Family Responsibilities

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One of the most difficult aspects of writing an autobiography is to included some comments on one’s immediate family. But because of the considerable influence that family life must have on everyone there is no way in which some observations can be omitted. My wife, Mary, was the daughter of a Suffolk farmer. Her father, Oscar Joseph Freeman, was a characteristic representative of the agricultural community, who lived in the small village of Henley, about five miles to the north of Ipswich. He came from farming stock. His father, Joseph Freeman, was a farmer from the village of Stonham Aspall. Both men were convinced Christians and witnessed to their faith. When Mary’s father talked of farming it was clear that he was competent in his profession, although his conversation was somewhat limited on other themes. He was a man who knew his own mind and tended to express himself with some dogmatism. For many years he served on the Rural District Council as the representative of the parish, always returned unopposed for the villagers were satisfied with his conscientious devotion to that public service. My mother-in-law came from an entirely different background. Her father was a shopkeeper who was also the pastor of a small church. I well remember hearing him preach at the age of 92, and although his voice was rather frail his mind was clear and his words devotional and helpful. In his earlier years he had been helped to prepare for the ministry by his father-in-law, who was also a pastor of a very convinced Calvinistic type. Such strong Christian convictions going back at least three generations on both sides of the family, contributed to the atmosphere in which Mary grew up.

I knew the family well for they attended the same church as my family. From an early age I had noticed Mary with the rest of the family sitting in the usual pew a few seats away from where my parents sat. Since both our fathers were deacons we had somewhat nearer contact when we regularly met outside the deacon’s vestry each Sunday morning to await the emergence of our respective fathers. I must admit to being too young and too shy to make the most of these opportunities, although there was little doubt that mutual admiration was developing between Mary and myself. Our paths drifted apart somewhat when Mary took up nursing training. Her decision to do this was entirely her own, for her father was at first quite opposed to it. In farming circles it was more common for girls to devote themselves to domestic duties, which in fact Mary had done for one year after leaving school. But so strong was her sense of vocation that she insisted on taking up nursing in spite of her parents’ dissuasion. This shows something of the strength of character so characteristic of her. She did not find nursing easy at first, for she was troubled by a lack of confidence. But through sheer determination she completed her general nursing training at the Ipswich and East Suffolk Hospital and then trained as a midwife in both West Bromwich and in Ipswich. She finally became a sister in a hospital in a rural Suffolk market town. During the earlier period of her training I saw little of her, yet I always had an interest in her. Talking to girls I did not at that time find easy. Almost by impulse I decided to write to Mary asking her to meet me. I was astonished to discover that she was as convinced as I was that God intended us for each other and she readily agreed. When I called for her I realised we were both wholly inexperienced in reacting to the opposite sex, but we were helped by the very inclemency of the weather. It was a miserable evening and we had no alternative but to walk through the sodden streets under a none too large umbrella. From those beginnings we were convinced that our paths were intended to cross.

After Mary moved to the market town of Halesworth, I was faced with rather severe transport difficulties if I was to see her. There was no direct transport and I had no car at that time. My only recourse was to cycle. It was some thirty miles each way and I was not a natural cyclist. But I did the journey several times and found great joy in passing through the beautiful Suffolk countryside. I have never ceased to be intrigued by the variety of Suffolk villages. It is impossible to go far without stumbling across clusters of houses around a village church. We had a rather protracted engagement, but at length we arranged to marry on a Saturday in March. It was March 2nd, 1946. But we had chosen the worst possible day as far as the weather was concerned, for it was snowing and bitterly cold. Our wedding reception had been arranged at the village hall in Henley a few hundred yards from where Mary’s parents lived. We managed to get away from the reception safely, but conditions were so bad that more than one car landed in the ditch and had to be pulled out with tractors from the farm. We settled for a time in part of the old Elizabethan farmhouse, but we had not been there long before I became convinced that it was part of God’s plan that I should begin theological training. In this Mary was unquestionably my main support, for she encouraged me to proceed when both her parents and my own father had grave doubts about the venture.

I have already mentioned Mary’s experiences as a domiciliary midwife with the London County Council, which provided us with a temporary home. But we both looked forward to settling down in a home of our own and commencing a family. We eventually moved to a semi-detached house in Kingsbury in North West London. The house was in an appalling state when we saw it as the last owner had left it vacant during the previous severe winter and the whole house had been flooded as a result of burst water pipes. Nevertheless, after thorough redecoration it provided us with an acceptable home for five years during which time our first three children, Eleanor, Alistair and Rosalyn were born. We decided to move to a larger house and found what we were looking for in Stanmore. Even then we found ourselves short of space since we had three more boys, Anthony, Adrian and Andrew, to swell the family. I needed a quieter place for a study and decided to erect a large cedar wood shed at the bottom of the garden. This turned out to be a blessing in disguise, for it gave me some peace amid the increasing noise of the children. In finer weather it was not so quiet and my writing projects were often punctuated with screams and catcalls which demanded at times some fatherly attention. I marvel at the way that Mary managed to cope with the rabble when I was buried in some academic exercise. I have fond memories of that cedar wood shed, for it was the setting for a great deal of my writing work.

It is an inestimable asset to have a wife who understands. her encouragements were invaluable when I was distressed over my speech difficulties. She tried as far as possible to relieve me of tasks which proved to be the cause of the greatest tension, as for instance the use of the telephone. Although I have since largely overcome my fears in this direction, I realise how much I owe to her stabilising influence in the process of overcoming my speech problem.

While the children were small, one of my daily responsibilities was to tell them bedtime stories. I was never too enthusiastic about reading stories from books and preferred to create my own. It was somewhat difficult to create new situations night after night but no less than this was required. The favourite was a character called Bruno Bear whose exploits were quite wide-ranging. It taught me that concentration on theological studies must never be allowed to dampen imagination, for otherwise my bedtime stories would soon have dried up. My nightly audience would not allow me to get away with bedtime without the continuing saga of Bruno Bear. It has been good to have a large family in spite of the problems that this involved. It did at least mean that the later children benefited in some way from the experienced gained from earlier mistakes. When the children grew up and moved away to homes of their own, family ties have been strongly maintained.

Christian parents are obliged to develop some kind of philosophy of family life in order to provide the best possible environment in which the children can grow spiritually. The tension created by the clash between discipline and leniency is difficult to resolve, but undoubtedly contributes in no small way to the development of the parents’ character. All Christian parents long for their children to come to the experience of Christian conversion. We have rejoiced before God to witness every one of our children committing their lives to Jesus Christ. There is no greater joy than that. It is humbling to realise that the Spirit of God has worked in spite of our deficiencies.

We are grateful to God not only for the experience of bringing up our own children, but also in sharing in the joy of grandchildren. God has blessed us abundantly in this respect our desire is that every one of these may also find faith in Jesus Christ.

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