047 - Chapter 47

(Illustration: Interior of St Luke's Church, Wallsend; a painting by John Main 1990)

I was invited back to St Luke’s for the funeral of George Wilkinson, I remember him so well.

Even though we’d both been members of the church, it was a large congregation, and so George and I only really got to know one another when I became a deacon and I visited him. He possessed that rare quality of making others feel they mattered and were important to him, and whenever you went to visit him, you came away feeling better for it.

I used to marvel at him, for he was so thankful and content with his lot in life, despite the fact that he was practically blind. He’d had an accident when he was an apprentice at the British Oxygen works, when a metal shaving had sheared off a lathe and pierced one of his eyes. That must have been so painful for him. In later life, he would sit and watch TV with his nose almost touching the screen, trying to see something, anything. But he also had poor eyesight in his other eye; he was waiting patiently until the time was right for a cataract operation. So because George was almost blind, it sometimes had to be pointed out to him by the stewards when he left church on Sundays, that he’d put his false eye in the wrong way round, it was all white and he would graciously laugh about it!

I remember clearly the day he had his cataract removed at the age of 90. I popped in to see him, hopeful that his operation had been a success. He knew me by my voice, and not by sight, and as I walked along the passage of his care home, I saw him standing there. He walked towards me, with tears rolling down his cheeks, saying:

“Oh Sheila, I can see you, so this is what you look like!”

George had made a request that I take his funeral when his time came. He died in 1999.  

Fr Richard phoned me and he very kindly asked if I would like to take part and ‘con-celebrate’ with him (i.e preside at the mass together.) seeing as George’s funeral service would be a mass. I had been ordained priest by then, and I gladly agreed. It was such a privilege to do this for George, but very sad too, for he had become a good friend. During the service, I spoke about George’s life and what he had meant to us all, and led the prayers. After Fr Richard and I had both presided at the Eucharist, I stepped forward to distribute the wafers, ‘the body of Christ’, to the congregation. A fearful thought suddenly came to my mind as I walked forward that the congregation might refuse to receive from me, being a woman priest, as I had played a part in consecrating the bread and wine! But this was not the case. The same people who had once voted against women priests there, came and received; it was a healing moment. So my thanks to Fr Richard and the congregation for that.

If I mention George, I must also tell you of another typical English gentleman I used to visit, who was someone with great talent. His name was John Main, and he was an amazing artist, still painting well into his late nineties. He displayed his artwork in local galleries and generously supported charities with the proceeds of his work, one of which was St Oswald’s Hospital, the children’s wing, in Gosforth. I bought one of his paintings, and he presented me proudly with another. It was an interior of St Luke’s Church, a watercolour of his, from 1990 (see illustration) I treasure it to this day.

I was invited to preach at St Luke’s on another occasion, by Fr Michael, a former curate, who was now their vicar, but when I reached my stall, unknown to him, no hymn books or service books were in place and I found that debris covered my seat and stall. Perhaps builders had been working at that spot. After preaching my sermon in the pulpit, I returned to that same stall to find everything in order, my books were there and my seat was spick and span. What touched me here, was that one lady member of the choir, who had celebrated that first Sunday of my departure, dressed in ‘resurrection colours’, was the one who tidied my stall that day, without being asked. I met her years later in the street, and she began telling me about a future operation she was concerned about. I told her that if she needed anything, she had my phone number and she only had to ring, and I would go and help her. She said to me, in a surprised voice, “You would help me?” “Of course, I would!” I replied. That chance meeting reminds me now of the hymn: ‘Blest be the tie that binds, our hearts in Christian love.’ Sadly, I didn’t receive that call from her. I heard later of her death, following the operation!

We can miss out on many opportunities in really getting to know someone well, because we’re either too busy or we don’t make the effort. This was the case with someone who served with me at St Mary Magdalene, in the interregnum year, when John had moved on to another parish. I’ve already mentioned her name, Kate. Life had never been busier for me, and I got the impression that she was just as busy in her everyday life too. We both ministered to others, but hardly ever really communicated with each other, other than in a working relationship. We stood shoulder to shoulder for everyone else, but we didn’t see eye to eye all the time, with our different personalities and spiritualities. When I attended her funeral in the 2021, I was shocked and greatly humbled to hear of her vast accomplishments in life, her commitment to duty and service to her country. She was a truly remarkable lady, and I never really knew her, nor she, me!

I learnt a lot at her funeral. She had had a passion for helping the unfortunate. She had specialised in anaesthetics, and became a consultant at Newcastle General hospital. She served in the Territorial Army and in British Military hospitals in Cyprus, Nepal and Dhahran, (Saudi Arabia), and had become a commander of a TA RAMC unit. In her service she had received the honour of Queen’s Honorary Surgeon. The unit she served had received the Freedom of the City of Newcastle, and she had received the award on their behalf, when it was presented by the Queen Mother. Kate then spent long periods working overseas in Nepal, Hong Kong and Berlin, and with the Red Cross in Afghanistan and Somalia, and had witnessed great horrors there. I heard of how a bomb shell went off twenty yards away from where she, and a team, were operating on someone, and after the wall had fallen in, and dust was everywhere, they went on to finish the surgery. She was awarded the OBE for her humanitarian work and later became Deputy Lord Lieutenant for Tyne and Wear!

I’d like to honour her memory here at the close of this chapter, in the hope that all who read this might get to know better those they overlook or take for granted. ‘If only I could turn back the hands of time’, so the song goes.

Well, we can’t, but we can all do far better in the future!

RIP Katheen Clarke. 1938-2021