JAC Online

A Bolt Out Of The Blue - chapter 1
Book excerpt from 'No Longer I'
by Major Howard Webber

‘I have something I need to say before you go,’ Miss Barrett called out as I closed the lounge door, so I opened it again and stepped back into the room. Following a brief preamble she got to the point of why she had called me back, ‘I need to tell you that you are the worst officer (minister) this corps (church) has ever had!’

I felt as though I had been hit by a brick and stood there stunned, not knowing how to react to what I had heard. What she said came as such a shock, totally unexpectedly. After a moment’s hesitation, I meekly thanked her, (don’t ask me why?) and stepped back into the hallway. Letting myself out and shutting the door behind me, I walked down the garden path to my car in a daze. ‘Had I heard right? Not one of the worst amongst lesser mortals, but the worst, the very least of the least, lowest of the low. How could she have come to that conclusion?’ I got into my car, closed the door and put my key into the ignition, but I was unable to turn it, start the engine and drive away, for I could not restrain the tears welling up inside me. The dam burst and I broke down and wept like a baby, inconsolably, like I hadn’t wept for many a long year.

When first my wife and I arrived in this North Wales village, to take charge of what was our first corps following training, we commenced visiting and getting to know everyone recorded on our rolls. Dear Miss Barrett was well into her eighties. She had very poor sight and this, together with her walking difficulties and the distance from her home to our hall, prevented her from venturing out to worship. She had outlived her peer group and gradually, over many years, her name had ascended to the top of our soldiers’ (members’) roll; she was our number one!

When we called on her she was delighted to see us and welcomed us into the area. Subsequently, knowing this dear old soul rarely got out of the house and did not have any close family, when I was passing by I called in to see her. It was no big effort on my part as she lived just off the main road between our village and the nearest town ten miles away.

Miss Barrett was always kind and courteous, insisting on making me tea served from a silver teapot into bone china cups, accompanied by a plate of chocolate biscuits. Concerned at her poor sight and frailty, I would offer to make the tea for her or at least carry the tray from the kitchen to the lounge, but she was emphatic, insistent that she was quite capable of doing it herself. So I would watch attentively, ready to jump to her aid as she came through the door and gingerly made her way across the lounge towards me, before bending down and placing her burden on the coffee table between our chairs.

This became the regular pattern whenever I visited her on my own or with my wife during those first two years. Then she changed. The first thing I noticed was the absence of her cheery, ‘Shall I put the kettle on Lieutenant[1]?’ when I entered her home, as her warmth towards us was replaced by a cold indifference. Gone too was the natural flow of conversation. Something of a scowl seemed to permanently replace her smile. At first I thought she had had bad news or something had happened to her that I had not been told about. When I asked her if she was all right her reply was, ‘Yes, why shouldn’t I be?’

There was a decisive moment when her mood changed, and I knew that something had happened to upset her, but she would not open up and tell me what it was. It never occurred to me that it had anything to do with me, as I only saw her when I visited her. The only other contact I had with her was by phone when I would ring her to check that she was keeping well. Initially, I thought it was a temporary thing and that things would be back to normal the next time I visited. They weren’t. In fact, they were never the same again. A definite feeling began to grow within me that I had said something or done something to upset her, though I had no idea what on earth it could be.

Whilst the visits were no longer pleasant and I no longer looked forward to them, I continued to call there every few weeks just the same. Often I would ask her, ‘Have I said anything to upset you? Have I done anything?’ to which her reply was always the same, ‘No, what could you have said or done to upset me?’ I tried apologising for whatever it was that I may have been responsible for, but this was just met with silence. Though I now dreaded these visits, I still felt sorry for this lonely old soul, but I also wondered what good my visits were doing her. They were definitely not doing me any good! Sitting with her in her lounge as she looked out of the window, refusing to say much, placed me in an uncomfortable spot for sure.

About a year after this awkwardness began, I was making my final visit before being moved to a new appointment[2]. I told her what was happening and where we were going, but she showed no interest. I asked her questions about herself and got minimal replies. At the end of my ordeal, I prayed with her and for her. As I stretched out my hand to shake hers, thanking her for her kindness to me, (for she had been kind during those first two years), she responded by flopping her limp hand into mine like a piece of mackerel, without holding or gripping my hand in response.

‘Obviously, I won’t be seeing you again, but I do wish you well and God’s blessing upon you. I’ll see myself out.’ It was as I was closing the lounge door behind me that she suddenly called me back into the room.

‘Lieutenant, I have something I need to say before you go.’

In my naivety I thought to myself, ‘Thank goodness for that,’ as I stepped back into the room, ‘this is no way for two Christians to part,’ and I then just stood and waited for her to gather her thoughts before she continued.

‘As you know, my parents were among the group of pioneers who walked all the way from Wrexham to the village to start The Salvation Army there.’ She had told me this several times since first I met her. In fact I learnt much from her about the corps’ history. ‘And so between my parents and I,’ she continued, ‘we have known every officer that has ever been stationed here.’ That was true, and in the early years officers never stayed more than one year. Many only stayed a few months. In fact, the previous year had been the corps’ centenary year and I had researched the corps’ history and found that there had been an unbelievable ninety-two officers or officer couples before my wife and I were appointed. I had no idea where all this was leading or the brick of a statement that she was about to unleash on my unprepared ears, something that would fly around inside my head like an unstoppable squash ball bouncing between the walls of a squash court. ‘I need to tell you that you are the worst officer this corps has ever had!’

It was quite some time before I was able to compose myself to make my way home. I was relieved that no-one came near my car to observe me while I sat there booing. Several times during that journey home I stopped to check in my mirror to see if the redness of my eyes and all signs of my tears were gone, as my wife had enough on her plate without having to be concerned about me. The children greeted me as I opened the front door, and much noise and chatter followed, but other than Judy commenting on the fact that I was a little subdued, nothing else was said.

We were without a corps secretary so each week I assisted the treasurer in completing the corps accounts and preparing the banking. We did this in the front room of our home. The hall was some distance away and would have needed to be heated before we got there so it was convenient for us both. As we sat opposite one another with the cash and cheques and books between us, the treasurer asked me, ‘Is everything all right Leff?’ Initially I assured him that everything was all right, but I was quieter than normal and he persisted in his concern for me.

He was a reliable leader and much respected, just a few years older than myself. I knew that I could confide in him. Other than bringing it to the Lord, I had not wanted to share what had been said with anyone else, but I conceded to his persistence. When I finished conveying the story of my relationship over the past twelve months and its culmination, he smiled, ‘Leff, ignore her. What does she know about you and what you have done? I know it’s not her fault, but she never ever gets to the hall. She’s unable to come near the corps. All she knows is what she picks up from the phone calls she gets, and we all know who it is that rings round and upsets folks with their distortion of the facts. Forget it.’

I wanted to forget it. The treasurer was right. What did she know about me or the corps? But I couldn’t get it out of my mind. In the days, and indeed weeks and months, that followed I went over and over the last three years of our stay there with a fine tooth comb, analysing, comparing, justifying, and putting together a defence of myself as though I was going to court. ‘How could anyone think, let alone say, that I am the worst officer they have ever had?’