Turning The Other Cheek

Last night, after a relaxed evening in the company of my beloved and the goggle-box, sleep was extremely hard to come by. Amongst our viewing was “Who Do You Think You Are” (BBC1), in which Jeremy Paxman was persuaded to explore his family tree and, coming from his quite privileged background, was visibly moved to discover the hardships endured by his great-great grandparents. Come my attempt to sleep, my thoughts turned first to the hardships experienced by my parents but, swiftly moved on to remembering other people who had been important to me.

In an attempt to focus down my mind, I settled on remembering one especially important person. Don S had settled down in rural Lincolnshire after working on a farm with fellow ‘conchies’ during WW2. In 1966, on the verge of a mental breakdown, I’d fled the hecticity of London life for a few weeks rest with my parents who had recently moved to Lincolnshire. To say I was living on my nerves would be an understatement, it was rather a case that they were feeding on me.

Don, a Quaker, also attended a small village chapel where my father was minister and, shortly after this prodigal son of the manse returned home, he called around to have a chat with me. My response was to pick up a broom handle to threaten him with and, yell and tell him to “f*** off”.

A couple of days later found me, fuelled by a few sedatives (all I really wanted was to rest!) and copious amounts of alcohol, wandering around the village putting my fist and feet through windows, including those of the pub and the manse. Somehow the police stumbled across me and, being the lithe sort of guy I was in those days, I managed to perform amazing feats of escapology from the strait jacket they applied as they prepared to have me sectioned and transported to the psychiatric hospital.

After a few days, when I became sufficiently compliant to be trusted to wander the locked ward rather than my ‘private’ cell, I was surprised that Don came to visit me during his lunch hour. These visits became a fairly regular event and, eventually, the staff allowed me to go on evening visits to the Theatre in Lincoln along with with Don and his wife. When I was eventually allowed to have weekends at home, Don was once again there for me and introduced me to the local Film Society where I made my first social contacts in Lincolnshire.

Here was a man who really believed in turning the other cheek!