. I am able to identify with their shame and convince them that they can be forgiven. If my admission saves just one person from eternal damnation then any mockery I shall undoubtedly receive for admitting to masturbation is worthwhile. Many of my single friends were experiencing sex with their girlfriends very early into their relationships, invariably this was due to lack of sexual education in those earliest years following the Second World War. I had three girlfriends for short periods of time from my mid-teens, but I never went beyond heavy petting until my relationship with Pam became romantic. Such chastity seems old fashioned by today’s standards. I was sexually active without being sexually fulfilled, due to my fear of making a partner pregnant.

I must have been a prime candidate for a heart attack prior to taking up the game of squash at 37 years of age. I loved this game and enthusiastically went about improving my ability from the start. I had been a smoker since I was 16 years of age, firstly of cigarettes and then a pipe for a short time. But, in 1971 I interspersed my smoking of cigarettes with cigars. I had no breath in my lungs to run around the squash court, but I was determined to improve my lung capacity and skill at squash and I broke the smoking habit. I played squash most days of the week, and as my fitness improved I started to play against two or three opponents each day, which led to my shedding a lot of weight. As usual with activities I took up, I became a fanatic. In order to improve my fitness I used to run everywhere in preference to walking, I never used a lift (an elevator) and ran up any flights of stairs two at a time. My weight reduced from 131/2 stone (85.7 kg) to 111/2 stone (73 kg) over a three year period, as my surplus fat changed into muscle. As an enthusiastic squash player, I quickly became interested in improving my ability to county level. I wasn’t quite good enough to hold a regular place, but I was a competent administrator and was soon appointed as county secretary. I was invited to become both the area representative and the area squash coach for the region (East Anglia) for the Squash Rackets Association (SRA), which co-opted me onto the committee of the governing international body of the SRA. I passed an examination in coaching and refereeing and soon began conducting courses myself, both in England and abroad. I travelled extensively to play in team matches or organise county or international squash tournaments in which I also refereed. I helped with the seeding of players and obtained sponsorship for tournaments at appropriate venues. I turned professional and was elected onto the committee of the equivalent professional body of the SRA. I was very keen to start up my own business as the owner or manager of a squash club and although I spent some time investigating possibilities, my search was in vain. I believe it was the issue of wanting to run my own business that finally caused me to decide to leave home after 20 years of marriage. My former employment and marriage vows had little interest for me in my newly found freedom to make decisions over every issue.

I consumed less alcohol than I had previously and needed lengthier periods of sleep to restore my body. I developed a habit of asking my host at parties, after two or three hours of partying, if I could have the use of a bedroom in order to have a short sleep, whereas formerly I would continue in revelry until the early hours. I was in good physical shape and was successful at my job. I was well respected in my profession and in my sport, but my life was a charade. Unfortunately, my restored fitness did not extend to include my moral conduct, which had deteriorated as my worldly prosperity increased. Following our 20th wedding anniversary celebration, my conscience would not allow me to go through the charade of acting as a happily married man any longer; in a marriage which might extend into a further 20 or even 40 years of hypocrisy. At 42 years of age, I could see no way out of my dilemma other than separation and ultimately divorce, which was all too acceptable in the society I was living in. Pam had previously found out about my infidelity and begged me to put my unfaithfulness behind me and make a fresh start at our marriage. Perhaps the break-up of my marriage was a consequence of my destabilised upbringing. (I had not turned out to be very different from Grandad Droy, except that he had never moved out of his matrimonial home.) Perhaps I was too young or immature to have married so young. I knew I had not been head over heels in love, but I thought I could make a successful marriage. How naïve; how complacently self-centred; how stupid! In October 1976 I caused much distress to my family, when, after 20 years of marriage, I walked away from my filial responsibilities, although I continued to meet the mortgage repayments on our home for over a year until I had exhausted my resources. My self-esteem could not have been lower. Hating myself for putting my self interest first, I chose to walk away from my marriage rather than continue in a loveless marriage.

About a year before leaving home, I had been approached by Dave King, a local sporting celebrity. I knew that he was a salesman, who was keen to be taught more about squash coaching, as he wanted to qualify as an officially approved SRA coach, so we shared much in common. I suggested if we worked together he would learn the skills more quickly. St Ivo Leisure Centre had recently been completed in the town of St Ives and Dave had been invited by the management of the St Ivo Centre, to coach possible regular patrons. We started a course of coaching squash twice a week. As many as 100 people a week sought group lessons and were keen to support us further by buying their sports clothing and equipment from us. Dave was also a gifted administrator and was very willing to help me organise the Cambridgeshire County Closed Championships and other tournaments. I just loved my involvement in squash and other sports as a business.

On the declaration that I was leaving our marital home as the marriage had irretrievably broken down, Dave brought the van that we had recently purchased around to my home and packed up my personal effects. A Round Tabler friend provided me a room for a few days hoping I would return to my family. When it became apparent after a week or two that I was not going to change my mind, I was asked to make more permanent arrangements elsewhere. It was Derek and Pauline Medlock, a couple who attended our squash clinics, and whom I had played in the same badminton club with some years earlier that provided me with a room in their home. Soon afterwards Dave and his wife, Meg, together with Derek and Pauline bought a shop with living accommodation above, which we converted into a small but super sports shop and we renovated the third floor into a comfortable bachelor flat for my occupation, King Alfred Sports Limited was created. In order to raise some capital both families took large mortgages on their homes. I was no longer enjoying my job with Naylor’s, because I was spending so much time with contractors arbitrating over the quality of our drain pipes and squabbling over whose responsibility it was for some lengths snapping, very soon after the trenches had been backfilled. The consequential damage was costing considerable sums of money for the contractors to put right, which strained my relationships with contractors whose friendships I had cultivated and developed over many years. The time arrived when my employers realised that our objectives were no longer compatable and we amicably agreed to part company.

I was now self employed! Initially my income came only from coaching squash but to supplement my income I took an agency with a sports retail company, one of whose products was darts and their accessories, which I ‘hawked around’ to sports shops. I focused my attention on retailing sports goods and developing my all round interest in the sport of squash rackets. I organised tournaments, lectured on refereeing and coaching skills and took part in tournaments. I loved my involvement! We accepted an agency selling golf equipment principally supplied by Prime Golf based in Cambridge and later, an agency selling sports clothing and equipment manufactured by Goudie Squash International. Dave and I sold the wares of both agencies in our shop. An agency with Tretorn Sportswear in nearby Bury St Edmunds secured our personal sponsorship and added to our kudos, we were on the way up. Dave was in full-time employment, drawing a salary, and my needs were small, leaving us no need to draw any form of restitution from our recently formed company. I soon discovered that the prices of darts that I was offering to sports shops was far in excess of prices that were offered by the manufacturers of the products. The proprietor of the Lord Nelson P H came into the sports shop and was surprised at our low prices, a similar selection of which he had purchased from a salesman the previous evening. He suggested that I should offer supplies through the pub trade. I saw the potential of this opportunity and began to make plans. Whilst attending a I negotiated with one or two manufacturers who were exhibiting their products at a sports tradefare, to supply me their products as a wholesaler. I designed some attractive display cards and ‘bagged up’ the plastic packets of stems and flights which were to be displayed and began selling them to the local pubs, many of which had several darts teams. I also offered to supply the pubs a home delivery service for cups and trophies and any engraving. Many pubs ran football teams, making it possible to extend our home delivery service, for I was able to supply team-strips etc, our business interests grew phenomenally. We believed that with our concentrated efforts on the squash courts, our investment in paying Derek a minimal salary to manage our fishing tackle shop, which he was keen to do, would increase our sales performance. I realise what I have written sounds clinical and dispassionate, but Dave and I held a longer term unspoken but determined view to become successful as quickly as possible, in order to enjoy the fruits of our labour. Pauline in the mean time had started buying linen and designing sports dresses and skirts, which sold very well. Pauline was astute in financial matters, but unfortunately she walked out on her often violent marriage, which meant Dave and I had to decide who of the two we could best manage without. Derek continued to work in the business for a short while, but eventually, with Derek’s acceptance, he went back to his previous trade and we amicably agreed to buy out Derek’s share of the business. We decided to employ someone with a specialised knowledge of fishing to manage the fishing tackle department, We already had in mind to open a second fishing tackle shop in Godmanchester. After one year of unsuccessful trading, we closed it down and applied to the council for a change of use to a fish and chip take-away. During this period of our expansion, we also decided to open a sports shop in Cambridge, which meant hiring more staff. I was also appointed as squash professional to the St Neots Leisure Centre, where we were allowed to open up another shop and from where I now did most of my coaching. Working at the business became that much more demanding of our time, but we thrived at this new challenge in our lives. Some months after Pauline’s separation, she became my protégé. Her dedication to daily court training, combined with road running, was rewarded on the squash court as she soon earned her place in the county team. Because of our shared interest in both business and the sport of squash, we became constant companions. Our friendship blossomed and resulted in our marriage at the Tavistock Registry Office on the 8th August 1978. Following our marriage it was decided we should divided up the business. It was agreed that we would keep the Cambridge shop and Dave and Meg would take the St Ives and Godmanchester shops. My darts business was thriving, Pauline was having to visit the pubs and change the dart cards as my area of operation widened. My daughter Leigh had been working in our sports shop and she was excited at the prospect of my providing her with a car for her to assist Pauline in the mounting number of dart cards that needed regular renewal. It is incredible to believe, but I was selling almost £100,000 worth of dart accessories every year. To avoid paying tax, I started another business. I bought space invader machines which I supplied to private member clubs and free-houses, cafés and shops, emptying the 10p coins from them each week, and taking the coins to the bank by wheelbarrow on most days!

We visited Mum and two sisters with their respective families, who lived in the Plymouth area, two or three times each year. My youngest sister Jean and her husband Malcolm attended church every week, and would always take their two daughters Erica and Sarah to Bible camps as their main holiday. I remember Jean saying to Pauline and me on one occasion, in a very self satisfied kind of way; ‘Oh we know that we (meaning her immediate family), are all going to heaven, but I don’t know about you’ (meaning Pauline and me). Pauline often reminds me that Jeanie’s smugness upset our complacency so much that she practically forced us into becoming Christians! I remember the occasion of the marriage of my other sister Pat’s daughter (my niece), Lynn, at the Tavistock Church on the 1st May 1981, that having knelt down side by side with Pauline and settled back into our pews I whispered to her, ‘Do you realise that this is the first time we have been in church together?’

On the 11th November 1981 (Remembrance Sunday) we attended our local parish church, St James’ Church together and stayed afterwards for companionship and coffee. We were surprised to find that the vicar, the Reverend (Rev) Ian Woodruffe had been employed in the same factory in Histon that Pauline had worked in for some years (Chivers Jams). We became friendly socially with Ian and his wife Penny, sharing meals together. The leadership and the choir dressed in cassocks, as they had in the church I had been confirmed into. I was unaware that there were other ways in which to conduct services of worship, having only ever attended traditional Anglican churches. Apart from attending both morning and evening worship we also supported many of the social activities and celebrations that the church organised. We thought of ourselves as Christians but my heart had not been ‘strangely warmed’, to quote from John Wesley, who realised some years after he had been an ordained preacher, that God had finally softened his heart of stone.

I wrote in Chapter I of my encounter with the Lord Jesus, which although dramatic was perhaps not unexpected. Soon after becoming communicants, I started to attend a series of lectures on church history. I found that there was much in biblical history and missiology that I wished to know more about, and determined to research these subjects. I enrolled for the first of several courses of Bible study at the Focus Christian Institute (FCI), a biblical teaching forum which was centred at St James’, where the Reverend (Rev) Eric Hutchinson, a respected psycho-therapist and teacher, was honorary priest. On my arrival for my first lecture, I was startled to note that Eric was dressed in the attire of the apparition I had seen in my trance in the woods as a 12 year old! I recognised him as the apparition, received whilst still a schoolboy, almost forty years earlier. The most inexplicable part of this supernatural event received by me, was that I had seen Eric as a much older man, at a time when he would have been quite a young man! The apparel of hat and cape I believe were evidence to inform me that the authority and leanings of my teacher, were Anglo Catholic in persuasion and secondly to alert me to his being a truly upright man of God.

We had joined St James’ for social community involvement and not commitment to the Church universal. We were very satisfied to have found this new outlet into becoming part of the local community and even volunteered for the occasional church duty. We helped paint the internal walls of the church and took part in hospital services. Within a year of attending St James Church, Ian and Penny separated. They had two boys aged about ten, the children continued to live with Ian and attended their usual school. I found it difficult as a new Christian to witness at first hand, the break-up of a clergy family. It seemed to me that Christians should behave differently from those ‘in the world’, although over the years I had read in the newspapers of irresponsible worldly behaviour of some clergymen. The longer I was a member of the church, the more I learned of other church attenders’ frailties. The congregation dwindled noticeably over the remainder of our time at St James’.We remained as communicants at St James for over four years., but started to look around at other churches which better suited our understanding of a Christian life-style to be demonstrated in our every-day life. I had become distinctly unsettled with regard to some of St James’ liturgical services and the liberal wing of the Anglican commune per se, having attended churches on several recent occasions at which a greater freedom of worship was used. St James’ employed a female curate, who whenever she led the prayers or read from the Bible, always altered the liturgy to include ‘and sisters’ or ‘and women’. It seemed she thought that females were excluded from what was being read or spoken. I found this change of wording very off-putting. My protest over the changed wording introduced into Bible passages created a furore, when the subject was addressed at the monthly meeting of the Parish Church Council (PCC). Ian forbade the curate to speak any words that were not part of the liturgy. I understood she replied that henceforth she would not preach in St James, until this order was rescinded.

I had not been challenged through the sermons into undertaking works of service for God. I was not maturing, my heart and my mind were not stirred. Pauline and I clearly felt a need to reach out for the lost, and craved good and regular teaching from God’s word, in order to be better equipped for discipleship. Having experienced a freer style of worship, fellowship and teaching, I knew we were round pegs in square holes. I had been troubled by the variation of churchmanship and local community service available to Christians seeking to be involved in evangelism. We wanted to be where renewal was taking place. I had hired a 52-seater coach, which I widely advertised as having free seats available that any Christian requiring transport welcome to have, in order to attend a Billy Graham crusade meeting, providing they brought a non-church attender with them. My next door neighbour was a deacon of Queen Edith’s Chapel, an independent Brethren Church, to whom I offered some places on the coach for his congregation. I will never forget his recounting to me the outcome of a conversation he had with a member of St James’ PCC. The retort from this man of God, was that places could only be offered if St James’ members did not require all the seats. Although pressed by this PCC member, I disagreed and said that seats would be available on a first come first served basis. My insistence was proved justified as the bus was full, with people who accepted my conditional offer. I know that some made a commitment to Christ one of whom, Ben Hicks, became a firm friend. I continued to attend St James out of friendship towards the fellowship rather than love for God. The congregation was more middle aged and middle class, than the average congregation that I have since attended, with many loving, caring, committed Christians among us, who I felt were not given any teaching on the gifts of the spirit. The body of believers needs meat not milk in order to develop spiritual muscles.

Our friends Nick and Elaine Blythe, (from a Brethren background) took us to meetings outside the Cambridge city environs, in our search for a new home church we would be comfortable in, yet challenged by. We wanted to express our love of the Lord, with more freedom and a greater participation in the service of worship being offered to God. Nick encouraged us to worship with them in Saffron Walden. We were torn between the fellowship we were accepted into, without any spiritual leadership being offered, and a more spiritually uplifting form of worship with an assembly gathering almost 20 miles away from our home, where our once a week attendance at a service of worship would have little or no impact. We attended some celebration evenings held each month at Homerton College, sponsored by The Covenant Ministries International (CMI) part of the Restoration House Church movement, who were preparing to plant a church in Cambridge. Bryn Jones was and still is the charismatic leader of this group of independent churches. The congregation was an eclectic gathering from all church backgrounds who, like myself was looking for less formality in worship, and a greater use of spiritual giftings. It was at one of the mid-week meetings that we were given a leaflet on a forthcoming bible camp celebration, at which we knew we would learn more about the organisation supporting the Cambridge monthly celebrations. We travelled to the Dales Bible Week held in Bradford, in both 1982 and 1983 as part of the contingent from what later developed into the Cambridge Community Church (or more easily remembered and affectionately spoken of colloquially as ‘the 3Cs’). At the bible camp (where we camped out in tents and not dormitories), we enjoyed the exuberant worship of these charismatic believers, which we readily identified with. It was a revelation for us to watch people worshipping joyfully, hands raised in adoration, whilst some left their seats to dance in the aisles with uninhibited freedom and exuberance. The dancers hopped or bounced from one foot to the other, with hands raised, reminiscent of dancers of a Scottish Reel. Some of the more graceful amongst us pirouetted like ballet dancers in the aisles or on the platform as the musicians led the congregation using acetates and an over-head projector, a great deal different from my earlier experiences. There was not a robed person involved! We had become indoctrinated into expecting a full choir, backed by an organ to offer up a rehearsed and more musical anthem to God, than our own discordant voices. Quite often as part of a mute congregation, we had listened only and not sung whilst the choir entertained both us and I presume God. It took quite a time for Pauline and me to overcome our inhibitions and express our worship spontaneously. No longer would I accept that the sound of a well orchestrated choir offered to God, any was more acceptable to Him than my own unmelodious but sincere demonstration of praise.

During prayer times at the Dales some people spoke in foreign or spiritual tongues, whilst others interpreted what was said. The message from God to the congregation was not always through the speaker on the platform, but often from a member of the congregation! Many worshippers interceded in their native languages. The preachers were not overtly evangelistic, nor were they speaking out against the traditional denominations. The teaching was biblical and followed the preached word. The platform speakers called on the Holy Spirit to manifest in His power and mercy by the working of miracles. At altar calls for salvation or healing, we were amazed to witness how many responded to words of knowledge by going forward in anticipation of a miraculous demonstration of Holy Spirit power. We witnessed some healings and the casting out of demons. More strangely (at the 1982 celebration), I was awakened from my sleep each night, by a choir of angels. This phenomena was confirmed by others on the camp, and from residents nearby, who complained to the police of unreasonably loud late night celebrations. The investigating police, found the camp in darkness and silent, but many other campers also heard the singing, that I had been privileged to hear. This incident was reported in the national newspapers! On our return from the first Bible camp I attended the 3Cs’ midweek Bible study classes, and was one of the number who attended what became a newly planted church, which first met at the Eden School of Dance; those attending had to take their own chairs along to sit on! For some reason best known to herself Pauline did not accompany me.

Pauline had been attending confirmation classes at St James’ in 1984. I told her of my new understanding that my own infant christening and later confirmation at 13 years of age did not lead to salvation. I had affirmed certain vows as the Bishop confirmed me into the Anglican Church, but I repeated the vows by rote and not conviction. All that confirmation classes had proved, was that I had learned certain information, but my learning was in my head, it had not percolated into my heart. I had not been born anew at my confirmation, the Holy Spirit was not living within me, instructing me in obedience to God. I knew that I had not responded to Christ’s commands at the Holy Spirit’s promptings. On my confirmation I did not receive the spiritual blessing that only the Holy Spirit can give. Matthew Ch 7:21 27, Luke Ch 7:46-49, Romans Ch 8:5 9, explain my reasoning that only adult baptism on personal renewal was acceptable in Christ’s sight, as evidence of being ‘born again’ by the Spirit of God. I had never publicly acknowledged Christ as Lord. Even adult baptism is not a guarantee to obtaining salvation, as it is still possible to fall from grace (Hebrews Ch 6:1-8). If John Ch 6:66 is to be believed, it is also possible that the heart may be truly regenerated (softened from stone) without baptism and to receive salvation, as we can be assured of, by the words of Jesus to the thief on the cross. Being born into a Christian household, or what is euphemistically referred to as a ‘Christian country’ is not a free ticket into eternal life. St Paul confirms this understanding in Ephesians Ch 3:5 where he states that as far as his flesh life (his family background) was concerned his pedigree was of no consequence. I repeat we must be ‘born again’. Not only has Jesus paid the price for all our sins (even our future sins),but we can also be set free from the shackles that bind us any ‘sinful abnormalities’ practised by our ancestors, or from any genital disorder inherited through our genes. The sins of the father are visited on unredeemed people even unto the fourth generation (as Deuteronomy Ch 5:9 illustrates).

Pauline agreed with me that confirmation into the Anglican commune was not baptism into new life and we jointly decided to be baptised by full immersion as a public witness to our friends and family, that we acknowledged our total need of a personal Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ. We went through the ceremony together on the 24th February 1985, at the Elim Pentecostal Church in Plymouth, where my younger sister Jean was a member, in the presence of my mother and step-father and my sister Pat. Jean jointly shared the burden with me of the need of salvation of both our Mum and our sister, in perhaps their last opportunity of salvation. I confess that I did not receive any blinding revelation at my water baptism, but I did get an inner warmth having renounced the devil and repented of my own previously evil ways. I had acted in obedience, to God and not to man, in being fully immersed as an adult. Our baptism had not persuaded my mother or sister to turn to Christ, but we had not expected our act of faith to produce immediate results. We simply wanted to share our joy in witnessing to our new found faith, by this public demonstration.

It seemed important to us at that stage not to leave our denominational background . We heard of the charismatic leadership offered by an Anglican clergyman, the Rev Sidney Simms, a Bible believing fundamentalist, who had been preaching and teaching in Cambridge on renewal through the gifts of the Holy Spirit and believers’ baptism through immersion over many years. Sidney was the vicar of St Matthew’s (St Matt’s) Church. His congregation had recently suffered a damaging split, half of the fellowship had left to form the Arbury Christian Fellowship. We irregularly attended the morning service at St Matt’s for some months whilst still attending St James for the evening service and then we alternated the procedure for a while. Sidney encouraged me to speak out of my spiritual experiences, to pray extemporarily and to pronounce words of knowledge and prophecy. I was uncertain at first whether this availability of platform was available to all the congregation, although I later came to see that there were no restrictions on anyone’s personal ministry. In fact Sidney was pleased to allow any person from the congregation, of whom he knew and approved, to speak during the service.

It was two years after becoming ‘born again’ that we finally severed all contact with St James. We did not immediately seriously contemplate changing our allegiance to any other church, partly because I was attending a two year course at the FCI in order to qualify for The Bishop’s Certificate. Many of our church friends also attended. I did not want to have to explain our leaving St James, for fear of hurting anyone’s feeling and because my certificated course would not be completed until June 1986. We continued attending St James until we moved away from the area into our flat in November 1985, at which time we could explain our absence from Sunday morning services, as being due to the distance we now had to travel. Early in 1985, during one of the FCI lectures, because of the subject under discussion, I felt compelled to share with the class, the vision of the communion cup in the hands of Jesus with His revelatory words, that I had received at my conversion:-

Many of my fellow students approached me over the next few weekly lessons to enquire whether I had received further revelations. It dawned on me that the spiritual gifts given to me were special, they had been uniquely given to me. I believe that all born-again believers are given their own unique giftings to use. My visions proved to be an unusually generous and precious gifting, not experienced by my fellow pupils. One evening, following our moving into our flat, I telephoned a fellow student to beg a lift to FCI evening class. My friend was a committed Christian and a house group leader in his own church. He jumped at the chance to chauffeur me, for he was well aware of what was happening to me spiritually and he was troubled by a besetting sin. I did not see the word ‘pornography’, either flashing or illuminated above his head (as others who move in the gifts of the Spirit are recorded as having seen), but I knew with certainty that this was his besetting sin. It was as if the Holy Spirit had passed me a note, or telephoned me in advance to advise me that I was to be used as a counsellor this night. My friend had never asked me to pray with him on any earlier occasion, but on our return journey, he uncomfortably stammered out his own confession and asked me to pray for him. I told him I already knew of his sin and what was more he was already forgiven. It was all so quickly accomplished and without embarrassment. The significance of what had been entrusted to me did not strike me until years later, by which time many other people were opening their hearts to the Jesus, whom they saw reflected in me.

Both Pauline and me were keen to be involved in Mission England, which took place in 1983. We attended some initial meetings at St Andrew’s Street Baptist Church, to explore what was expected of those who wanted to support the mission. Pauline became part of the mass choir, and I was trained as a counsellor. We were well briefed over many training sessions over many months, with many other would-be counsellors, most of whom I was surprised to learn were Baptists. Councillors were expected to learn selected Bible verses by heart. My compatriots were caught up in their involvement in mission in an infectious way. We commenced our coming together with prayer and worship, before being given instruction, on what was expected of us during the mission. People prayed extemporaneously from within the assembly and raised their arms and their voices in singing choruses. These times were very different from that which we were familiar with and was uplifting to both of us. It was of importance to the organising committee that all counsellors fully understood every procedure that might affect any missionary’s efficiency. Prior to the meetings at Norwich City FC and Ipswich Town FC, all counsellors spent a half day at each venue, acting out a dress rehearsal. Great attention was given to detail, and meticulous planning on how to handle unusual situations that might occur. I was most impressed with the rehearsals, which were as thorough as many of the military operations I had taken part in.

I had read so much of Billy Graham and of his successful world-wide ministry, that, in my naïveté, I fondly supposed that many non-Christians would flock to hear him, and would be overcome with remorse over their own sin and turn to Jesus through this mission. The reality was a great deal different from my expectations! I found it hard to believe that many churches did not want to take part in the mission; offering no prayer back up, or financial support. Some churches expressed disinterest in running nurture courses, for any new converts that might be directed to them from mission HQ. Some churches ran coaches to the venues for their congregations quite independently of the mission organisers. The coach trip being treated as an evening out, and not used as an opportunity to take along unsaved friends and family. Many nearby churches didn’t even send a contribution to the mission organisation to help defray the expense of hiring a stadium in their home county. Hiring coaches is a lot easier than running courses of Bible study for new converts! It seemed that this crusade was not supported widely by the local body of the church, and was not connected with the objectives of the crusade; for there was no commitment to financial support for the mission from the majority of churches in most areas. Many individual Christians took their families in their cars and made a night out of the occasion, evangelism was not seen as a priority. To encounter not only apathy but downright hostility from ministers and from individuals, for me as a new believer, was a strange experience. I was all fired up to obey God’s will to experience His blessings. Many Christians went to be entertained and hear ‘a Billy Graham production’, in a similar way that they might go to a theatre or a pop concert, not connecting their interest in the speaker with their duty to bring their unsaved friends and family to the meetings as often as they could as an act of their personal sacrifice.

On each occasion I heard Billy preach, he spoke powerfully yet simply and well. Counsellors were instructed to get out of their seats and move onto the football pitch, as soon as ‘the appeal’ was given. A great surge of people went forward, but most of the initial surge it must be admitted was of counsellors, which was very misleading to the audience. Many from the crowd followed the counsellors on a euphoric tide of emotion making a spontaneous, but not a lasting commitment. It was necessary for me to fill in two counsellor’s cards only, during the five nights in which I took part. One card I had completed was for a man who wanted to reaffirm his faith, and the second card was in respect of a 12 year old boy from Diss (some 40 miles distant from my home), in Norfolk, whom I was supposed to pray for; and write to for a period of a year in order to encourage him to attend nurture classes. Despite my overtures he did not reply to my letter or my phone calls. I am sure that the more experienced, and those ‘special needs’ counsellors, had many more cards to fill in than I, but I was disappointed, that so few responded, after all the effort that I had personally put in, learning memory verses and attending training days. Pauline and I travelled to Norwich by car each day we were involved.

We had tried unsuccessfully to fill the spare seats in our car, for the lengthy journeys, by inviting some of our friends, who needed to hear the gospel and had no transport. One by one, as the day of the meetings drew closer, our friends found excuses for non-attendance. I did transport two ladies on the first evening, neither of whom were particularly interested in personal salvation. Their interest was in the speaker, rather than his message. Many of those attending had no church association, but had decided to attend in order to hear this world renowned speaker. The message of the Cross was far from the minds, of many people attending. I determined to change my personal involvement for the Ipswich meetings. On the first night of the Ipswich Town FC meeting, I asked a non-Christian friend to be my chauffeur, on the grounds that my car was being serviced. His whole family came to the meeting, but unfortunately not to the Lord, at least not at that time. I do believe that people sometimes have to hear the gospel many times, before they actually understand in their heart what is being said. Fortunately I had previously arranged for a coach as a more extravagant demonstration of my faith on the second night of the meeting, of which I wrote in chapter 2.

That summer’s campaign was staged in six football stadiums around the country at a cost of UK £1.5m. Some 60% of funds were donated during the first three weeks, largely through gifts from local churches. I was satisfied, that I had used initiative and resourcefulness to accomplish something for God. Some youths from my own church went forward at the appeal, filling in counselling cards, which through someone’s inefficiency were never referred to a church that supported the mission. What had apparently been a slick operation, was nowhere near good enough on ‘follow-up’. In exasperation, at the apparent disinterest of my own church, in the problems of these 16-18 year olds, Pauline and I held a weekly time of Bible study in our home, for our church youth, but we were very much lacking in maturity. To keep from feeling too pleased with myself, I weighed my little effort, with figures I read from the West Country meetings. Statistics given for the Bristol meeting were that 2,352 came forward on the first day of the mission. The next day 2,172, the following day 2,642. The figures were fed into a computer and analysed by the strategists. The percentage commitments of total attendance were 8.3% (percent). Any percentage over 5% is considered exciting by the organisers. Mission England’s statistics reveal that only 11% of those who went forward at the appeal were still attending church one year later. Another problem of discipleship was that generous hearted churches which supported the mission, were often ill equipped to nurture the converts who were directed to their churches.

I took part in the London Mission to the Hemingfords in Cambridgeshire, organised by Foxton Christian Fellowship. The pastors Mike and Pauline Young were practising evangelism through their church. They convinced me of my need to return to the Jewish roots of Christianity. I have since travelled with them twice to Israel to take part in spiritual warfare, and enjoy the Feast of Tabernacles in their company. This community gave me my first experience of door knocking and of giving public testimony. My partner on the mission (for we were following the pattern of ministering two by two) was Valerie Marshall, a secretary of Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF), from whom I learned to be positive and grasp the nettle over controversial biblical issues. She taught me a lesson that has since saved me many hours of uncertain action when counselling. Valerie had kept the names and addresses of all the people that she had visited in previous years and who she revisited with me as her partner. She had prayed for each household throughout the year, with special pleas for specific prayer points. I did think this was effective work, but I believe it should have been the ongoing responsibility of the local body of believers to follow up the visit which we, as a mission team were undertaking. It was at Papworth village hall on the Saturday evening that I gave my testimony from a platform for the first time. Incredibly over ten years later, two men (on separate occasions) whom I had never met, introduced themselves to me by saying ‘You’re Alf Droy, I heard you give your testimony at Papworth some time ago!’ It is not the eloquence or the scholarship of a preacher that convinces an audience, nor is evangelism the divine province of a charismatic figure, who may address huge crowds. The Holy Spirit can convict the hearer through the stuttered sentences stammered through any chosen vessel. I read somewhere that if each individual Christian could convince just one person each year of their need of Christ, it would take only 38 years to reach the whole world!

I had hoped the restructuring of our business would prove successful, but I had not anticipated the long recession that soon started, nor the fact that our shop rent would increase one-hundred fold every three years. Having traded from the shop for nine years, we now faced the prospect of an increase in rent to £14,000 per annum, which was about the amount of money our shops were losing each year (about £250 per week). I had previously decided to purchase the freehold of a second shop in Cambridge, to offset the spiralling rent charges, but the enterprise proved to be a commercial failure. Our new shop venture took very little money, because of its location, even the business we did attract was at the expense of our town centre shop. It was only our regular clientele who lived on the north or east side of the city, who found our new location more convenient to use that frequented it. I had believed that as the shop was immediately opposite the entrance to Cambridge City FC, we would attract a wider clientele, but I was wrong! Clients of sports shops receive quality advice from fellow sportsmen, such customers do not easily change their allegiance. As is usual in most cities, there were too many retailers for all the shops to be profitable. It had been my plan to move our stock to our freehold shop and sell the lease of our rented shop. We had decorated the two-bedroomed flat above the shop, that we had planned to move into, having in between time hopefully sold our house on which we had a large mortgage. However, the darts and space machine business were still profitable although not as lucrative as in earlier years. Leigh had decided to try her hand at selling as an agent, which enabled me to cut down on over-heads by selling her car. I decided to buy the freehold of yet another building in which to build a health club and a restaurant. At the time of this venture there had been no similar enterprise in Cambridge. It was only following our contractor’s investigations, that it was found that our building had no foundations beneath any of the load bearing walls! This discovery cost us a further £16,000 to correct and the re-construction of the building was delayed several weeks, whilst substantial foundations were laid in place.

What my reader must understand is, that it was following my entering into all these business ventures, that I had my encounter with Jesus! Due to the delay in construction; some months before our health club, the ‘Gym and Tone-Up’ was operational, a rival health centre, named ‘Shape Up’, opened in Cambridge, which increased the financial pressure on our ‘empire’. It was fully three months before Mr Warner the fraud squad investigator appointed to investigate my case, came to my home with a colleague by appointment and then accompanied me around our little ‘empire’. Together with my accountant, I had several interviews with Mr Warner over the next 18 months following which time we reached agreement over the extent and repayment of my fine. One night during that three months hiatus I realised that I had not suddenly become holy and righteous, I still experienced immoral thoughts. I was apprehensive over the outcome of my confession. I received a vision which chased away all the doubts over my low self-esteem.

Whilst dreaming, the devil was whispering that I was a fool to believe that God had forgiven me, ‘Why, you cannot even forgive yourself, and consider the deceitful methods by which you took advantage of your friends and family’. I tossed and turned but I could not escape the devil’s accusations. I became conscious of a diesel engine revving up outside my house and of a bus horn hooting together with the sound of happy voices calling out to me that I should have been ready to accompany them to a party to be held in a vicarage, for which a bus had been hired to transport us. I had telephoned the organiser earlier that evening feigning illness, as I was feeling so depressed, but my friends insisted on my accompanying them. Each one of them knew the guilt that I felt over my conduct towards them. I had made excuses for not attending pre-arranged invitations over recent weeks and entered into total withdrawal, but tonight my friends were determined that I should not spend yet another night worrying over my spiritual condition. I was reluctantly persuaded to join them. I sat on my own in the bus, crying bitterly over the knowledge of the depths of my sins. Again, my comforters individually came to me with words of encouragement to cheer up and forget the past. On arrival at our destination, all my companions debussed and ran excitedly to the house before the threatening skies opened. Large drops of rain started hammering on the roof of the bus. I was now totally alone and the electric storm got worse, it was now raining stair-rods. I couldn’t hear myself think for the noise and I was getting very cold, so cold I decided I needed cheerful companionship. I wanted to forget my depression by concentrating on the warmth and loving hospitality of friends who had forgiven my deceit towards them. I decided to take a short-cut to the vicarage by running through the unlit graveyard, but I slipped in the muddy wet grass and fell headlong forwards towards a headstone. There came a loud clap of thunder, the headstone was illuminated by a flash of lightning. On the stone the engraved words stood out clearly:

Realisation dawned on me: of course I could not pay for my sins myself. There was no way that I could ever earn my forgiveness. It had been a sovereign move of the grace of God to accept my sincere repentance. The reason I felt so unworthy was because I was unworthy. I was forgiven because He loved me for myself despite my unworthiness. I had been prepared to go through the rest of my life paying some form of penance, like the Jesuit priests in ages past had done. I was prepared to carry the unnecessary baggage of my sins to the grave, as a form of bondage of sufferance. Suddenly I knew that it was only the memory of my former sinful life I was expected to remember, for that was part of my renewed personality and I had learned much from the experience, and I would be able to comfort others in similar circumstances because of my earlier unredeemed experiences. This spiritual awakening is available to each one of us. Yes we are unworthy. No we can never pay the redemption price by our own efforts for our sins. Yes we have been freed, but by God’s grace alone, No we do not deserve this forgiveness, which is a reality that the devil will steal away from us, if we listen to him. I now had the assurance of Jesus’ love and forgiveness. I also realised that I too, was equally to forgive everyone who had wronged me. This act of my forgiveness of myself and those I had wronged, completed the circle of forgiveness.

I asked the gentleman who answered my knock (Matthew Ch 7:7-8) to direct me to the bathroom, in order to wash away the tears and the mud from my face. The bathroom was brilliantly lit, with water cascading down the white tiled wall before swirling across the floor into a drain hole. I immersed my head in a basin of water and on surfacing shook it to clear my mind of all the previously confusing thoughts. I turned around, my eyes flickering to clear my vision, whilst groping for the proffered towel, but all I could see were his sandalled feet. Through a word of knowledge, I knew it was Jesus who was offering me not only a towel, but a white robe of righteousness! I took the towel gratefully.

Having smartened myself up, I joined my friends who were blowing-up balloons. I told them excitedly that I now knew I was forgiven and to prove it, I would breathe my new redeemed breath into my soul (which somehow was outside of my body) to demonstrate that it would float like a balloon. My friends laughed comfortingly and then embarrassingly looked away as my soul slowly floated to the ground. Jesus came from behind me and said, ‘Never mind Alf — Watch this!’ He breathed into it and as if filled with helium, my soul floated alongside all the coloured balloons. The following day on awakening it was as if I was walking on air! For I had met with the living Lord. I now know that Jesus is more merciful and loving and trustworthy than any human being. Unlike me, He would never forsake me by going back on His promises. I was judging Jesus’ word on the promise of forgiveness and of never being forsaken by my own human understanding of love and loyalty, well knowing that humankind only do the expedient. Promises made by men are like treaties broken or skirted around. The promises of Jesus are eternal truths. Not once since that experience have I ever paid attention to the Accuser’s challenges.

During the investigative interviews with Mr Warner I tried to explain that I no longer wanted to hide anything of my previous cunning and devious nature because the Lord had told me to reveal all. Mr Warner was sceptical of my sincerity. I therefore produced a dummy invoice book that I had raised in support of my deception. I explained to Mr Warner that I had written to the Passport Office advising them I had lost my previous passport, whilst in truth I had hidden my passport away in order that no-one would know how many countries I had visited, and just how often I had travelled abroad. I told Mr Warner that I had previously worked in the accounts branch of the RAF and had passed the intermediate exam in RSA Book-keeping and well knew how to cover up my deception when embezzling. He was impressed with my thoroughness if not my motives. My accountant, Colin Bates, told me that Mr Warner had said to him that if I was sincere I would volunteer a disclosure of my deception to HM Customs and Excise Office, the Value Added Tax (VAT) department. For some reason unknown to me, Mr Warner was not allowed to advise other government departments of his own investigations. I promptly contacted the VAT office at Harlow and disclosed my deceit to defraud. I confessed my subterfuge and my change of heart. The result was that after investigation we had to pay to the VAT man a further £6,500 in respect of unpaid VAT! I do not know if Mr Warner was impressed at my action or not, but I had cleansed my conscience. Pauline and I have never regretted what may appear at first sight to many people to have been an impulsive decision to declare my deception to the income tax authorities, for we both knew we were being tested by God.

Prior to, and during the whole period of the income tax investigation, we had been trying to sell our large house, which the two of us rattled around in. Although we showed many potential buyers over our house, not one person made an offer, even though we had dropped the asking price from £80,000 to £70,000. In our halcyon days we had built a large two storied extension on to the house, which included a second kitchen and a fourth bedroom. This proved to be a financial life saver, as we rented out four of our rooms to long-term boarders, with the convenience for them of sharing their own separate kitchen. We fell further into arrears with our mortgage repayments, (due to our adjusting our expenditure to paying taxes and not pocketing any of our daily takings) before we completed the sale of our house. Previously I had thought nothing of pocketing £1,000 a week to spend on life’s pleasures. We were having to learn a new stricture of living within our (taxable) means. A decision was finally agreed in that together with fines and accumulated interest dating back to when Pauline and I first married, I should be penalised to the sum of £100,000. The debt being written into the accounts of the parent holding company as Corporation Tax. We agreed with Mr Warner’s directives to sell our house and move into rented accommodation in order to pay the bulk of my fine. The sale of our house left a shortfall of £50,000 which was to be met by six payments of £7,500 on each subsequent 30th January and to be fully redeemed on the seventh payment.

Eventually, the recession passed and our house had increased in value. One of our friends from St James’s Church made an offer to buy our house for £95,000, which we accepted. He never did complete the agreement, but rather he kept us dangling for months. Each time I tackled him over a completion date for our transaction, he reassured me of his integrity repeating that he would not let me down. My friend insisted that I evicted my boarders prior to completion of the sale, in order that he could have security of tenure. On the day we moved out of our house and into our flat in November 1985, I received a letter from him withdrawing from the sale. I will never forget my father-in-law saying ‘Fancy that and he calls himself a Christian’. It was not a very good witness by my friend, but it only goes to show that non-Christians expect believers to behave somewhat differently from themselves. With the benefit of hindsight I realised how fortunate it was that God chose to reveal Himself to me at a time when I was able to sell at the top of the market rather than in the days of negative equity caused by the recession and falling house prices which were to follow. I am also grateful that we never went through the trauma of negative equity. Very rapidly we were learning to trust for God’s provision for our needs to be met, both spiritually and physically.

The Lord’s hand was controlling every situation in our lives. As soon as our former home went back on the market, we received two offers of £110,000 for our now empty house. The sale price was half as much again as we had originally hoped to sell for! I am thankful to God that I have never been homeless and also grateful to my in-laws, who owned the flat we moved into. In November 1985 we moved into our one bedroomed basement flat, which had no central heating and an outside loo, in which we lived until September 1987. Prior to departing for a previously booked Christmas holiday, I presented a copy of the audited accounts to my bank manager. I travelled to Portugal clutching a book entitled The Radical Christian by Arthur Wallis, loaned to me by a Christian friend Rebecca. Rebecca Wilkinson together with her husband Tony has been faithful and enthusiastic founder members of the 3Cs. Rebecca was employed at the District Valuer’s department in Cambridge, where I sought her advice on the rateable value of the premises in which we housed our health club. Many years later Rebecca recounts the story of my visits to her office as unusual in that I could not stop speaking of Jesus Christ and of what He had come to mean in my life. At one of the 3Cs’ celebration evenings I responded to an altar call for the gift of tongues. Tony Wilkinson had prayed for me but nothing had immediately happened. He suggested that I take my plea to God in prayer and practise moving my tongue around an open mouth, whilst speaking out vowel sounds. This would best be done perhaps when alone in my car whilst listening to a music tape, or when in a meditative prayer time before God. It was a further six months of earnestly seeking this gift before I was ‘slain in the spirit’ (I fell to the ground when my muscles didn’t support my body weight), at St Matt’s whilst Louise Morse was laying hands on me and praying for release that I spoke in an unknown tongue for the first time. Satan tried to convince me that I was making the words up from my imagination, but I ignored him and persevered. With practise, it became natural for me to speak supernaturally. I always urge others with whom I am praying for the gift of tongues to try the same procedure that worked for me. Having accepted the contents of The Radical Christian as profoundly biblical, I could no longer give my pocket change into the offering basket as my tithing. My tithing, like my attendance at church, had to be important to me and affect my lifestyle. We decided that we would change our denomination by attending the 3Cs assembly at the following Sunday service on our return from holiday. We duly drove to the Coleridge Road school where the fellowship had been meeting for some time. The gates were chained and padlocked, because the school had closed for the Christmas holidays and the church were meeting elsewhere. We took the locked gates to be a sign from God, that we should not change our denominational affiliation. We climbed back into our car and drove straight to St Matt’s where we worshipped as members for more than a decade.

I was pleased to have resolved the problem of where to worship. My next problem was to attend an interview with our bank manager, which was very acrimonious. He read in the balance sheet of the preferred creditor (the Inland Revenue) who, in the event of our business failing, had a prior claim to the bank for the £100,000 Corporation Tax, exposing the bank’s weakened position. He promptly called in our personal guarantee of £25,000. A Christian friend telephoned me later that week, offering to lend me the £25,000 for a few weeks, at which time he would need the money returned. We gratefully received his generous offer. My friend knew that I had finally sold my house subject to contract, for we often prayed together over the situation Pauline and I were in. The offer was still a very generous gesture for my house sale may well have fallen through again. The bank manager insisted that we should sell our freehold shop, the forced sale, meant releasing a property that would have considerably increased in value, if we had been allowed to sell it at a more advantageous time. This property which I was forced to sell at £70,000, sold 15 years later at £120,000. We had planned to lease the shop and flat to another trader, and live on the proceeds of the rent received as our retirement income. However we knew that the Lord will have made arrangements for our welfare when we do choose to retire.

Having sold our investment, the bank manager insisted we placed our leasehold shop up for sale As mentioned earlier it was currently losing £250 each week we traded, so we were not disappointed with his directive. We finally sold our lease to a trader in coffee one year later, which was evidence of how deep the recession was biting. We had to take a loss of about £30,000 which is what the unsold stock and sport shop fittings had cost to us. We gave all our unsold stock to a missionary society, who shipped the goods to Africa and the shop-fittings were given to a church that was opening a Christian book shop. I had no difficulty selling my very profitable, but time consuming space invader business. I was grateful to have sold these businesses although I still had the darts and health-club to try to keep afloat despite the bank pressurising me to sell at a huge loss. Eventually we sold the freehold of our health club/restaurant, at our asking price of £150,000,the exact amount of our overdraft! We were now free from control by our bank. I immediately moved my account elsewhere! I retained a ‘flying leasehold’ on the top two floors, of our building, for a 99 year term. We were able to continue running the club, in what without bank-charges had become a profitable business.

It was just when I needed the bank’s assistance, that they pulled the rug from under me, in a heartless execution. I realise that during the long recession the bank, in their commercial perception, dealt with my case no differently than other banking institutions dealt with defaulting customers but, at that time, several local family businesses were forced into bankruptcy by my bank, in following what I considered as a short-sighted policy. Our bank manager had only recently been appointed to the branch we traded at.I understand that his predecessor had left the bank’s employment under a cloud for having lent money too freely. In his endeavours to impress his directors, the new manager was ruthless towards indebtedness by the bank’s clients. He restricted our overdraft terms to a crippling position, repayment of loan from twelve to eight years, simultaneously increasing all the bank’s charges for services rendered. We were charged 91 pence for every cheque I wrote. I was compelled to present myself before the manager once a month in order to keep the bank informed of our trading position. I was charged £200 on each occasion for the privilege of his valuable time! I had to repay £1,500 per month in overdraft charges alone, which came from the darts business. I calculated that in one trading year I paid almost £30,000 to the bank for services rendered. We had no savings or rich friends that we might ask financial assistance from, and now that I was being scrupulously honest in all my dealings, I could no longer pay for items out of ‘my back pocket’. My faith was subject to tremendous pressure for the whole of that seven year period. I was confident that I would one day be free from this crippling debt, that my God would honour my faithful obedience to Him. Despite the situation we found ourselves in, I always believed that the Lord would see that our every bill was met on time and they were! One of my business friends who had been similarly hounded by the bank, had recently committed suicide, because he could not take the pressure exerted by the same unhelpful and unrealistic bank manager. This friend was not a Christian and had no saviour to rely on, nor even a church fellowship with whom he could talk over his problems, in order that the problems could be given a prayerful covering. I could not have coped with the intimidation of the bank in my own strength, but Pauline and I together with our Christian friends had faith in an almighty God who answered the prayers offered and protected those who depended on Him.

I refused to open the health club for trading on a Sunday, which because the club would have needed staffing was unacceptable to my Christian beliefs. I was not trying to persuade my staff or my clients into attending a church, I held to the belief that Sunday was a day for being with one’s family. In effect this meant that our competitors were offering a 15% discount over our prices, as they were open for an extra day of the week. Sunday was not an option for our members, but membership of our club continued to grow steadily. Our club prospered because we were local people and therefore better known to the people of Cambridge than our competitors from out of town. Pauline and me spent a great deal of time at the club, so there was a successful owner/client relationship. Also, we had a good relationship with local celebrities and the media. I was asked by Radio Cambridgeshire to take part in a series of programmes detailing the benefits of a healthy diet and exercise producing a healthy body. Nick Barraclough, the producer of the radio programme, became an enthusiastic member of our club. After a year or so of trading, ‘Shape Up’ without notice closed their doors and went into receivership! Many people who had previously been members of ‘Shape Up’ joined our club. This confirmed my belief (if I needed confirmation) that God honours faithfulness and integrity, by prospering the work of believers’ hands. I gave free membership to my clergy friends believing that they would spend some time speaking of their faith in the resurrected Christ to fellow club members. I displayed notices of forthcoming Christian events and meetings in a prominent position in the club lounge, together with many Christian pictorial tracts, to declare to our clients that we ran a business based on ‘Christian principles’. Quite a lot of informal evangelism took place in the club, which gave me a great deal of satisfaction. I am not aware of any of our clients becoming converted to Christ by our witnessing, but we certainly proclaimed the gospel!

In November 1986 I became aware that in order to meet our bills, Pauline had unilaterally decided to overcome our financial problems by allowing our flexible friend to take the strain. I was not best pleased at Pauline’s decision, because our increasing indebtedness to Barclaycard had risen to over £1,000. I insisted that we should tithe 10% of our income and without exception ensure we did not spend more than we earned, which should include any hire purchase agreements and interest charges from any company supplying goods or services to us. I arranged to sell our Ford Fiesta valued at £2,600 to my father-in-law, Ron, for £2,000 payable immediately, with the proviso that I could continue to use the car until we took an eagerly awaited winter holiday on the Algarve. Through the sale, we had enough money to pay off our Barclaycard debt and to pay for our holiday, during which time Pauline fell pregnant. Pauline longed for a child of our own and I agreed that a child would cement our love for each other. She had received prayer at a John Wimber conference and many of our close friends also prayed with us over many months. We both had faith that the Lord wanted to bless us with a baby. Prior to our holiday, my car was written off in a collision with another car. I released Ron from his obligation, but told him he would have to wait for his money to be returned, until after the insurance assessors made their decision and the insurance company remitted the write-off value of the car. I received the full £2,600 write off value from the insurance assessors, at which time I repaid my father-in-law his £2,000 and paid to the garage the deposit outstanding for my new car! Again I saw the Lord’s hand in all departments of our life.

On our return from Portugal we had exhausted our funds, but we were now familiar with this situation. I visited the showrooms of a garage in early January 1987, taking with me the assessor’s report and recommendation that my Fiesta be written off. The garage owner, who held a Volvo dealership, was a personal friend. On the strength of the assessor’s report, we made an agreement that I should buy through hire purchase, a 1986 car at a greatly reduced price (because I did not have a car to part exchange and because a new model car was being introduced in 1987). Barry would wait for the deposit until I received the insurance money in February 1987. Meanwhile, we were having to pray for a bumper provision of money to pay the £7,500 for our tax liability due at the end of January, only a week or two away. A man came into out gym asking if he could leave some carpets for a few nights in our unused cellar, for which service he would pay me £1,000. As much as we needed the money, I turned him down. I did not need a word of knowledge to know that these carpets had been stolen. The following day an angel disguised as a reporter from the Town Crier, a local weekly newspaper, walked into our health club. He wanted to write a feature article on health and fitness. The article was very topical as people often make New Year’s resolutions to get fit or to diet after their Christmas excesses. A 100 mm square colour photograph of Pauline in the club’s Jacuzzi bath appeared on the front page of the newspaper, with a glowing article on the facilities on offer at our club, which resulted in many people signing on for membership. We usually spent quite a bit on advertising each month, so this bonus was a gift from heaven. We received sufficient revenue to meet the £7,500 tax bill on time!

The Cornells arranged an appointment for Pauline and I in the May of 1997 to bear our souls to a counsellor. I was delivered from a white witch that had taken up residence in my body. I was conscious that prior to my conversion I had been gifted in some spiritual exercises but these attributes were from the devil and I could trace them back to the time of my involvement with the spiritualists at ouija board sessions. I had an evil eye, I could wish harm on individuals and even calamity on nations. It was as if the unfortunate person or country I had concentrated my resentment against, had been cursed, for they invariably suffered, which I usually heard of fairly soon after the event. I could read an individual’s mind and impose my will over their own to suit my purposes. I could lay hands on the sick, or think of them in absentia and they were apparently healed. I was able to predict future events with accuracy; enough to sense my prediction were not just lucky guesses. I have, of course, since repented of my former dalliance with the dead. Prior to becoming a Christian I had never thought of my curiosity as disobedience to God or having particular significance, but, I have come to realise how ignorant of my rebelliousness I had formerly been. I renounced all my ‘giftings’ and asked Jesus to forgive me and sanctify any gifting He should entrust me with. Magnificently Jesus not only accepted my sacrifice, but gave me a far healthier and more demonstrable gifting. I blessed instead of cursed and took great delight on seeing a person healed at my laying on of hands, or I gave a word of knowledge that resolved a problem that someone had sought my counsel over. Most importantly I tried to be obedient to the Holy Spirit’s promptings, rather than exercising control over those to whom I ministered. On the day we returned to our flat we received a phone call which resulted in us finally selling the freehold of the Castle Street property. During the time that we were trying to sell the freehold of the building housing our health club, we showed many would-be restaurant owners over the building, but the problem was that none of those interested parties could obtain a mortgage large enough to complete the purchase. I received a word of wisdom to re-advertise the property, but with my retaining a 40% interest in the property by way of a flying 99 year leasehold at a peppercorn rent. We soon sold the property and found ourselves with no debt to the bank and a health club that was actually profitable!

I have already written of my Mother attending our joint baptism with my unsaved sister, I repeatedly told them of how Jesus had saved me from my former lifestyle and how they ought to get to know Him. For years Mum had been a heavy smoker, saying that smoking was one of the few pleasures in her life. She came to terms with her mortality after suffering breathing difficulties and related problems and gave up smoking. Mum’s health continued to deteriorate and she underwent spells in hospitals. Pauline and I visited her prior to attending the Spring Harvest Bible Camp at Minehead in 1986, during her last such spell in hospital. I spoke to her of her need to accept Jesus Christ as her Lord and Saviour and to acknowledge and repent of her personal sinfulness, as being the only way to defeat death and obtain eternal life. Obtaining salvation was so simple to my understanding. I hate the thought that tongue-tied Christians allow their loved ones to perish through their silence. Mum saw how easy it would be, to be reconciled to Christ and allowed us to pray for her in the name of Jesus. I knew with certainty, that Mum had understood and accepted my words as truth and was reconciled to God. Her repentance would come later, once she had fully appreciated the great gift of salvation she had received. We left Mum some illustrated pamphlets and some audio tapes and departed for Minehead.

Following our short holiday, we returned to Plymouth and stayed a few days with Mum, who had been discharged from hospital during our week at Minehead. Pauline and I have followed the pattern for many years, of reading from the Bible daily, using the daily notes of Every Day With Jesus. On this visit we included Mum in our meditations and in our enthusiasm for proclaiming Christ, we stoked up the fire of faith in Mum. We took my mother to a Mothering Sunday service, in the Tavistock Anglican Church, where her own funeral service was held a month later. Mum wrote enthusiastically in her last letters to me of her newly found faith and of her zeal to tell Pat’s children, the importance of knowing Christ personally.

On Easter Sunday the 30th March 1986, Mum died suddenly, thankfully without pain. Pauline and I had been invited to lunch with the Ely Christian Fellowship on that day. I returned home and I was devastated to hear over the telephone of Mum’s death. We still went to our Sunday evening service, which turned out to be a requiem thanksgiving service to Mum. I will never forget that last month of Mum’s life. Mum’s death left a big gap in my life. At Mum’s cremation service, my sister Jean and I were thankful, we felt more like partying than mourning for we knew our mother was safe with Jesus. Mum had been preparing the table for the Easter Sunday tea, to which she had invited my eldest daughter Kim, together with her husband Martin who were on holiday in the West Country. Mum had just invited my step-father to give his approval to her table preparation, when she uttered a gasp and falling onto the sofa, she died. Since my divorce, Kim had not kept in touch with my side of the family, which I knew had upset Mum, as Kim was her eldest grandchild. When Kim had been a little girl she had remarked in innocence, that as her grandmother was so old, she would not be alive at her marriage. Mum had retorted that she would dance at Kim’s wedding; and she had!

As members of St Matt’s we were blessed to become part of David and Judith Pilkington’s house group. They were the leaders of a very loving and caring housegroup who prayed for us during our financial problems over many years. We learned to accept the interest of our housegroup in our well-being as being compassionate and caring and not just enquired of out of curiosity. Similarly, we in turn prayed compassionately over issues in which our fellow housegroup members were concerned. It was in response to the pleas of two young wives who were barren, that we interceded vigorously for the Lord to open their wombs to produce children. Steve and Annabel Barber now have two children and David and Ali Thistlethwaite have three. Strangely enough both these couples left St Matt’s to join other fellowship, as did some others from our house group. Sometime later our housegroups were restructured and Pauline and I became housegroup leaders. We remained in friendship with the Thistlethwaites and were invited to attend the opening day of an exhibition of Ali’s paintings. Perhaps it was the stress of organising the event, or the excitement of the big day, but for whatever the reason Ali started to bleed. She asked me to take her to her home and to pray for her, she was very distressed for she had miscarried on three previous occasions. I found myself prophesying over her whilst she lay in her bed of affliction that evening, that this pregnancy would extend to full term and result in the birth of a baby with a very strong desire to live. As I have indicated earlier in this paragraph, Ali gave birth to Adelaide, a bonny girl. Unfortunately, within a year of our arrival Sidney left St Matt’s for pastures new and we experienced a year long interregnum before a new priest, the Rev. Philip Foster was appointed. I was delighted with the appointment of our new vicar. Philip had been a student at Cambridge University and Cordelia his wife had been a member of our choir; they had even married at St Matt’s. I was concerned at the reluctance of our membership to involve themselves in evangelism, sensing that the fellowship enjoyed itself so much that the PCC were not looking to increase our membership if it meant changes to routine. I knew Philip to be keen on evangelism and we worked on many projects together over eight years.

We were not deterred by the limitations of our home over our decision to raise a child. We had no expectation of obtaining a mortgage, at my age and with my prospects, but once again the Lord moved majestically in our lives, providing us with a house beyond our most hopeful expectations. My daughter Kim telephoned me to share her joy that she was pregnant. I was thrilled for her, but didn’t feel it right to tell her at that time that Pauline was in the early stages of pregnancy. Unfortunately, my mother was not alive to share in our joy. My first granddaughter named Amelia, was born on 1st August 1987, six weeks before our son Daniel was born who was then immediately an uncle. Pauline was over 40 years of age and carrying her first child. To confirm the birth, the Lord told me that we would have a son, whom we should name Daniel James. From that moment on, I was certain that mother and son would be fine. I had prayed for months that Pauline would not suffer the pain usually associated with childbirth. Pauline always offered an ‘Amen’ to my prayers, well knowing that no natural birth could occur without pain. As Daniel was well overdue and because of Pauline’s age, the doctors decided to administer a Caesarean section. Pauline was given an epidural, prior to the operation; but shortly afterwards she went into natural labour, making a Caesarean section unnecessary. Owing to the pain killer she did not experience any pain. Once again our God had majestically answered my prayer!

WE befriended an unmarried mother, who appeared at St Matt’s one Sunday morning in a state of agitation. She had for some years come under the influence of a very violent, drunken ex-convict with whom she had lived, but from whom she was trying to break free in order to start a new life, bringing to an end the unsavoury association. We offered her friendship and support and generally helped her to believe in her self-worth, in that she was precious to God. We scanned the ‘situations vacant’ columns of the newspapers, seeking a job that would allow her to be self-supporting and she found her job. She gradually recovered her self-confidence and self-esteem and has overcome many of her uncertaincies. The mother of this young woman, had been a bed-maker at Peterhouse College for many years and at that time was a ‘university aunt’, but has since died. It had been the policy of the colleges to offer stewardship of the houses that they owned, outside the college precincts (retained to provide accommodation for the students that are unable to be accommodated within the college precincts), to those faithful, long serving retainers who had no retirement home and limited savings of their own. Thus giving their former employees the financial security of tenure of a student lodging house, in return for their attending to the welfare of the students entrusted to them. The mother in gratitude to us for our helping her daughter suggested that Pauline should apply for a similar position to her own. We would never have given a thought to this idea prior to our conversion, but with hope and faith in our hearts Pauline applied.

We had a small life insurance policy which we decided to cash in, partly because I wanted to take Pauline on holiday and partly because we could no longer afford the monthly premium. On the last day of that subsequent holiday, the Lord impressed upon me to give £123.10p to John and Clare Krang a couple from our church. Pauline agreed that we should, but she did not mention that we had only £125 left in the bank! On the following Sunday I gave a cheque to John, who was mystified but agreed to pray over what they should do with the money. The following day I won £1,000 in a premium bond draw and the following Sunday John returned our cheque to us, informing us that they had sought the Lord’s will and felt it right to return it. I believe we were just being tested to see if we would freely give despite our own need. The sequel to this story was that subsequently our church held a ‘Tear Fund’, bread and cheese lunch. Those of us participating were invited to donate the cost of our usual lunch to provide relief for the hungry in Africa. I told the church treasurer that I would make up the balance for whatever he was short of to complete a £500 donation. You can probably guess that I was asked for £123.10 to make the figure’s balance! During the week following our holiday, Pauline received a letter from Peterhouse offering her an interview, with the objective of deciding if Pauline was a suitable person to be offered a house to run as a ‘university aunt’ for the College. I have no idea if the grateful mother had petitioned on our behalf, but I do know the Lord’s hand was upon the situation. The position had already been offered to someone else who fortunately for us, turned it down. Only God knows how Pauline’s name came up as the next possible candidate! Pauline was five months pregnant at the time of her interview and she thought that might colour the judgement of her interviewer against her appointment.

Following Pauline’s successful interview, arrangements were made for us to view the house we now live in. The previous steward, Mr Nelson, insisted on a £1,000 settlement by way of ‘key money’ for all the improvements he had made to the house and for all the linen, bedding, crockery and cutlery he was leaving behind, together with some expensive electrical appliances. With my premium bond win we had just enough money to meet his requirements! Mr Nelson’s only reason for moving from the house we have occupied since his departure, was that he had suffered a mild heart attack. He could no longer climb the stairs of this four storied house without difficulty. Whilst he was showing us over the house I noticed on the mantelpiece a black cross some 230mm high, with a snake entwining the cross in its coils. I already knew the significance of the symbol, but wanted to draw Mr Nelson into explaining his beliefs. When I asked him what the symbol represented, he told me that he was a practising spiritualist, having previously attended a Christian Church. Shortly after we moved into our new home, the Lord impressed upon me that I had to visit Mr Nelson and warn him that he should throw out any spiritualist paraphernalia he might have retained. He should also repent of his gross sin, otherwise his life would be taken from him. Mr Nelson was out walking when I visited his new home. His wife told me that her husband’s health was much improved. She looked uncomfortable and disbelieving at the message I had to pass to her for her husband, but said she would pass on my message. The following week we read of Mr Nelson’s death, in the obituary column of the local paper. The devil does not look after his own servants, he is too deceitful to deliver that which he has promised. Presumably Mr Nelson had chosen to ignore the message, but I still hope he may have made his personal confession and repented.

We took the precaution of exorcising our house, a ritual in which our vicar assisted us with. During this ceremony, Pauline ‘heard’ whispered into her inner ear, the Hebrew name El Shaddai, from Genesis Ch 14:19:-

which is why we gave this title to our home. The name has turned out to be so appropriate, for our home is a house of peace and a place of rest, refuge and sustenance. With the help of friends and family and at considerable expense to the College who paid for all the materials used, we decorated the house from top to bottom. The house was perfect for our needs and decorations were completed one week before Daniel James Droy entered the world on 17th September 1987.

We provide a home for four students during term times, but outside of term times, Peterhouse allow us to rent out the student rooms for bed and breakfast, which apart from being very profitable, has proven to be a good opportunity to witness to our faith. A copy of my testimony is placed in every bedroom, together with a Gideon Bible and on most days we have an opportunity to witness to our guests. Our work here has proven to be a most inspirational of callings by God, we thoroughly enjoy our life style. Our new house was equidistant from our previous home to St Matt’s, which we took to be a sign that we should continue in fellowship now that the ‘new’ incumbent was well established. During St Matt’s interregnum, Pauline and I had quite often attended the Ely Christian Fellowship, where we were made to feel very welcome by the pastors, Tony and Margaret Cornell, with whom we continue to keep in regular touch. I call to mind two of our friends, Maureen and Pearl, who received remission from cancer, whom we introduced to the Cornell’s ministry:

Maureen Ambrose, a divorcee, had previously sought the Lord through the Spiritualist Church (as I had done in my youth). She had withdrawn from the confirmation classes conducted at St James at the same time as Pauline had, she like us wanted to be baptised by full immersion. Occasionally she attended Ely Christian Fellowship or would attend St Matt’s with us but she finally decided to join the Eden Baptist Church. Pauline and I visited her in Addenbrooke’s Hospital to pray for her recovery from cancer. She did receive five years remission and died in Christ in May 1992. The other person we prayed for was Pearl Prior’s husband Harold, who also received several years remission from a cancerous tumour. Harold had attended a high Anglican Church for some time before receiving his healing in 1986. Pearl maintains that it was his healing that made him come alive in his spirit. He started to attend Ely Cathedral every Sunday, whilst Pearl attended the nearby Ely Christian Fellowship. In 1991, I took Pearl on two occasions to the Arthur Rank House hospice when Harold was close to death, where I prayed for her husband. He was very much a believer and was peaceful over his impending death. Harold lapsed back into a coma and in his last lucid moments said to Pearl (who had spent many hours and days at Harold’s bedside) that Jesus was standing at the foot of his bed. I am sure that like Lazarus, the beggar, he was carried off by angels to be with Christ.

I was so certain that the Lord would ensure that our trading companies would flourish until we had repaid our debt, that two years into our agreement with the fraud squad investigators, and two weeks after Daniel’s birth, I started a three year, full-time course of study, at Romsey House Theological College, where I obtained the Cambridge Diploma in Religious Studies. Pauline encouraged my attendance at bible college, well knowing that the running of our health club would have to be achieved without much effective support from me but aware that God had made a call on my life. I believed that God wanted me to become a preaching evangelist and that was why He had gifted me in so many areas of spirituality. Pauline continued to run our health club, taking Daniel with her to the Gym, which she did for more than a year. A year or so into my studies we received an offer for our 99 year lease, far too good to refuse, which we gratefully accepted. Pauline was freed from a great deal of pressure, for Daniel was demanding greater parental attention. We were released into a freedom which we could never have anticipated, a freedom which allows us to witness to our faith in an enjoyable and yet lucrative way. I was overjoyed with Pauline’s reaction to my proposal to give some of the proceeds from the sale of our health club to the three children of my first marriage. Pauline had no reason, other than to please me, of giving away any of our hard-earned money as an early inheritance to my children. The only money we had at our marriage was the settlement money from Pauline’s divorce, I had no money or possessions when I remarried, because I had given up my right of a share in the home that Pam and I held a mortgage on. Pauline would most probably outlive me as she is almost 13 years younger than I; except that I fully expect the Lord to return during my lifetime to take us both away. If I am wrong, there will be no further money available at my death to support Pauline and Daniel. It was therefore a very generous gesture Pauline was making. I am so very grateful for her response to my wishes, particularly as if I had allowed the natural course of events to follow, (that is including the children of my former marriage in my will to inherit only on my death) Kerry would not have received anything, as he predeceased me. We were both responding to a word of wisdom given by the Holy Spirit, which enlarged on my understanding of ‘family’, when the Lord drew my attention to Exodus Ch 12:33-36. I was to regard the Jew as I would one of my own children (just as God does) and provide the same magnitude of support to the Jew as I would to a son. I recognised that I had a similar obligation to provide sanctuary to the returning Jews as the Egyptians of Moses’ days had exhibited. Since that prompting we have given financial support to the work of the Second Exodus Trust’s Exobus Project. The mission of this organisation is to transport Jews making Aliyah (emigrating) from Russia to Israel.

Following Daniel’s birth, we arranged a thanksgiving service of celebration (to which we invited all our friends). Daniel will make up his own mind, in his own time, with regard to being baptised into Christ. I trust that he uses the occasion as a public witness to others of his need to repent and accept the atonement of Jesus’ sacrificial death, as being the only way of salvation. Daniel at the age of eight stated that he wanted to be baptised because he recognises and loves Jesus. Daniel does not feel confident enough as yet to testify publicly to his faith, he has always shunned the spotlight. Also I am uncertain that he is able to make a commitment that he will be able to honour at so young an age (I am well aware of the Bible story of Samuel’s unique calling). I am also aware of many teenage children of believers, on reaching the age of independence, or on moving from the family home, become very rebellious in their backsliding. God knows the heart of parents who share my concern over this issue. Perhaps there is a similar form of sanctification for children as there is for the unbelieving spouse, especially whilst the child lives under the same roof as a believing parent or step-parent and may therefore be ‘covered’ by his heavenly father’s protection. It is one of those areas in which God’s mercy cannot be counted upon, for no promise is given. I know that none who are God’s can be plucked from His hand and I believe my son Daniel will know when the time is right for his baptism. I remember clearly a Chinese man calling at my home, with a fantastic personal testimony which I cannot write about here, for his life would be endangered. He was as confident of his salvation as was the thief on the Cross, who was also not baptised.

I have supported the Ministry of Siloam Christian Ministries, from the time that I understood the meaning of the saying, ‘It is more blessed to give than to receive’. I arranged for the director, Richard Norton, to address St Matt’s Church at a midweek meeting, from which time we have become good friends. Richard arranged during our 1989 Christmas break from Romsey House for Pauline and myself to assist Oscar Segura the pastor of the Assemblies of God (AOG) Church in Lagos, Portugal in the delivery of 1,000 food parcels to the orphans and widows, the poor and destitute, who had fled from Mozambique and Angola a decade earlier. Most of these refugees had been re-housed over the intervening years, but we visited a group of ten families still living in atrocious conditions in a decommissioned prison. It was an unhygienic hovel, awash with water that did not drain away quickly enough. All ten families, (with an average of six children to each family) shared the two toilets and two bathrooms which did not leave much room for modesty. Other large families sleep in caravans measuring 3m by 4.5 m in a small settlement. The children’s play area was a monstrously huge rubbish dump where rats and lice proliferated. Some of these poor folk were members of Pastor Oscar’s congregations, but many of the evacuees were no longer prepared to air their problems in public, not even if it meant their own survival. They were deeply depressed and ashamed of their inability to overcome their difficulties without relying on the charity of others. Many of the deported from Angola committed suicide or became drunkards, junkies or criminals, many of the mothers and daughters became prostitutes. Their deportation must have been a humiliating as well as a traumatic experience. The church had an outreach to these refugees, but the people of Lagos were in the main a poorly educated people living in a high unemployment area. How can we as humans fully know how effective that outreach served God’s purposes, only God knows what His purposes were in this and every other situation.

I preached through an interpreter to two AOG congregations on two successive evening. The first time was in the fishing village of Burgau, where we stay regularly and know many from the church, who lived or worked in the village. The following evening in Lagos, where four people gave their hearts to the Lord. Later that same evening a man approached me to tell me that he had recently robbed five banks. He was so moved by what I had said in testimony through my interpreter, that he resolved to return his ill-gotten gains on the following day. Since that first time of foreign mission assignment, I have given testimony or preached in many other countries. I am always thrilled to see the Holy Spirit move after the preaching of the word or when testimony is given. When Paul was called to explain himself to the Church in Jerusalem, the apostles did not ask what he preached, but what signs followed the preaching, for they were aware that God answered faithfulness in this way (Acts Ch 15:4-12) and it is God’s fullness miraculously demonstrated that I want to witness at every service of worship. Over many Christmases, Pauline and I have been attending and supporting the English speaking International Evangelical Church at Vale Judeu (near Faro Airport) since it was formed in the private house of its pastor, Peter Sluimer. During the Sunday celebrating Christmas 1989, Pastor Sluimer said that his fellowship had been well received at the local prison during a carol service held the previous day. He drew attention to the imprisonment of five pastors in Rumania on the previous day and asked that we might remember them and their families in prayer.

I found myself during the open prayer time prophesying that in the same way that this fellowship had gained entry and acceptance into the prison the previous day; the Holy Spirit would open the prison gates in Rumania and allow the pastors out. The dictatorial regime that kept its foot on the neck of the nation was to be overthrown without delay. My prophecy was not in line with the extempore prayers being offered and perhaps it was not believed by all present, but there was a chorus of ‘Amen’ following its delivery. On the return journey to our villa, from church, we called in at the Burgau Tennis Club run by an English couple Andy and Julie Robinson. In the clubhouse on Sky TV, we saw chaotic scenes surrounding a nation-wide rally in Rumania organised by the party faithful and heard discordant voices in the crowd. The following day the TV carried the story of the uprising of the people and the overthrowing of the Ceaucescu regime. I am always amazed at God’s revelations or rather by seeing prophecies, announced by me being fulfilled. Dominions and powers in the heavenlies can be prayed against in the same manner that oppressive dictatorial regimes are. The wall of Islam in the nations surrounding Israel will eventually fall. The dividing wall will fall through prayer and fasting but in God’s timing.

During the 1990 May bank holiday period, Pauline and I decided to take a two week holiday on the Greek island of Mykonos, our favourite island where we spent our honeymoon. I wanted to spend some time recapping my research prior to sitting for the Cambridge Diploma, which I was sitting a few weeks later. I received a word of knowledge that the couple in the adjoining apartment were in ‘the ministry’ but were travelling incognito. The husband was aware that I was studying The Theology of Mission and Early Church History but he had not declared his interest in the subject. He had observed me sun-bathing in the garden of the apartments whilst surrounded by books and notes. He and his wife came to say goodbye on their last day, when I impishly said ‘I believe you are a minister of religion’. He looked surprised at this disclosure, but acknowledged that he was a Canon in the Anglican Church. I was not all surprised at his confession as I had received many similar secret snippets of private information at other times. Later that same day whilst I was playing with Daniel on the beach, the Lord said:-

I knew better than to resist this voice and took the short walk back to our villa, accompanied by Pauline and Daniel. Inexplicably I was able to tell Daniel that two families had arrived and that they both had small children. We went through the welcoming formalities, when the Lord spoke to me again:-

I was dumbfounded and later that day I told Pauline of the significance of the mysterious summons back to the villa. ‘I wish I knew’ was my reply to her question ‘What are you going to do about this revelation?’ I realised that I had been given the earlier now confirmed revelation of the incognito canon, to encourage me to be confident that I had heard correctly from God and to take courage in issuing a warning to the would-be murderer. It was not until the last day of our holiday that I found myself alone with this man. I grasped the opportunity immediately. I told him that God had revealed his plotting to me and that God would deal with him most severely if he went ahead with his scheme. He went as white as a ghost and speechlessly fled back to his apartment! I often wonder whatever the result of my intervention was. Since that time I have had other such ‘woman at the well’ experiences. I am always amazed at the accuracy of what I am told during these ‘divine appointments’ as indeed are the recipients to whom the words are delivered!

The first time I heard Daniel Cozens, the Ely Diocesan evangelist preach, he made an altar call at St Matt’s to which no one responded! I spoke to Daniel at length after the service and recognised in his demeanour a man who was hungry to do God’s bidding. Daniel accepts acclaim and dismissal as part of his profession of faith and of little importance. Single mindedly he goes for the jugular. I do not think he could work in any other way. In his zeal to serve his master he is always prepared to become a fool for Christ. I could see in him a longing to win people to Christ, a longing which I have shared ever since. The local churches must have decided that the previous mission had been worthwhile, for Daniel was invited to run a follow up ‘Brass Tacks’ mission 27th January - 12th February 1988. Twenty churches from many denominations came together in prayerful and financial support, as £8,000 had to be raised, to which churches and individuals were invited to contribute. Sixty stewards, 50 counsellors and 40 other workers were needed to hand out leaflets around the town each morning of each of the three weeks of mission.

During the commissioning service for the mission on the Sunday afternoon at Holy Trinity Church, I shared the vision with the assembly, that I had received earlier in the week of an Amaryllis bulb, with the accompanying Bible passage from 1 Corinthians Ch 3:1-15. The Amaryllis bulb potted in a container, lovingly nurtured, just as an earnest, much repeated prayer is cosseted. It was not known how many flowering trumpets the plant would produce or what colour they would be. Amaryllis are so colourful and pleasing to the eye, especially in England where they flower in the winter (indoors), when there are very few flowering plants. The consensus of opinion was that I was not to give up on any of those whom the Lord had laid upon my heart, whose heads were superimposed onto the flower heads. My job was to continually pray faithfully for the salvation of those people who had been impressed into my mind and heart. I did not have to pray for hundreds of converts with unseen faces, but just a few that God reminded me of. I should earnestly seek to visualise faces in the place of the flowering trumpets, in a similar way that I would study a well-thumbed photo album of family history.

I was particularly pleased to be able to organise what has proved to be one of Daniel’s best platforms to reach out to the unevangelised. He expressed a wish to visit pubs, as an alternative to the more familiar coffee and biscuit mornings in the homes of Christian supporters. His revelation that more sinners would convert, having heard the gospel preached in a pub rather than from a pulpit proved to be true. In any event because I supplied many Cambridge pubs with sports equipment, it was a simple matter for me through personal contacts to arrange a few pub venues for Daniel to preach in. I arranged the now famous pub nights in areas all over Cambridge city, during the evenings on the weekdays when Daniel was preaching in the Arts Theatre at lunch times. Many churches in the areas closest to the pubs sponsored the hospitality and publicity and many Christians took their unsaved friends or relatives to hear Daniel preach and many found the Lord at these meetings. St Matt’s organised and paid for two nights of hospitality in pubs located in the parish. Barry and Sue Badcock, Richard Wood, and Colin Rodgers all of whom later became regular attenders at St Matt’s, found the Lord at this time and through pub evangelism. Many Christians brought workmates or non believing family members to hear Daniel in an environment in which they would not feel threatened. Pub nights have become a regular feature of Daniel’s ministry ever since that time.

At the first of three Friday evening healing services, following Daniel’s invitation for any sick people present to come forward I suddenly experienced a horrendous migraine. This was accompanied by a word of knowledge that the pain was a sympathy pain, attributable to the man sitting next to me. This man, whom I later learned to be Mike Brothers, had not gone forward for healing at the invitation. I summoned up courage and asked him if he suffered with migraine, he nodded in affirmation. I then told him that if he went forward for prayer, he would be healed. He immediately stood up and walked quickly to the front, taking his place in the healing line. As soon as Daniel anointed him with oil the pain left my head. At which point I got up to leave believing that I had done what was expected of me that night. As I walked to the back of the church my attention was drawn to a woman, whom I later knew to be Pauline Grounds. The Holy Spirit prompted me to pray for her. I asked her to come into a side room, where I received a vision of her sitting in a small cell with barbed wire at the window. As I took the picture in, roses suddenly appeared in full bloom on the sharp prongs of wire; the revelation that accompanied the vision prompted me to prophesy over her that although she was feeling depressed and was in a rut, too deep to get out of in her own strength, she would shortly experience a change in her circumstances. Pauline would be leaving her church and changing houses, where she would have a garden full of roses. Some years later Pauline became Daniel’s secretary, I enquired of her whether the prophecy had been fulfilled, she told me that everything I had predicted had happened and she was very contented.

I remember at our first pub meeting in The Racehorse PH, the first of many such venues, Daniel suddenly said a short while after completing his testimony, ‘I am sorry I have blown it. I must start again!’He may have been right, for several people responded to his second invitation that night; none of whom were from the guests I had invited. My guest list included my son Kerry and my accountant Colin. At pub meetings around the city we met many people who listened to Daniel Cozen’s plea, urging the non-believers and the backsliders to make a firm commitment to follow Christ. Some repented, others said that they felt no need to repent; some who responded, thoughtfully decided that, commitment would mean giving up too much of their former practices in life, or they were not convinced by what they had heard that salvation was a reality, or they put off making a decision until later, when they were not leading such busy lives. In total approximately 100 people came to the Lord over the ‘Brass Tacks’ mission. I was disappointed in the apparent lack of effort by others in the church, in inviting their non-born-again friends, loved ones and work-mates to the pub meetings.

At the final healing meeting, Daniel invited any to come forward who could testify to what God had accomplished in their lives during this mission. The man for whom I had the word of knowledge at the first healing meeting was the first to the platform. He explained that he had been a non-believer who had attended the earlier service only to accompany his wife not seeking relief from the complaint of migraine that had repeatedly hospitalised him and salvation was far from his mind. Mike Brothers was a sergeant-major in the army, his medical officers after years of treatment could do nothing further to improve his health. It was possible he would be discharged from the army because of his health, but he had been fully and wonderfully healed and now saved. Whilst Mike was giving his testimony of healing and salvation, a minister friend of mine, Ray Smith, who was trying to quieten an obviously drunken man, called me over to help him. The man Ray was struggling with was about 1.9m tall and heavily tattooed with close cropped hair and aged about 50. As I put my hands on this drunken man, he totally sobered up and fell sobbing into my arms. He told me that he had previously followed Jesus and had fallen away. He had allowed Satan to steal away the security of his salvation. He had earlier that day been released from prison and had unwisely taken a drink rather than having a meal. I was given a word of wisdom that he was a believer who had not been able to live up to people’s perception of God’s calling on his life and had fallen away in his own sight, but he was now experiencing a new surge of God’s infilling. As I took him forward for a ministerial blessing from Daniel, I was able to reassure him that as he had genuinely repented he was totally forgiven. I was greatly rewarded spiritually by the gifts of the Holy Spirit as I stepped out in faithful obedience. The Spirit has remained within me and filled me with more confidence each time I have been emboldened to ask for His power to be demonstrated in my life. I shall never forget this mission, because I believe it was the last time my first born son Kerry heard the gospel message and he heard it in a pub with me at his elbow.

Following the Brass Tacks Mission Daniel invited me to join him and some of his friends in full-time ministry on a three day retreat at the Masters Retreat Centre not far from Ely. It was here that I met Daniel’s associate evangelist partner, Peter Adams, who invited me to join a Through Faith Mission (TFM) team taking part in ‘Reachout ‘88’, a two week in length mission to Huntingdon and Godmanchester, commencing a few weeks later. Some of Daniel’s guests visited the local village pub on our last evening together. The Rev Rick Gates became very ill with a stomach problem during the night. Despite the laying on of hands and much prayer his condition deteriorated. Rick went without lunch returning home before our final session. In the confusion of collecting his things together, Rick accidentally took my sweater home with him. I telephoned him the following day to tell him that I had received a word of knowledge, (that he had a perforated stomach wall and impurities were being secreted into sensitive areas of his abdomen) that if he wore my sweater for a whole day and sought his healing in faith, he would be healed. He replied:- ‘I am wearing it now, and I will continue to wear it through the day.’ The following week I received my sweater back with a note of gratitude to me, praising Jesus for his healing!

I was pleased to be invited by Geoff Johnny (a friend from bible college days) to help him on a pre-mission scouting assignment. Geoff had been entrusted with the task of arranging some pub meetings, that were to be a major part of Reachout ‘88’. Eighteen out of 22 possible local churches participated in this interdenominational mission. On the 10th September 1988, at midday, I was driving through the town of Sandy in Bedfordshire. At precisely the spot on the road where I had been badly shaken in a car smash some months earlier, I received a vision of an angel! He appeared as a kite or a balloon hovering over the houses and as big as the houses. The angel was dressed in a policeman’s uniform and helmet, but appeared to be cut off at the waist. I was obviously being shown something of significance, but I received no word of knowledge by way of explanation. On the Saturday afternoon the ‘Reachout ‘88’ mission members assembled for our opening prayer time, when the strategy of the mission was outlined to us. At this, the first of our daily prayer meetings, I was given the interpretation of the received earlier vision in the day. The revelation was that all team members, should recognise the authority given to Daniel and his close aides, by accepting our servant roles throughout the mission and tackling any tasks given to us, uncomplainingly and willingly. A fellow worker, Cath Taylor, who I had worked with during the ‘Brass Tacks’ mission, told me that Mike Brothers, who had received both his healing and his salvation through the word of knowledge I had given directly to him at Holy Trinity Church, was to be baptised by full immersion the following Sunday. Unfortunately I was unable to attend but I was thrilled for him and my part in his conversion.

At the evening commissioning service, it was impressed upon me that someone in that congregation felt themselves condemned as a murderer and had no assurance of their salvation. Daniel asked me whether I thought he should in this very traditional Anglican Church publicly announce the contents of this word of knowledge. I was positive that he should, because the person was so depressed that it would be unlikely that he would attend any further mission meetings (I knew instinctively that the person was suicidal and the Lord wanted to intervene). Daniel took authority and did announce the details. Halfway through our two week mission, as Daniel was driving me back to my hosts’ home, unprompted he told me that a man had responded to the appeal. This gentleman had assumed that his wife was ‘crying wolf’, when complaining for the umpteenth time of heart problems. This tortured man was prepared to carry to the grave the knowledge that he had decided in his wisdom not to call the doctor out late at night. The following morning, his wife lay dead in bed beside him. He found it difficult to cope with the guilt he felt, but Daniel was able to give him a comforting and reassuring word.

Andrew Whitman, the minister of the Silver Street Baptist Church, chaired the group of churches during the mission. We became good friends and since the mission I have visited his church to give testimony. I did tell him that he would be relocating his church to larger premises, but he ought to retain his present church premises, as I sensed a special ministry working to the community from there. That prophecy was fulfilled very quickly and I understand that the smaller church is now used for services by the Salvation Army. One vision I recall sharing with Andrew was of a fishing net being cast over the whole area, which was then drawn in over Andrew’s Church. I have often seen European fishermen working on the beach in a similar fashion, with perhaps half a dozen men heaving on the ropes at each end of the beach, gradually pulling the heavy net further up the beach and drawing closer together into one group, as the dragnet is finally pulled clear of the sea onto the sand, when they can then share the catch. I am sure that the reader can see the significance for themselves. The net became in appearance a string bag filled with people. The strands of the net did not seem particularly strong on their own, but woven together (through united prayer and support), they had strength, meaning and purpose and collectively they made up the participating churches of the area. I prophesied over Andrew that he would become leader of the Huntingdon area fraternity, that would look to him for guidance and support. I made Andrew a present of a string bag as a permanent reminder and suggested that the churches who had supported this mission, should continue to meet regularly in the future, to reinforce relationship made during the mission.

One touch of comedy I remember is of the night that guitarist Geoff Twigg and I ministered and testified to the inmates of Little Hey Prison. This was the only time (so far) that I had testified to my faith in a prison, although the circumstances may seem bizarre. We had given a gospel message and I had given my testimony, I could see that some people wanted to respond to the appeal. We had concluded our presentation when suddenly a siren sounded. A prisoner had escaped! The wardens came in and marched all our listeners back to their cells! Some months later evangelist Bob Hurley told me that he had recently accompanied Daniel over to Little Hey Prison when five people gave their hearts to the Lord; I am sure our earlier visit had been helpful. Throughout ‘Reachout ‘88’ I felt especially blessed. I received many words of knowledge, some leading to healing and deliverance and some to recommitment. The Lord Jesus was right there with us and answering calls made in and through His name. The figure estimated to fund the mission was £6,000. Daniel was praying for 1,000 converts. Ervin Dorschler, a musician and evangelist believed that the churches would not be able to welcome that many converts amongst them without a great deal of difficulty and I tend to agree. However Daniel’s prayers were not fulfilled on this occasion. One year later I was told by Andrew Whitman that only about 30 converts from the original 140 who had come forward were still attending any of the churches, six converts remaining faithful to his own church. .St Matt’s own mission in July 1989 saw Edna Clarke (since gone to be with the Lord), Sid Mutcher and Chris Whitby’s brother John, who recognised and accepted the Lord and His salvation, because of His atoning sacrifice. Such good news! Whilst David Joy will never forget knocking on Caroline Walker’s door, and the response he got there. She could not wait to be given a personal invitation to attend church! I will never forget my own part in the laying on of hands and seeing Sid healed from a back complaint and John healed from throat cancer. Daniel Cozens spoke at our pub night in the Cambridge Blue PH and also at our closing guest night service.

When Daniel Cozens first shared privately with me his vision of 1000 men from all walks of life, walking down the Pennine Way and visiting each hamlet, village and town each evening to share the Good News of Jesus Christ, my imagination was fired. Daniel met me by arrangement at Romsey House Theological College, one day in February 1989 and over lunch at the White Hart at Fulbourn we had discussed the ramifications of Daniel’s vision. Because of my study commitments I didn’t feel I could be involved in the planning, which would have to start as soon as he had received the approval of his prayer partners. Daniel’s diary was pretty full in 1990, but he was keen to make a start as soon as practicable. A Prayer Partner’s Conference was held at Cottenham on Saturday 11th November 1989, when Daniel revealed his vision. The audience was reminded of the vision that Jean Darnel had received many years earlier, of the backbone of England being lit up, (the backbone being the Pennine way). This vision was becoming ‘owned’, many other prophecies and visions were attested to by Daniel’s supporters. The dividing wall between East and West Germany had just fallen, which added to the heady atmosphere. The prayer partners gave their assent and promised support for ‘The Walk’ and it was scheduled to take place 11th May - 2nd June 91

The administration of such an undertaking was formidable and it needed extra staff to cope with the volume of work that ‘The Walk’ would entail. Trevor Hames, a solicitor from Hastings, joined the full-time team of TFM on 1st May 1990 and came to live at my home for a few weeks, whilst he worked out more permanent housing arrangements. A month or so later Trevor collected me and my family from Gatwick Airport on our return from a holiday abroad. He told me of the first training day to take place in Colchester, the following Saturday. I quickly adjusted my diary arrangements in order to attend. Approximately 60 people attended this first of the training days, which was a very thorough in-depth training time that included practical pub evangelism and door-knocking.

I was asked to train the would-be evangelists living in or around Cambridge who had decided to join the TFM team with a view to welding ourselves into a corporate and self supportive body. I called a monthly prayer meeting and laid on a couple of venues, where the 20 or so men could practice publicly giving their testimony. On one of these occasions Anglia TV came to film us evangelising in ‘The Man in the Moon’ PH Cambridge, as part of a programme on the preparation for ‘The Walk’. I also took the team for long practice walks, eventually with our full packs on our backs. A good spirit of camaraderie quickly developed amongst the group. Our meetings became special times of sharing and have since been copied and improved upon all over the UK by other groups.

Daniel had conducted the funeral service of my son Kerry at the Cambridge Crematorium and had been very supportive. Following my car accident almost three months later, Daniel wanting to show his friendship, came to my home to pray for me. He was insistent that I still took part in the mission, if in my heart I still wanted to be involved. On hearing of my eagerness to continue, he dreamed up a new category of helpers; ‘Walk Associates’. Daniel decided that I would be the only chauffeur-driven walker on the team! He entrusted my well-being to one of his best friends, Fred Garner, and gave us a freelance but spiritual commission to drive, and not hike our bed-rolls over the Pennines, as the walkers were doing. Once Daniel’s campaign team had realised the need for ‘Walk Associates’, more were appointed. Walk associates have since been recognised as fulfilling an important link in the chain of ministry and have become an integral and important part of this style of mission. Fred and I acted as go-between to the mobile HQ, the centurions and the teams assigned to minister under them. We also liaised with the host churches and visited those who had come forward at meetings who required a follow-up visit.

Daniel drove me early one Saturday morning to Blackburn Cathedral, where he was holding a national ‘Walk’ rally. During the journey Daniel shared that he was greatly troubled at the news of his father’s admission to hospital, seriously ill and not likely to recover. We prayed over Daniel’s concern that his father had never accepted Jesus into his life. Daniel was visiting his father on the following day, perhaps for the last time. At the rally several men spoke of visions and prophecies. I gave testimony from the cathedral podium that following my recent car accident, I had been receiving treatment from a physiotherapist, who on the previous day had ‘clicked’ five of my vertebrae back into place which were out of joint. As I had not been suffering any undue pain, I had assumed my body was healing quite naturally. I sensed that I was being given a word of wisdom that the Church in Britain was like my body, it appeared to be working efficiently on the outside, but on the inside there were many things out of place. I compared the Church with the government of our land, which had not faced up to the problems of racial integration of all the immigrants from the former Commonwealth, many of whom were second generation children born in this country. Many of these families continued their worship of foreign gods as their ancestors had done for centuries. The Church should not wring its hands in despair at the problem, but face up to it and take the gospel to the nation. Many other ‘walkers’ testified and prophesied encouraging words to the assembly gathered from all parts of Britain. Daniel dropped me at home late into Saturday evening, when we shared a final time of prayer. It was at this time that I prophesied over Daniel that his father would accept Jesus as his saviour and what was more, he would recover and be discharged from hospital and witness to his wife.

Over dinner a week or two later, whilst Daniel was recounting the miraculous events surrounding his father’s return to health and acceptance of Jesus, I felt compelled to ask Daniel if his father’s wife was his mother. He was surprised at my question, but knew that I often received words of knowledge. He confirmed that I had assumed correctly, but was inquisitive as to how I had discerned this. I reminded him of our last prayer time, on returning home from Blackburn, when I had prophesied over him. I had not referred to his father’s wife as Daniel’s mum, but as ‘the wife of his father’. There have been other supernatural occurrences during my long friendship with Daniel, but much of our conversations have been personal and private. Daniel jokingly repeats that I receive more pictures than the Tate Gallery! Prior to the TFM prayer partners meeting held for the first time outside of London, in a marquee erected on the lawn of Daniel’s home at Coton. Daniel telephoned me to ask me if I could provide overnight accommodation for one of his prayer partners whom he would introduce to me at the meeting. After the conference I took this young lady to our home. Through a word of knowledge I knew she was greatly troubled. A further prompting by the Holy Spirit told me that this attractive young lady had acquired an abortion! Whilst we were sharing a pot of tea, I pondered how best to invite her to tell me, for she had not asked for counselling or healing. Having made some polite conversation I finally asked her outright whether she had ever been accosted walking between her church and home at night. That opened the floodgate! She replied:- ‘Yes, I have been. I was raped and became pregnant and I had an abortion. If it happened again I would take the same action!’ I was flabbergasted by her vehement outburst. Through a word of wisdom I knew that she had not only to forgive her assailant but seek the forgiveness of her unborn child. This young lady had been suffering with Myalgic Encephalomyelitis (ME), and her condition was not getting any better. I would love to know if she received her healing, but I have not heard from her since that night she stayed at our home. As I write this account I remember that on two other separate but similar occasions, the Lord gave me revelation that He would use my faith to heal two men both suffering with incurable ME. The symptoms are muscular fatigue, painful joints and loss of memory, thought to be brought into the immune system by a virus. I told the wives of both men, that I was to sleep for a week on pillowcases that their respective husbands normally slept on. On the return and use of the pillowcases, their husbands would be healed. Unfortunately my words of knowledge were not believed and as far as I know, the two men are still suffering in their sickness.

Only 442 evangelists took part in the first walk of 1,000 men. Many people offered themselves for two or even three weeks. Several of the walkers were without employment and many others took unpaid holiday. Many could not afford the expenses of transportation or hiking clothing and were given bursaries from their churches, or individual gifts from friends. A member from my own church had given me the full cost of my purchasing a back-pack, wet weather clothing etc, amounting to almost £300. Colleagues testified that they had received generously from their home churches. Our churches prayed for us on all occasions and a daily phone hotline to the TFM office, kept our loved ones at home abreast of developments. We were divided up into 42 teams and walked and witnessed through seven Anglican Dioceses. Six bishops gave their support for The Walk but initially Bishop David Jenkins withheld his approval. He did however, later change his mind. Over 200 churches adopted TFM and shared the vision. Methodists, Pentecostals, Baptist and Independent churches supported and welcomed us all into their midst. Many walkers slept in their sleeping bags on parish room floors, but nobody went hungry, even on ‘Open Fields’ assignments. ‘Open Fields’ meant that churches were offering only minimal support to the teams. Walkers were encouraged to take only £3.00 a day to enable them to buy a drink for another person in a pub, where they would later be assigned to. Fred and I slept overnight at Fred’s house, as he lived so near to West Auckland where we were assigned to minister over the first two days. Our first commission was best remembered by someone from the church saying to us ‘But you are no better at evangelism than we are!’ We agreed with him.

I did fear for Daniel’s safety on the Sunday evening when he addressed an audience in a working man’s club from the centre of the room. Daniel is 1.90m tall and well built. A man 150mm shorter but of similar weight, walked belligerently up close to Daniel who was speaking from the centre of the main auditorium. From an eyeball to eyeball confrontation and in an aggressive attitude, with hands on hips the man asked: ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ Daniel hardly paused, ‘My name is Daniel Cozens and I am an evangelist bringing the good news of the gospel.’ The man held out his hand and said, ‘Put it there pal, good luck to you.’ Daniel thanked him and continued addressing his audience without a pause. The man turned on his heels and walked back to the bar. I was praying very hard, for I thought the man may have been contemplating head-butting Daniel! It would have been very daunting for any of the rest of us to handle the situation as well as Daniel did. As we left this area on the Monday, the church was making plans for a follow up mission that they themselves would organise. On the first Sunday (the 12th May), Daniel was relieved to hear that the town of Newbottle had agreed to take two teams on an ‘Open Fields’ basis. Bearing in mind that each team member only had a limited amount of money it was an opportunity for all to live by faith for a short time.

My day usually commenced with Bible readings from about 5.30 am, which was my normal routine at home. Most nights I got to bed at midnight, which was very late for me! Every second day the teams of walkers met at about 9.30 am for prayer, Bible study and to plan out the day’s campaign. Fred’s routine was melded with my own. Walkers were expected to join one of the teams in order to cement team work. On the days either side of the village or town being visited, the teams were ferried to the hills, for a 10.00 am start for ‘The Walk’, which might be eight miles or it might be as much as ten miles. This journey would be undertaken with full back packs, as each man carried his own clothing and bedding everywhere with him. Each of these days usually meant walking until 5.00 pm and then being shuttled off in one direction or another in cars, to member’s homes of hosting churches, for a wash, a change of clothes and some food, prior to meeting up with the team for corporate pub evangelism in the evening. Many hosts provided bedrooms as well as food although quite often the teams chose to stick together and slept on the floor in church rooms, but, Fred and I developed a relationship between HQ and team leaders, which proved to be critical to the success of the mission as the leaders often felt isolated and separated from what was going on in the field.

There were the usual arrangements made for coffee mornings and Bible study, visits to schools, youth clubs and old people’s homes, factories and hospitals. Some of the team were over-awed at the level of authority they were entrusted with. Extremes of boldness and timidity through witnessing, together with a willingness and often a reluctance, to be available to testify or preach were much in evidence depending on the charisma of the walker. There was much euphoria when someone shared a high experience and much self-recrimination when someone told of an opportunity that was not capitalised on. Strong men cried and opened their hearts up to their Lord and to other members of their team, often in anguish at their own failings as they committed themselves afresh to rely on God’s strength and provision during their mission.

On the 14th May, during the evening Fred and I took part in a service of praise. Our administration team from HQ (which incidentally coped extremely well with all the hitches, misfortunes, injuries, media interviews, transportation of men and materials and dozens of other things), also joined the team we were working with, for a service of worship in a barn on a farmyard in Langwathby, filled with local residents. We sat on straw bales and our singing was accompanied by an electric keyboard. Several of those attending came forward for healing. A word of knowledge told me that the church warden was troubled, concerning his own salvation. Later that evening he gave his heart to the Lord. Obviously, no human can know how effective any meeting has been, from the perspective of heaven. Quite often a meeting in a pub or a barn might be just one of a series of experiences each of us has to go through, before acknowledging our need for a saviour. Many healings have been attested to since the mission was completed.

A service was held in the Bull Hotel at Sedberg on the 16th May, I was working with a different team. Some of our hearers went forward for healing, one seeker wanted baptism into the gifts of the Holy Spirit, but there were no conversions. It would have been unrealistic to think that there would be a great turning to God, particularly as most of the attenders to all of the official public meetings in the pubs, barns and churches were church members, who did not even bring non-Christians, family or friends to these often impromptu services. Many of the chapel and church leaders had never set foot in a pub before and were like fish out of water. Many of the churches were not in renewal, let alone were they evangelical or charismatic in their churchmanship. Most of the successes took place in one-to-one situations, where people had the opportunity to share their fears with a man wearing a green jersey with the TFM logo on it, identifying the man as a walker and a Christian who would listen to burdened peoples’ problems.

It was on Friday 17th May at 2.00 pm that Fred Garner and I arrived as the advance party in Kirby Lonsdale. The ‘Line up’ man (our local contact) was the Methodist minister who was away on sabbatical leave. He had told a steward that eight men would be sleeping in the church room, but had not mentioned a need for food nor even a programme which would involve the church. There was an Anglican minister resident in the town who knew of the mission; he was much in evidence by his absence. Naïvely the steward had agreed to take a second team on an ‘open fields’ basis (as mentioned above, no programme or provision was expected to be provided by the receiving church). Fred and I knocked on a few doors and spoke to one or two Christians who responded sympathetically, some beds and a great deal of food was provided for the 20 something people from the teams that descended on this small town.

Sunday 19th May, changeover day at Ingleton, just as chaotic as our initial arrival at Hexham and just as exciting. Many lasting friendships were made and much merriment took place between us as we greeted our new colleagues arriving on their respective coaches and said our goodbyes to friends who were returning home for a happy reunion with their wives and families. People who would be forever changed and who would take back to their churches a determination to put into practice the experiences they had learned. One man, Harold Gosling, with whom I had been out door knocking, I had prayed with earlier in the week over his inadequacy in communicating in the pubs. He excitedly told me that he had just led two ladies to Christ in the car park! Harold will never be the same, he is a better equipped more fulfilled Christian.

My next chauffeur and partner was Tim Atkins, an Anglican minister from Eastwood, Nottingham. A totally different personality from Fred, but equally as wise and willing to be used in God’s service. Owing to the experiences I had encountered over the previous week, Tim and I were able to iron out many problems and difficulties before they developed. This understanding proved to be highly satisfactory, if very tiring. We had to be very adaptable and quick on our feet, as our task was not only to follow up on those who had responded to the invitation for prayer. We arranged venues and times where the teams would minister. We found various pub venues, where publicans were pleased to take our beer mats. In every pub we asked the landlord if we might make an announcement during the busy lunch hours, introducing ourselves as Christians, after which we wanted to circulate among their customers wearing our jerseys to identify ourselves. If the publican agreed to our proposals we advised the centurions who allocated the men in pairs available to them to a venue in the town. Most publicans were readily agreeable and proved to be very supportive. On our second day in Huddersfield, Tim and I addressed a ladies’ lunch meeting in a church hall and later that day ministered alongside the teams of walkers. We also acted as a liaison unit between Mike Stewart the Centurion and three of the four teams working in Huddersfield under Mike’s authority and two of the three local ‘line up’ men. We spent practically the whole of Friday (our third day) between two old folks’ homes, cementing good relationships between the wardens of the homes, their wards and the church ministers, who were open to our suggestion of combined cross church Bible study to share the workload.

On Thursday lunch time, accompanied by Russell Pope and David Newell, both part of the Cambridge contingent of aspiring evangelists, I shouted over the voices of the clientele of the County Hotel informing them of the purpose of our visit to Huddersfield. I asked if they would include us men wearing the distinctive jerseys in their conversations and they should feel free to ask why we were prepared to leave our families at home and forgo our own holiday in order to share our time with them attesting to our faith. This intrusion on their lunch break gave us the opportunity to circulate and talk to the customers. We each had a rewarding time. I will never forget Tom and Lily Laughton 78 and 80 years of age, 57 years married, who I led to Christ over their lunch!

Later that evening in a different pub, Robert Aston, one of the team, was talking to a Rastafarian wearing an emblem to Heile Sellasie around his neck. At our prayer meeting the following morning I asked Robert how he had coped in his conversation with this man. He told me he was feeling very low and ineffective as an evangelist. To Robert’s chagrin the Rastafarian argued his faith better than Robert could argue his. Worse was to come for later that evening he had spoken to a spiritualist who had mocked him, in Robert’s own words, playing with him, as if a fish on a hook. I found myself laying hands on Robert and prophesying over him, as I had done with Harold Gosling the previous week. I prophesied that he had not only been washed in the blood of Jesus, but that he had been anointed with a coating of glazing, which would protect him like a shield from contamination or frustration by Satan. He would be used for special assignments in evangelism.

On the following day Robert told me excitedly that he had led an ex-Jehovah’s Witness to Christ and for good measure a Sikh doctor from another town who just happened to be visiting the Huddersfield General Hospital. Robert lives in the Birmingham area where he has had many such opportunities to witness for the Lord to people of other faiths. Robert, like Harold, will never forget the Lord’s provision at this time. I met Robert again on 27th March 1993 at Daniel’s Prayer Partners Conference. He told me that the Lord was still sending him to people of other faiths and he is still able to convince them to accept Christ as the only true God. He cannot understand his particular gifting because he does not feel especially anointed. He is a businessman and his business has flourished since he has been emboldened to speak of his faith, God has enlarged Robert’s ministry by allowing him to speak candidly to fellow businessmen, of their need to worship the true God and not the God of Mammon.

During one evening Mission to a pub, Ian Hazell, a builder by trade, of the same team had been used by Christ to heal a man of a badly injured leg; broken in three places, which entailed him wearing a calliper fitted on his leg. Ian had told this man that if he accepted Jesus as his Lord and Saviour he would be healed. The man told Ian that he had been thrown out of his marital home and had unsuccessfully tried to commit suicide. He assented to repeat a sinner’s prayer; but Ian did not know what to do next. He called over a member of his team who was older than himself and probably wiser and then when his older friend did nothing other than smile, Ian offered up a simple but hesitant prayer. They both heard the bones in the man’s leg cracking and being reset as he repeated the prayer! The man discarded his callipers and walked out of the pub saying he was going to try to restore his marriage now that he had found faith. Ian’s helper confessed to him later that he had not got the first idea of what to do in these circumstances! The reports kept coming in.

Pastor Mike Archer provided a buffet at The Swan PH in Longwood where Dave Edwards was going to testify. Prior to Dave speaking, our chaps vacated the window seat, which was fortunate as a concrete block was hurled through the window landing where they had been sitting. It transpired that an alcoholic who was well known locally and who had been banned from the pub, had singled this pub out for attack on this particular night. No one had any doubt it was the devil behind the attack. I visited The Swan the next evening, (to claim the ground for Christ) and was aware of all the technicoloured pin-up shots of he-men, with over developed muscles, wearing little or no clothing on their bodies. Our team were certainly working ‘outside the city gates’. I had no opportunity to speak to the customers here, although from the emblem on my jersey it was known that I was part of the team from the previous night’s visit. Those people who were on their own became deeply engrossed in their newspapers, if I caught their eye. Customers with companions did not respond to my cheery grin, striving fervently to prevent their private conversation from lapsing into silence, in case I butted in!

Some of our team were working in the Town Hall PH just around the corner from the Swan PH, so I joined them at the bar. Neil was a big lad with close cropped hair and tattoos all over his well-muscled body. He was mocking Keith Massey’s views of a sovereign God, in a loud, but not unfriendly, way. He jeered ‘Why do you pay the landlord to lay on food, surely you can multiply food by a miracle’. Neil’s mates were all laughing at Keith’s embarrassment. I had a word of knowledge that Neil had been ill for some time and that the doctor had not diagnosed the cause. He confirmed that he had an ongoing illness and that his doctor had not been able to relieve the symptoms. I said:-

Neil thought for a few seconds, whilst his friends jeered him. He threatened to do dire things to them if they would not shut up their mocking. He agreed it would be proof that God was alive and still worked miracles if he was healed. He closed his eyes and said ‘Amen’ to the prayer I offered. I heard from Mike Stewart later that Neil was at the Woolpack PH the following night to hear more about this Jesus. Although he didn’t come to our service in the church on the Thursday evening, I do not think God has finished working in Neil’s life.

I was glad to be in St Stephen’s Church praying with Dave’s team (Team 15) on the Wednesday morning. Dave was feeling particularly crushed and bruised, indeed the whole team were feeling low. Someone had a tongue of which I had received the interpretation. It was in effect a command to relax and to paddle our feet in His healing waters, to take off our heavy armour and to consider ourselves off duty for a while. We should all take time to listen to the minstrels and be refreshed by the perfumed soaps of anointing. After a beautiful time together, all of the team affirmed their love and respect for Dave’s leadership and subsequent developments became better and better, as all the team became overcomers, in their new found confidence. Five years later members of this team still hold an annual get together.

Huddersfield is a cosmopolitan town with many Pakistani, West Indian and Asian residents each national group having their own house of worship, a temple or mosque near to the town centre. Many of these folks are second generation children and were born in the UK of immigrant parents. Each group were open to the gospel and some have converted to Christianity since arriving in Britain. Ten years ago Peter Hannams, the Elim Pentecostal Church pastor (in whose home I lodged) ministered to a church of about 80 members. His congregation at the time of ‘The Walk’ was in excess of 150. Some of the team went to the mosque with Peter and made good use of their time just speaking to the worshippers! Whilst others from the team went to the polytechnic and did some good work, just sharing with students why they had given up time at home with their families, to be in Huddersfield sharing the gospel with them. As barriers of suspicion were broken down, a better relationship with pub landlords and their customers was established and many doors were thrown open. My own views on indigenous evangelism have had to be reviewed in view of the different and distinctive cultures that co-exist side by side, not just in Huddersfield but in every town in Britain. Bridges need to be built and developed through friendly relationships across the cultures.

On Saturday 26th May at 10.00 am, together with Jeff Potter, the leader of Team 17, I attended a prayer meeting with the youth team from the Elim Church at Huddersfield. Afterwards we assisted the youth team in their weekly street evangelism in the Piazza of the town’s shopping centre from 10.30 am until 2.00 pm. The team distributed tracts, played music, did some sketch board illustrations and opened up many conversations. The two street benches in the area where we were working, which had fondly become known as the ‘salvation bench’ and ‘healing bench’ were well used this day. People who were carrying heavy shopping bags, or who just want to rest their feet, found that friendly men wearing the now familiar sweatshirt with its distinctive emblem were there to pass the time of day speaking with them. The local people were curious why team members should be foregoing a holiday with their family, or taking time off from business to support this mission, often at great personal sacrifice.

Following our morning service on Sunday 27th May, we called for a healing line and many people came forward for prayer and healing at which I officiated. I prayed for many people of both sexes, young and old. A lady with cataracts responded to a word of knowledge I received, that a miraculous healing of blind eyes was to take place. During the coach trip back to Todmorden following this service, my hands were itching and red raw. This has occurred at other times when the Lord has blessed me by healing someone through my hands. Several months later when a couple from Huddersfield Church visited St Matt’s, it was recounted to me that on the Sunday following the healing service, this lady had testified to her healing. She had apparently had an admission to hospital arranged for an operation during the week following that particular service, which under the circumstances proved unnecessary and she was sent home! Fred was working with a new partner over this week. We did not get together very often until after this mission became history, but we kept in touch. (We later went on holidays abroad together and Fred has always been a welcome visitor to our home.) The changeover of one group of evangelists leaving and new teams meeting each other, was by the very nature of the exercise protracted and seemingly chaotic. Eventually, amongst all the milling throng I found my new partner Howard Dawson an ex-farmer, a man with a pastor’s heart (probably due to his working with sheep for so many years) who runs a Christian youth Hostel in Yorkshire.

We arrived at Deeplish in Rochdale at 7.10 pm at St Luke’s Church, where I was invited to explain to the congregation something of ‘The Walk’ and of my personal experiences. The congregation knew full well all about ‘The Walk’, because David Widdows their minister, together with Graham Watson a parishioner, had been walkers on Week 1 and were now the ‘line-out’ men on Week 3! Not only was this heartening to me, but additionally Howard had been part of that team (Team 11, of which Jim Dalgleish from Sawston Free Church and a Cambridge pub convert from the ‘Brass Tacks’ mission was a member). I felt so profoundly blessed! I have since heard that Jim has entered full-time into church ministry which really thrills me. Millie, Jim’s wife, has attended some of the home Bible studies that I conducted following the ‘Brass Tacks’ mission.

It had been decided that Howard and I should support Team 35, for the whole of this week. Our Centurion Graham Daniels and his ‘batman’ Johnny Cornwall were also so assigned, but our modus operandi was slightly different. On Monday morning we drove over to the Hare and Hounds PH at Todmorden for 10.00 am to encourage the teams as they set off on their first walk. We met our designated teams at the end of their walk in the White House PH car park in Littleborough, Rochdale at 4.00 pm. In between times Howard and I had driven over to Mixenden and Ovendon in order to do some follow-up work that was still outstanding from Week 2.

The highlight of my day was leading David Smithers, a scientist and my host at dinner, to the Lord. He had been attending church with his family for two years, but today he accepted forgiveness and received eternal life as he repented of his former life on praying a sinner’s prayer. He knew that by attending church regularly he had not been ‘born again’, his rational head knowledge had percolated into his heart. He now experiences joy and peace. We met the team at 7.00 pm where we were assigned to pubs to which we would be working after dinner that evening. I was assigned to be the main speaker at the Weavers PH and the supporting team were: Alan Vince, Ron Melhuish and Peter Moore. The Weavers PH had been assigned to us because it was recognised as the roughest and toughest pub in the locality. It was generally believed by our colleagues that we were well equipped to handle the mission. I can only remark that having grown up in a similar environment, I did not feel too uncomfortable. Filthy language was commonplace, some of the records that the disc jockey played were pornographic. The disc jockey made suggestive actions, accompanying the words of music (if such a record could be called music). Most of the ladies in the audience laughed along with the menfolk at his antics, which really were quite appalling. There were three groups of ladies, one group of which were the worse for drink and in high spirits. One inebriated lady from this group continually interrupted Alan’s testimony with which he gamely continued. Following the time of testimony and over a plate of sandwiches, both of the other groups gave me a fair hearing and all these ladies admitted to be nominal Catholics who sometimes attended St John’s Church. One young mother who had suffered severely from depression said she would come to the Field House Cricket Club, where we would be conducting a healing service the following night. Her mother, Gloria said she would come too. She further told me that she said her prayers every night, even when she was drunk! She wasn’t drunk this night, she was drinking in what our team were sharing with her. Gloria told me that she had not clearly heard Alan’s testimony, I therefore asked him to repeat it to her party of five or six people. One of the ladies knew that Jesus had been born by a miracle and that the Pope was the head of the Church, that was about the sum total of her knowledge from her Catholic upbringing.

Peter Moore had been one of the soldiers blown up in the Guildford bomb blast, (24th September 1974) in which five people had died and 35 had received wounds or had lost limbs. The 9kg (kilogram) bomb went off only 2m from Peter leaving him incapacitated with head injuries. He had been a healthy physical training instructor whose fitness helped him through his recovery. Peter was invalided out of the Royal Army and found a job as a school teacher. After 15 years of suffering from depression (1974-1989) he had found the Lord. He relies on his disability pension to make up the shortfall in his financial commitments. He sat for most of the evening with a crowd of men who were either playing pool or waiting their turn to play. None of them made a commitment, but each one of them was polite and they gave us a fair hearing, as we told them of our background and beliefs and explained why we felt it important to take time away from our homes and families in order to meet with them.

Ron was sitting with a couple of chaps, who had admired our ‘bottle’ in speaking out publicly. They could not believe that we had not wanted to ‘beg for money’. Two separate conversations I did have showed that people do vaguely have a concept of eternal life, perhaps through a series of reincarnations. One man said that Jesus died for his own sin and that he thought Jesus may well have since become sinless and gone to ‘some other place’. I argued that if he really believed what he was saying, he must surely believe that like Jesus, he was aiming to get to this special place. He replied that he himself had a guardian angel, with whom he swapped places in between reincarnations. There was enough in our conversation for him to accept that there was a perfect place, somewhere else, where sinless people will live and even that Jesus was a good example for us to follow, but he would be drawn no further. The mythology of Greek gods is still very much believed in, from what has been taught in schools. It is a pity that most school teachers do not have a faith in Christ. Most school curricula do not have a syllabus which includes Christian belief, other than as a Westernised cultural philosophy, one of a variety and acceptable faiths. Teaching alternative religions in schools is bad enough, but to persist in teaching Darwin’s theory of evolution is wicked, particularly as Darwin later came to believe his theory was not only flawed but wrong! I have written fully about this one pub meeting, only to show the kind of place and response we had received throughout the Pennines. Sometimes, of course, we were verbally abused, but I didn’t hear of any physical violence offered.

Many conversations appeared unfruitful over each of the weeks and quite often we were politely told that ‘I do not want to talk to you, particularly about your faith’ and sometimes not so politely! On many occasions to end the conversation our listeners would say that they, ‘would come, to the meeting on the following night’, or that they ‘would think about our conversation’, as we were effectively dismissed, or they rose from their chair to leave the pub. On many occasions we were invited to visit homes on the following day, only to have the door closed on us, when we arrived! Presumably the person had second thoughts. But sometimes we were invited in and occasionally potential converts were led to a reinforced commitment, invariably they accepted our literature and on follow up visits, the literature was prominently displayed and obviously being read. My heart aches for the people who have left their former church over a grievance, which they have never tried to resolve, but led to them leaving the church altogether. Someone has computed that during the course of the three weeks, a total of 35,000-40,000 conversations would have taken place. We do not know the fruiting that will follow any conversations, but that is the business of the Holy Spirit, not ours. We do not chalk up successes, although we are obviously greatly encouraged when we do see immediate results.

Throughout Tuesday I was with Alan Vince once again. We went door knocking, ostensibly to fill out the prepared questionnaires, but always looking for an opportunity to share the gospel. Most of the houses in the four streets in which we worked were occupied by Sikhs, Hindus, Muslims or Irish Catholic families. Where there were adults at home we filled in the religious survey questionnaires, everyone was very polite and agreeable, but we did not get any chance to share the gospel with the householders. Where the occupants were not at home, we dropped leaflets through the letterbox inviting them to the evening meeting as evidence of our visit. We were not invited into any home where the occupants were of Indian or Asian extraction. We did find a few Irish Catholics at home, who, although taking time to fill in the questionnaires were not interested in coming to any of our meetings, nor did they want a visit to be made to them by the local Anglican Church. I have wondered since my return home, why it is that the unemployed people were all British. All the fathers of the immigrant families had a job to go to. I am sure that this is part of the Westerners’ malaise. One amusing incident of this day was that I spoke on the doorstep to Debbie a Jehovah’s Witness and I spoke to her about her muddled understanding of the Bible. It was the first time I had ever confronted a Jehovah’s Witness at their own front door!

We can be certain that the fires have been ignited throughout Great Britain and that the Holy Spirit will fan the flames into a conflagration. Just how long and how dramatic the effects will be is yet to be seen. All of the participants came away with the feeling that nothing like this has been attempted before, but that it was only the start of many future crusades, some larger and some smaller and involving different teams, perhaps using a slightly different format. Everybody I spoke to said that they would welcome the chance to take part again; some said the walks should happen annually. Similar walks have occurred in various parts of Britain since and others are planned. Daniel’s vision has certainly produced quality and prolific fruit. It is the most novel witness to this country since the days when the Wesleys and Whitfield walked and rode on horseback over the land more than 200 years ago conducting open air services.

In 1990 I became a lay reader to St Matt’s on obtaining the Cambridge Diploma in Religious Studies. I was informed by my bishop that at the age of 55 years I was too old to be a non-stipendiary minister in the Anglican Church. I had been approached by an independent church pastor to consider taking over his pastoral duties from him and also by a national evangelist with whom I discussed joining his team, as a full-time worker. In August 1990 having finished my studies and obtained my diploma, I prepared myself for my mission to Brazil. With the co-operation of my minister Philip and testimonies of members of St Matt’s, a testimonial was printed. These testimonials from the congregation were also supported by some senior Cambridge ministers, who knew of my discipleship in following Christ. The testimonial certainly raised my faith level and I hoped that others reading the testimony might come with an expectancy to any meeting that I addressed. My vicar, Philip, added his own very flattering comments.

I travelled to Brazil during October/November for five weeks of holidaying and preaching; where the signs and wonders following my testimony and teaching were quite extraordinary. For many years I have been receiving visions and prophecy, urging me to advise all who would listen, that we were now living in the final days. My understanding from the revelations given to me, was that Christ would return during my lifetime. It was the unfolding of this compelling, if disagreeable message to some hearers that I delivered in Brazil and which caused many to repent of their ways and turn to Christ. Essentially the message I gave was that today was not only the time to prepare the way of the Lord, but also (for believers) time to prepare one’s heart by repenting of areas of life that were known to be ungodly. No longer would any individual be able to blame the worldliness of their nation or their churches for their personal Christian walk. Each individual needed to repent and believe and live righteous and holy lives. I was under compulsion to preach this word of warning whenever possible. The worst aspect of my time in Brazil was that I did not speak any Portuguese. I could not read a newspaper or understand the TV programmes and most of my conversations were in pigeon English. My inability to speak Portuguese was not a problem whilst preaching as I spoke through an interpreter.

An expectant congregation of between 300-400 at the packed Bethesda AOG Church in Sâo Goncalo (a district in Rio de Janiero), listened intently. I was amazed to see that half of the faces in the congregation appeared to be glowing brightly, whilst the faces of the other half seemed strangely darkened. I received a word of knowledge that the darkened faces were of those possessed of demonic spirits who needed deliverance and cleansing from oppression. After the sermon the pastor Edeno Fonseca, himself a crusading evangelist, invited those who wanted a touch from God to come forward into the area in front of the platform, where I would pray for them, whilst the musicians played. The Holy Spirit impressed upon those He had compelled to attend and impelled to respond to the message given through me. I moved from the platform into the auditorium and was engulfed by people, who on coming forward for prayer, fell laughing or weeping and rolling on the floor in front of me, even before I laid hands on them. Mothers brought their sick children forward for me to pray over. Some from the congregation had demons cast out from them, others entered into a deeper commitment to God. When the so called ‘Toronto Blessing’ of 1993 became known throughout the world. I could only nod my head in agreement for I had experienced it myself at this service in Brazil. I knew with certainty that there was to be revival world-wide prior to the Lord’s return! It would not impact everywhere at the same time, but its effects would ripple ever outwards, offering everyone the world over the opportunity to turn and repent.

During this time the congregation who had not been prayed with, or who had returned to their seats, were singing lustily and reverently, whilst tears coursed down their cheeks. The service started at 7.00 pm and we were still worshipping at 10.30 pm. This service has proven to be the high point of my ministry to date. My interpreter told me that many people had been healed this night and others made a first time commitment to God. I heard of many people coming to the Lord at other services where I preached. There were other miracles of healing and deliverance which I took to be confirmation; a sign of the revealed truth, of the imminent return of the Lord Jesus given to me by the Holy Spirit. Pastor Fonseca was so moved by the demonstration of Holy Spirit power at his church, that he asked me to return in the following year to take part in a crusade with him into the jungle area of Manaus. I was on cloud nine, following my time in Brazil, my ministry was developing in a way that excited me. What could go wrong?

I returned to Britain on the 14th November 1990. My son Kerry had married on 1st September 1990. I had deep misgivings over the marriage which I articulated to the happy couple, but they were not listening to objections. It seemed that I was being warned in advance of an impending tragedy to follow. Perhaps by premonition I telephoned Kerry on 3rd December, to invite the newlyweds for a meal. Kerry sounded low in spirit and said that he would ring me later. I asked to speak to Anne, but she declined to come to the phone. On the following day, my daughter Kim telephoned me, to tell me that Kerry had committed suicide during the previous night. I wish he had shared his uncertainties candidly with me; for he was aware that I counselled Christians with problems. I presumed that he would have been embarrassed seeking counselling from me, for he had never told me of his innermost thoughts and fears, but I could have impartially suggested an appropriate counsellor with whom he could discuss his problems. I see now that as in my own case and probably the position my father found himself in, that Kerry had no spiritual counsellor, nor did any of the Droy menfolk believe we needed outside help. Perhaps Kerry believed he was beyond help or salvation, I will never know. I was overcome with grief over the loss of my first born son, I had a great deal of heart searching and self-recrimination to grieve over. My own life style had not been a good example and yet I needed the love of those I held dear to me. Was it because of my bad parenting that Kerry died? Was I too far removed, as an absent parent to be considered a loving father and friendly confidant? Was it my fault that Kerry had taken his own life? I had believed for some time that Kerry would die in the way that he had, for I had received a word of knowledge that he had ‘the mark of Cain’ (a self imposed curse)on him and had steeled myself against his early death. I discussed with evangelist Daniel Cozens, this unwelcome revelation, but he protested that I must have interpreted the word of knowledge incorrectly.

On the day of my son’s death, his wife of three months, issued him with a restraining order which denied Kerry access to his matrimonial home. Anne told him that although she loved him, she could no longer continue to live with him until he could demonstrate that he had changed his ‘wayward’ ways. Having been evicted from the house of his former lover, a year or so previously, he could not cope with reliving the scenario of the previous occasion. Once again someone he loved had rejected him because of