by Pam Rhodes
“Whatever it was, I left here absolutely certain that Joanne and I could make a go of it. We didn’t have mobiles then, but as soon as I got back on the mainland, I called her from a phone box by the side of the road. I asked her to marry me – and she said yes.”
“And now you’re back to make another decision?”
“I think I should leave her. That’s what I have to decide. I think she’d be better off without me. I made the wrong decision then, and it’s time for me to put it right.”
Abruptly, he got to his feet. “I need to walk. See you back on the coach.”
And without a backward glance, he strode away towards the seashore.
Betty elbowed Sheila in the ribs as they sat on a bench munching ice-cream cones.
“Don’t they look good together?”
Sheila followed her gaze to see Mark and Deirdre walking hand in hand down the road towards them.
“About time too. He’s been gazing doe-eyed at her for months.”
“He’s quite shy, I think. Probably doesn’t need to talk to people much in his line of work. It’s something to do with cancer – a research scientist, I think he said. Anyway, he’s a bit of a boffin. Nice man, though.” Giving her cornet another lick, Betty looked at him thoughtfully. “How old do you reckon he is?”
“Mid-forties?” suggested Sheila.
“Hmm, probably. Good looking, if you like the tall, lean sort.”
“Pity his hair’s going. He must have been quite a looker before the bald patch.”
“Well,” said Betty, leaning closer to Sheila. “You know what they say about men who are bald…”
“What?”
“That they’re very virile – you know, manly…”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” protested Sheila. “My John’s bald and I can’t think of one manly thing about him. Oh, yes I can: two things. He’s got smelly feet and he won’t let me have control of the TV remote ever!”
“Mark’s been married, hasn’t he?”
“His wife went off with a fella where she worked, so I heard. It must have been years ago, though. I don’t remember ever seeing him with anyone.”
“And Deirdre’s not got a husband, has she?” asked Betty. “How old’s that boy of hers now?”
“Well, he used to be in the choir, didn’t he? That was years ago, before I was a member. I guess he must have been about thirteen then.”
“I’d say he’s in his early twenties now,” said Betty. “Maybe twenty-three, twenty-four? He turned out really well – went to university to study law. He’s a solicitor down south somewhere, so I heard.”
“She must be very proud of him, bringing him up on her own like that.”
“Is his dad around?”
“Never heard him mentioned.”
“Ooh…” said Betty, a knowing look on her face.
The two women fell silent, licking their cornets as they watched Deirdre and Mark walk by.
They were joined on the bench by Marion and Jill, who had been browsing in the shops in the village, ending up at the Lindisfarne Centre.
“Jill’s treated herself to something really beautiful. Show them, Jill.”
With the excitement of a small child, Jill dug into her handbag to produce a small, velvety bag in midnight blue. Untying the ribbon, she drew out a soft mound of tissue paper, which she unfolded with care. Inside its layers was an exquisite silver Celtic cross.
“It’s lovely!” enthused Sheila.
“Rob will be so angry. He doesn’t like me wasting money…”
“You’re here on a Christian pilgrimage,” countered Betty. “This is Holy Island, steeped in the Christian faith. What a special place to buy a cross. It will really mean something to you for the rest of your life.”
“He’ll still be mad. After all, he’s the one who works to earn that money.”
“And you don’t work because you’ve been bringing up the family, his family.”
“Yes, but he never liked the idea of his wife working.”
“What were you doing when you met him, Jill?” asked Sheila.
“I was teaching maths at one of the senior schools in Derby.”
“And you carried on till you had children?”
“I stopped three months before Martin was born. Rob didn’t want me to work after that.”
“So before you became a mum, you’d held down a very responsible and highly qualified job. Didn’t you miss that when you were at home with the children?”
“Well, Rob thought the kids needed their mum at home, and I agreed with him…”
“Did you? All the time? What about when the boys were both at school themselves? You could have worked the same term times as theirs. You could have gone back to a job that suited your training and ability.”
“He wouldn’t have liked that. And I wouldn’t have wanted to upset him.”
“Jill, listen to yourself! If your husband had been saying you should stay at home out of love for you, fair enough. But we’ve seen the way he belittles and bullies you. He’s done it for years. And somewhere inside you, there must still be a confident, capable woman who studied and worked and excelled at maths. I don’t believe you never missed it.”
“Yes!” Suddenly Jill’s voice was strong and certain. “Yes, I did. Rob works for a big insurance company and it’s a job he loves. I watch him going off to work each morning, knowing he can’t wait to get his teeth into the challenges of a new day. I listen to him talking on the phone, and see how animated and on the ball he is when he’s speaking to his team – and how different that is from the dismissive, patronizing way he talks to me. He says I bore him.
“Well, to be honest, I bore myself. I’ve got nothing to talk about apart from the daily grind of housework: washing up, making beds, vacuuming, tidying, shopping, ironing, preparing dinner. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy being a homemaker, because I do, but there’s more to me than that, and I know it. Yes, I do feel resentful that Rob has always had a fulfilling job but won’t allow me to have the same, not even now the kids have left home. There! I never dared say that out loud before, and now I have.”
A cheer went up from the friends around her.
“And do you know what makes it worse?” she went on, really getting into her stride. “He doesn’t come home. Most evenings he says he’s working late at the office, but he’s never back until after nine, and his breath stinks of booze. He wants his dinner, his favourite television show and bed – and it doesn’t make an ounce of difference if I’m sharing that bed with him, because he hasn’t been remotely interested in me for years.”
“Why’s he come on this holiday?” asked Betty. “I’ve never seen him at church, so I wouldn’t think the fact that it’s a Christian cruise would hold much appeal for him.”
“I won some money on my Premium Bonds, the ones I’ve had for years. It was £2,000 that came out of the blue. I said I wanted to spend it by coming on this trip, and he was terrified he would miss out on his share of my winnings if he didn’t come. He didn’t really care where the ship was going, but he fancied the idea of cruising. He just took the whole thing over. It’s taken the joy out of it for me, really.”
“Well,” said Marion, putting her arm around Jill’s shoulders, “it’s good that you’re finally talking about it. And we’re here to support you in any way we can.”
“Oh, there’s nothing I can do about it,” said Jill, her expression suddenly anxious. “I’m married. He’s my husband. Our marriage is just what it is.”
“Unhappy,” replied Marion gently. “For you, at least. Look at what you do to yourself because you’re constantly fearful of his reaction.” She looked down at the back of Jill’s hand, which was red raw with angry scratches.
“Come on,” said Sheila, picking up her bag. “You’ve got quite enough to think about for now. Just know we’re here if you need us.”
“I do need you.” Jill’s eyes were filling with tears. “I realize that now. And I don’t know how t
o thank you.”
“You can start by putting on that lovely Celtic cross, because we’re all about to worship together at the ruins of the old priory. It’s an ancient place, and God’s people have prayed there for centuries. And my prayer for you is a new beginning, the courage to recognize all the wonderful talents you’ve been blessed with, and the strength to be everything God knows you are.”
“Amen to that,” agreed Betty. “And have we got time to call in at the Ladies before the service begins?”
“Holy ground, I’m standing on holy ground,
And the Lord my God is here with me.”
The lines were sung prayerfully, as they stood in a circle, equal in worship, in communion with God and each other.
“We are indeed on holy ground,” began Bishop Paul as the singing faded. “We stand in the footprints of St Aidan and St Cuthbert in this holy place, surrounded by the beauty, magnificence, wildness and wholeness of creation. Down the centuries, holy men have looked in wonder at the world around them, and given thanks to God. Let’s hear how David felt when he did exactly that three thousand years ago.”
It was the Methodist minister, Maurice Brown, who stepped forward to speak.
“This is the start of David’s Psalm 24. ‘The earth is the LORD’s, and everything in it, the world, and all who live in it; for he founded it on the seas and established it on the waters. Who may ascend the mountain of the L ORD? Who may stand in his holy place? The one who has clean hands and a pure heart, who does not trust in an idol or swear by a false god. They will receive blessing from the LORD and vindication from God their Saviour. Such is the generation of those who seek him, who seek your face, God of Jacob.’”
“Thank you, Maurice,” said Bishop Paul. “The Celtic saints who lived here understood that everything on earth is the Lord’s. Their lives weren’t divided into their relationship with God on one side and everyday life on the other. Their whole existence was prayer. Whatever they did, thought, shared, felt or experienced was one long, heartfelt prayer of thankfulness. God was beside them and within them, just as they knew he was in every speck of life around them.
“But they were wise enough to realize that by choosing to live on a remote island, they could not run away from the temptations and challenges of the world beyond. St Cuthbert said, ‘If I could live in a tiny dwelling on a rock in the ocean, surrounded by swelling waves, cut off from the knowledge and sight of all, I would still not be free from the cares of this fleeting world nor from the fear that somehow the love of money would come and snatch me away.’”
Bishop Paul paused for a moment, looking around the circle of worshippers.
“Cuthbert knew that money was only one of the factors of life, both for him then and for us now, which can claim our thoughts, cause us worry and lead us down the wrong path. He knew that wherever we are, whatever we’re doing, our problems go with us. And so each one of us stands here now as ourselves, a complicated mix of what we’ve been through, what our hopes are, what we regret and what we feel we can’t achieve. And God is here: the God known and loved by those ancient saints then, the God who knows and loves us now. We stand before him, just as we are…”
From the other side of the circle, Sylvia Lambert quietly began to sing the familiar words of a much-loved hymn. Others joined in, some with their eyes closed in prayer as they sang from memory, others finding the words in their Pilgrim Companion books.
Just as I am – without one plea
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
O Lamb of God, I come!
Just as I am – though toss’d about
With many a conflict, many a doubt,
Fightings and fears within, without,
O Lamb of God, I come!
Just as I am – poor, wretched, blind;
Sight, riches, healing of the mind,
Yea, all I need, in Thee to find,
O Lamb of God, I come!
Just as I am – Thou wilt receive,
Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;
Because Thy promise I believe,
O Lamb of God, I come!
“In 1835, when Charlotte Elliott wrote those words,” continued Bishop Paul, “they came from the heart. She had been bed-bound with illness for years, deeply depressed, feeling useless and of little worth to others. On this particular occasion, she was especially frustrated when the rest of the family were busily preparing a bazaar to raise funds for a school her minister brother was setting up in Brighton. Left alone, convinced she had nothing to offer, she penned those words, asking God to accept her just as she was, in spite of everything she simply couldn’t be.
“There is something in that plea which resonates with each one of us. We are all a blessed mix of qualities, abilities, opportunities and limitations – but God knows that, because he created us. He accepts us as we are, but his wish for us is that we become all he knows we can be. And the story of Charlotte and her hymn shows how small accomplishments or kindness can resonate far and wide. Those words she wrote when she was feeling particularly worthless have brought comfort and encouragement to Christians around the world, and raised a great deal more money than anything else for her brother’s school!
“When St Aidan and St Cuthbert carved a life for themselves on this remote island, they established the Christian faith not only for this corner of England, but for the whole of the British Isles and beyond. And you may never know how something you do today could become a legacy of inspiration for others tomorrow. Do all you can do. Be all you can be – for your fellow man and for God.
“Now, Neil is going to lead us in prayer, using some of the many inspirational words written by David Adam, who was the vicar here on Lindisfarne for thirteen years.”
Heads bowed around the circle as Neil began to speak.
“Within each piece of creation,
within each person,
hidden God you wait
to surprise us with your glory.
Within each moment of time,
within each day and hour,
hidden God you approach us,
calling our name to make us your own.
Within each human heart,
within our innermost being,
hidden God you touch us,
awaken us and reveal your love.
Everything, everyone is within you,
all space, all time and every person:
hidden God help us to open
our eyes and our hearts to your presence.”
In the silence that followed, no one moved as the moment, the place and the Spirit of God filled them. And then, as someone quietly started singing again, many in their own way felt comfort come, pain fade and hearts open.
“Holy ground, I’m standing on holy ground,
And the Lord my God is here with me.”
“We’ve been invited to a cocktail party in the captain’s suite,” said Claire, looking down at the embossed invitation that had been slipped under their cabin door. She continued reading before she spoke again.
“It looks as if the idea is that the Christian team on the cruise, and their partners, should have a chance to meet the ship’s crew, along with a few other guests.”
“How nice.” Neil inspected the invitation himself, suddenly looking up in horror. “Heavens! Have you noticed? This is for half past six. That’s only thirty minutes away. Can we be ready by then?”
“With my natural charm and good looks,” grinned Claire, “just a lick of lipstick, and I’ll be ready to go. You, however, may need considerably longer.”
“You’re right,” he laughed back. “You do look fetching in your walking boots and anorak. But even with my limited knowledge of ladies’ fashion, I know that’s not exactly the smart cocktail look.”
She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I’ll be ready. Just make sure you are.”
Across the corridor, Iris was knocking urgently on Harry’s d
oor. When he finally opened it, she waved an envelope under his nose.
“Look! That nice captain is obviously a very mannered gentleman. He must have made enquiries as to who I was when we met, and he’s invited me for cocktails in his cabin this evening.”
Harry smiled as he read the card before turning towards his dressing table to pick up an identical invitation.
“Then, dear lady, you must allow me to escort you, because I feel very fortunate to have been invited too.”
If this burst Iris’s bubble of excitement, she recovered quickly.
“Well, you need to get a move on, Harry. Your grey trousers and navy jacket will do. You can call for me at twenty-five past six.”
She was almost out in the corridor before popping her head around his door again.
“You’ll need your blue tie – the plain one, not the one with swirls on. And your black shoes. Definitely not brown, even if you do keep saying how comfy they are. Black shoes!”
And with that she was gone.
Thirty minutes later, when Harry, in very shiny black shoes, walked into Captain Johannson’s suite with Iris on his arm, she looked splendid in a plum velvet dress embroidered with tiny sparkling beads around the neckline. Neil and Claire led the way, immediately catching the attention of Bishop Paul and his wife Margaret, who were chatting to Ros Martin, who’d abandoned her dog collar for a sparkling top. Not far off, the Methodist minister Maurice and his wife were deep in conversation with the Roman Catholic priest, Father Peter. Bishop Paul stepped forward to introduce Neil to Captain Johannson, and Neil made further introductions to Claire and Harry.
“And this is my mother, Iris,” Neil said, watching her cheeks blush a pretty shade of pink when the captain made the slightest bow in greeting as he took her hand.
“We have already met, I think,” he said with a smile. “I must say, madam, that your dress this evening is so much nicer than the bright orange jacket you were wearing when we last spoke!”
Iris positively glowed, much to the amusement of both Neil and Harry, who stifled a laugh as they saw her grip remain on the good-looking captain’s hand much longer than he probably expected.
