Wednesday Evening in the Secret Place

Wednesday Evening in the Secret Place

(Contains some strong language!)

This may seem like a Sequel to last Saturday’s post, The Secret Place, but is actually a Prequel!  Keen to complete it somewhat earlier than usual, because of other commitments, I took my notebook and pencil with me to Glasgow on Wednesday of last week.  The key points, plus illustrations, were already clear in my mind, but I hoped that en route I would be able to compose the narrative text to join them all together.  But alas, on the bus any hopes of concentration were dashed when a girl two seats in front of me got out her mobile phone and began a loud chat which lasted all the way to Glasgow.  Exasperating!

After my grandson Owain and I had enjoyed a good chat over a lovely Italian meal, he accompanied me to Central Station in time for the 8.30pm Ayr train. We gave each other a big hug, then I got on board and, eager to get down to my writing, was pleased to find a seat with a table in a quiet coach.  

Just before the train departed, a youngish woman in a pretty summer dress appeared and sat down across the aisle, two rows in front of me. Quickly she nestled down sideways with her back to the aisle, took out her mobile phone and began a VERY LOUD chat with an invisible ‘Walter’! (I have altered the names she used. Not knowing hers, I’ll refer to her as LV (Loud Voice).  I feel a bit guilty about repeating her conversation verbatim, but the following was repeated so often that it became imprinted on my memory…)

LV: Hi! Can you come and get me at the station?  What?  Why? Is there something wrong? Are you okay?  Oh, I see… No, she can’t come.  I’ve asked her already.  And my mother won’t.  She’s furious, all because of Bill.  She didn’t say anything, but I know she’s mad.  Bill didn’t let anyone know he was home.  Five times I rang him, and he never answered until the fifth time when I told him Mother and Father were on their way to rescue the dogs because of the heatwave.  They were mad with him when they arrived and discovered he had come back hours before that and never let anyone know.  Imagine! Five times I rang him and he just didn’t answer until the fifth.  And there I was at my lunchbreak, thinking “Why am I doing this?”  He knew fine I was trying to get through and just didn’t bother answering.  They were all worried about the dogs in the heatwave, and here he was there all the time… What?  Oh, there’s mince in the fridge and you can just boil up some potatoes…Oh, wait till I tell you something funny that happened at work.  There was this African couple came in, and she told me she wanted some nice dresses for the church.  For the church!  Imagine!  Oh my God.  It seems they dress up to go to church over there. Well, guess how much she spent?  Two hundred?  No, much more than that!  She chose two fairly ordinary dresses at well over a hundred pounds each, then she went on to buy much more expensive ones, and finished up taking eleven!  Eleven!  Over four thousand pounds in the end!  They’re going back to Africa this week and she wanted a store of posh dresses.  I can’t wait to see Annie’s face when she comes back tomorrow. She hardly sold anything on Monday or Tuesday and here am I on my first day back, selling all these expensive dresses.  She’ll be mad!  Aye, it’s been some day, I can tell you…  But imagine Bill not answering the phone all those times and everyone afraid about the dogs in all that heat… 

(At this point a man who’d been sitting two seats behind LV jumped up, rolled his eyes at me and muttered “I can’t stand this any longer!  I’m off to the next carriage!” – upon which I stood up, leaned forward and called over to LV.)    

KB: Excuse me!  I think we’d all rather not hear the story of the dogs in the heatwave all over again, or the mince and potatoes, or any other of your private details.                             
LV: WHAT?  Mind your own f…ing business!

KB: Well, I could if you switched off your f…ing phone!  I’m trying to write a story, and I can’t concentrate, you’re speaking so loudly.  And I’m not the only one. The man sitting behind you couldn’t stand it any longer, so he has just gone into the next carriage.”

Astonished and somewhat shocked at what had just come out of my mouth, I sat down, a little shakily. Although sometimes tempted to swear, I try to avoid doing so, and particularly dislike the ‘f’ word”!  And how, I thought, could I be so stupid as to lay myself open to ridicule by saying I was writing a story?

LV: Hey, Walter, you’ll never guess what’s just happened. This woman has just told me to stop talking to you – and guess why? She’s trying to write a story, she says!  Oh my God, what’s she like?  She’s just sh..e!  She should get a life!  What a nerve!  How dare she try to stop me talking to my family.  What’s that? … Yeah, right, I’ll tell her that! (Laughter.) I know.  She’s sh..e!  She should get a life! 

The next few minutes were taken up with double forte variations on the same theme!             I gave up all hope of writing and instead turned to Peter Millar’s lovely booklet The Small Owl Calling, which a friend had given me recently.  It is subtitled Reflections in Uncertain Times.  On page six I read a quote from a writer called Richard Rohr:

 ‘The people of the Way…  Throughout the first five centuries people understood Christianity as a way of life in the present...  By followers enacting Jesus’s teachings, Christianity changed and improved the lives of its adherents and served as a practical spiritual pathway…   The Way was based on Jesus’s teaching (recorded in Mark 12: 28-34): You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and love your neighbour as yourself. ‘

“Sometimes easier said than done!” I thought.  I could just about reach out and touch the nasty vibes between ‘LV’ and myself!  But then, what was the use of writing about prayer in the Secret Place if I didn’t put it into practice?  So, I silently withdrew into my own Secret Place and prayed, “Dear God, please help to sort out this mess.  Please send your Holy Spirit to show me what to do now.”  I relaxed as I awaited instructions, then felt I was being told just to sit still, keep calm, and wait.

I began to feel sorry for ’LV’.  She seemed to be the sort of person who couldn’t stand being alone, in her own company – she just had to talk to somebody.  I always feel it’s a shame for a person like that – it must be very lonely, to be unable to be content with one’s own thoughts… She had asked for someone to give her a lift home from the station, but that wasn’t going to happen…  That day there had been some kind of discord in her family…  Bill, who presumably known she was trying to phone him, had refused four times to take her call. Suddenly I felt a surge of compassion for her – which I silently directed towards her.  Then:

LV: “Who’s that I hear coming in?  Oh, is it? Right, will you lift the wee one up to the phone…  Hello, my wee pet!  I’m on my way!  See you in a wee while!... Right, Walter, don’t worry, I’ll just get a taxi. Bye!”  (She put the phone down and turned to me.)  Well, have you written your story?

KB: No, I gave up and began reading instead. 

LV: (indignantly) You shouted at me when I was only wanting to speak to my family!

KB: Well, I didn’t mean to shout!  But I had to call loudly because you’ve got such a strong voice. And I didn’t want you to let everyone know all your private details.

LV:  But that’s what my voice is like – loud!  I can’t help it. (Now with tears in her eyes), I was only wanting to speak to my family.  Do you have a family?   

KB: Yes, three grown-up children and four grandchildren.  What about you?      

LV: Two sons.  And (her voice dropping to a confidential moderate tone – MV instead of LV) four months ago I became a Gran!  I have a wee grandson!

KB: That’s lovely.  Tonight I had a nice meal with one of my grandsons.   

MV: Oh. What age is he?                                                                                                        

KB: Twenty- four. 

MV: (incredulously) Twenty-four?!

KB: Yes, twenty-four. (Then, glad to have found away to change the subject) Well, what age do you think I am?

MV: Dunno – Late fifties? Maybe sixty something? 

KB: Seventy-nine, nearly eighty.

MV: WHAT?  You’re kidding me!  I don’t believe it!  You don’t look that old!

KB: Well, my hair may not yet have turned completely grey, but I can tell you that my stiff joints remind me every day that there’s no mistake on my Birth Certificate!  So now, you see, you can just think of me as just a crabbit auld wumman who needs peace and quiet!  Just you forget me, and remember your success story today when you sold all those dresses!

   MV now saw that the train was approaching her station.  She stood up, and started towards the door, when she suddenly turned back, came over to me, bent down and gave me a hug, laying her cheek against mine.  “Thank you!” she called, as she went off.

I was astonished! - but extremely grateful for the complete turnaround in events.  To my surprise, a woman in a seat behind said to me, “Well, I’ve learned something from you tonight.  I couldn’t have been so patient with her!”  I replied that I had just felt sorry for her and that I was amazed about how everything had turned out.  “I didn’t do it; I was only a channel!”, I said, wishing that I could mention the Secret Place!  But the train was now at my station.  As I walked along the platform I grinned, thinking “Nice one, Holy Spirit!” and, of course “Thank you, God!”

Deo gratias