Linda's Strange Birthday!

                                     Linda’s Strange Birthday!

 Put all your trust in the Lord, and do not rely on your own  understanding.                                                                                                                        (Proverbs 3, v 5)

Recently a scientist friend told me of a colleague, an atheist, who had said to him,    “I can’t stand people who have a faith, because they aren’t being rational. “                                        

Well I agree!  That is, I agree that faith cannot be explained in rational terms.

I discovered that over forty years ago when, at a time of great sadness and stress, I was desperately praying for strength to cope.  I began to notice coincidences in my personal life.  At first, I just shrugged them off, thinking, “Well, coincidences happen!”  But, when a cluster of them arrived on the same day, I could no longer ignore them, and began to record them in a notebook.

This helped me in three ways. By finding words to describe the startling incidents, I released my mind from pondering over them, so that I could get on calmly with practical, everyday life; I found that re-reading them later brought me comfort and strength; gradually I realised that there is another, invisible dimension to life, beyond that of our five senses…

Here is an example of a “cluster” day.

It was our daughter Linda’s eleventh birthday on 11 May, but before we could celebrate that, Bob and I had to attend a family funeral.  His mother’s sister, Agnes (Nettie) Shaw, was to be buried in the Shaw family grave at Ayr Cemetery.

On our arrival there we were surprised to see from the headstone that their father, Robert Shaw, had also been born on 11 May. (As it happened, Nettie herself had been born on 29 November, which was also our son Michael’s birthday, and her brother Edgar was born on 1^st February, our elder daughter Sally’s birthday!)

Robert Shaw’s father had died when the boy was only six years old, the eldest of four young children.  His mother, nee Agnes Nelson, later remarried and went on to have four more children, still in the little mining village of Waterside in the Doon valley. A number of the miners had come over from Ireland at the time of the terrible famine in the mid-19^th century. Indeed, Bob’s mother Mary (nee Shaw) told me that her father used to say that his father “was born in the year of the short corn”.  (1845?)

Because of the small number of mourners, Bob’s mother and I had to hold two of the cords as the coffin was lowered into the grave.  We stepped back, bowing our heads as the minister said the prayer of committal.  Afraid that she would be very distressed, I turned to commiserate with her. But to my surprise, she was beaming at an elderly man, saying, “It’s many a year since you and I were wearing our overalls!”  She introduced him to us as Mr Wood who used to work beside her in an Ayr grocer’s shop when they were both young.  He had seen the death notice in the local paper, and had come to the funeral with the sole purpose of seeing her again!  How delighted we were to see her happy face as they continued to chat beside the grave until regretfully we had to interrupt by pointing out that the gravediggers were waiting to fill it in!

Bob and I invited the mourners, a few elderly ladies plus two middle-aged nephews, to come to our house for refreshments.  Afterwards, when I drove his Aunt Mary Bates, his father’s sister, back home she asked me in, saying that she had something for Linda.  From a cupboard she fetched a beautiful violin.

“My father bought this” she explained.  “He hoped that one of his four children might learn to play it, but nobody ever did.  Now that Linda is having violin lessons I thought she might like it.  See, it has a label in it.”

Peering inside, I read a name followed by fecit (Latin for ‘made it’) 1770.  This looked impressive, but the label seemed too modern to be genuine.  As Linda did not seem very keen to continue her violin lessons, I declined with thanks, suggesting that Aunt Mary might have the instrument valued then consider selling it.

By now it was late afternoon – time to return home and concentrate on the birthday girl!  At the end of her special tea, when she had blown out the candles on her cake, I telephoned my sister in Manchester so that Linda could thank her for the card and cheque she had sent.  After their chat Freda asked to speak to me again.

She told me that she had just been given a violin which her late father-in-law had once bought in a pub in Burton-on-Trent.  He had hoped that one of his ten children might learn to play it, but nobody ever did!  Because Freda was an enthusiastic amateur violinist her mother-in-law had decided to pass it on to her.

When Brian’s father bought it, the violin was covered in an unsightly red varnish, which he carefully removed.  To his surprise he discovered an inscription on the back of the instrument.

“It’s in Latin, so nobody has ever known what it means,” said Freda.  “Will you help me translate it?”  She slowly spelled out the following words:

In silvis viva silui.  Canora iam mortua cano.

Our combined effort produced: In the woods when I was alive I was silent.  Now that I am dead I sing melodies.

We realised that it was meant to be a message from the spirit of the wood from which the violin was made.  Not only did this notion appeal to me per se but it also made me smile as I thought of how Mr Wood had lifted our spirits earlier that day!

An hour later the telephone rang.  The call was from my mother, who had now returned home after helping with the birthday tea.  Upset, she told me that she had just received a phone call from a distraught little boy in the Ayr children’s hospital.   He wanted to phone his Mummy, but had got her number instead.  Sobbing, he told her that he was five years old, his name was William Stewart and he was from Springside near Irvine.  My mother had tried to soothe him by promising to help – but she did not know how she could.  Fortunately, one of my neighbours was a nurse at that hospital, so I assured my mother that I would contact Margaret right away.  She would be able to help him dial the right number.

That day had produced such a number of coincidences that I couldn’t help wondering how this unusual phone call fitted into the pattern.  I didn’t have long to wait!

Just before midnight Bob returned after driving his mother home to Girvan.  Before leaving Ayr, they had gone to Nettie’s house, which would now have to be sold.  They wanted to check if there was anything of value or of family interest.  In a cupboard they had found a holograph will, in beautiful copperplate writing.  It had been written by Agnes Nelson Shaw’s second husband William Stewart, leaving fourteen acres of land in Ireland to his son William Stewart of Waterside!