On the 3rd October 1959 I married my bride in the Full Gospel Tabernacle, Billesley, Birmingham; she came down the aisle, veiled, white-clad with a large bunch of red roses. The church was packed with standing room only at the back. They had come to wish us well and smother us in prayer for our future.
I met Patricia when I was 15, she 13 and fell in love immediately and never fell out. I had to attend a Bible class at the church on a Sunday afternoon because I wanted to play cricket and their leading bowler had gone to a county side, and there was a vacancy which I filled, but the mandate was no Bible Class no bowling! Thank God for it was there I met Patricia and got saved.
We courted for six years and were engaged for four years and married when she was 23 and I was 25 so we knew each other for 64 years. “For better for worse, for richer for poorer, and in sickness and in health;” that was the vow we kept. For 54 years I gave her a red rose on our anniversary and at the crematorium I gave her the 55th which was due 3rd October this year. It would be my last chance to anticipate the future and say ‘goodbye my valentine:’ the roses in heaven never fade.
One year we drew up in our car on the driveway and I said to her “my apologies my sweet but I have not had the time to buy you a red rose for tomorrow which is our anniversary” she smiled and said “no matter I haven’t got you a card either.” We chatted and I said “this is not a case for divorce is it?” “No” she said “I think we’ll weather it for yet another year.” we laughed and exited the car.
On the morning, whilst she ate I went into the garden to clear the autumn dying and cut out the finished debris in the borders, and as I reached the Dahlia bed and began cutting I suddenly came upon a rose bush which was still in flower hidden by the flower stems and frost-blighted leaves, the rose was deep red and the bud nicely formed, a miracle indeed. I cut it and walked back to the garden room where she sat, and as I walked towards her I pointed at the rose which I held high; went in and gave it to her. I could tell she was delighted; it’s the little things that bless us. And so the 51st rose was truly delivered and the record had been kept. Perhaps God had a hand in it, perhaps not, but in the end it really doesn’t matter, we had not forgotten our vows and pledge to each other.
There were many hymns we used to sing in bygone years but now hardly ever heard in churches over the land. Here is just one:
I come to the garden alone
while the dew is still on the roses
and the voice I hear falling on my ear
The Son of God discloses.
And He walks with me, and He talks with me,
And He tells me I am His own;
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.
I He speaks, and the sound of His voice is so sweet
the birds hush their singing,
And the melody that He gave to me
Within my hear is ringing.
I’d stay in the garden with Him
Though the night around me be falling,
But He bids me go; through the voice of woe,
His voice to me is calling.
This hymn typifies her life; it could be in reality her testimony. From the first day of her salvation at 12, she walked with God in purity, for he was her real father. In the early days of Myasthenia she was literally alone as I earned my income as a Senior Lecturer, and in those private housebound sessions over many years she developed a unique relationship with God. It held her in good stead, and I am sure she knew, like the last verse, the meaning of those words “but he bids me go; through the voice of woe. His voice to me is calling,” and it was, and she went. I hope we can say the same with certainty, peace and authority when our time arrives.
