A Child of the Cloth (5 page)

“Reading the draft letter, I could not believe what happiness could have been mine, if my father had lived to send the letter. He praised Arthur and described him as a good and principled man that he had greatly misjudged; that he was guilty of what he could only describe to his shame as an unchristian and selfish act. His letter said that he held Arthur in the highest esteem for his undertaking in his letter that he would not take me from my loving family and marry in defiance of my parents' wishes.

“He wrote that he should not judge a man for not following a particular religious doctrine and call him a heretic or label him an Antichrist and that his lack of fairness in judgment of Arthur troubled him greatly, saying he did not turn his face away from one of his friends, George Brown, his friend from his university days when in a crisis of conscience he altered his chosen course of ordination and rejected all advice that all would be well after he became ordained.

“The final sentence of the letter was a warm invitation to meet him. I found great comfort in reading my father's words. It brought back the father I so loved and respected. I was shocked to find other letters in the box; letters addressed to me that must have been intercepted by my mother, as they were dated after my father's death.

“I could not begin to imagine what the effect of my silence must have been on Arthur. Being aware of these letters and their contents, and the knowledge that my mother had concealed them from me, I found it a great test of my Christianity. I felt that she had stolen my life.

“One day, when returning home. There, on the hall table propped up against a statue, was a letter. The handwriting was unmistakable; it could only be from one person. My hands trembled as I fumbled in my handbag to find my reading glasses. I had thought I would never hear from Arthur again after such a long silence. As I nervously opened the letter, I felt the same warm emotion that I experienced all those years ago.

“Arthur said he had seen an announcement in
The Daily Telegraph
, recording the death of Mrs. Stevenson, wife of the late Reverend Stevenson, of St. Mary's Church in Wimbledon Village. He said he had been unaware of the death of my father and offered his condolences. His letter continued:

“I read Arthur's words over and over again. It was like a dream. I now understood the long years of silence: Arthur not having heard a word from me and not knowing I had ever received his letters, how could he possibly contact me again, especially after he had fathered a child out of wedlock. Nowadays it is not so frowned upon, but in those days it was a disgrace. I did not for one moment even consider not meeting him and my wait for the first day of June seemed interminable. I had no problem in admitting to myself that I had a deep longing to see him again. I thought long and hard about Arthur's daughter, my mind went back to those long lovely summer evenings lying alone with him in the long grass of Wimbledon Common and I knew that if I had been more honest with myself, about my feelings, the child could have been our daughter.

“The day finally arrived. I set off extremely early, taking no chances of the fates playing me cruel again; I arrived at St. Pancras two hours before the train was due. I sat observing people arriving and being met by friends and family and lovers embracing.

“I cannot tell you how often I looked up at the large clock with hands that never seemed to move forward and watched the large indicator board as it would suddenly come alive with lines of doll like eyes, with numbers spinning in them. And then suddenly the whole display stopped, showing the times of arrivals. I could barely take my eyes from the indicator board for platform three. At about one forty five pm the display went blank and then the little window switched to one fifty five pm ‘due'. At last!

“It was only then that I started to become extremely anxious, I was no longer the fresh nineteen year-old girl Arthur had fallen in love with. I even began to be concerned as to what I would do if he failed to recognise me and walked past me. I then wondered if I would recognise him. Sometime before the train was actually due; I positioned myself in the middle of the ticket barrier to make sure there was no possibility of missing him. I asked the ticket collector if he could confirm that this was the right platform for the train arriving from Tisbury and if the train was on time.

“I told him I was meeting a very special friend, and that I wanted to be sure I did not miss him. He said; ‘Don't worry Miss, the train is due in on time and if he's on the Tisbury train he has got to come through this barrier'.

“As the train slowly came to a stop, all the doors seemed to open at once and an absolute multitude of people poured on to the platform. I was slightly taken aback when the ticket collector told me to stand to the side, otherwise I would likely be in danger of being run down by the crowd. I strained my eyes to see if I could see Arthur, imagining in my mind how time might have changed his looks. When I could not see him in the crowd, I became despondent, thinking that he had missed the train or that I might be waiting at the wrong platform, or even worse that he might have walked by without us recognising each other.

“Then, as the crowd started to thin down to just a trickle of people, there was no mistaking Arthur as he walked down the platform with great purpose in his stride. There was no doubt at all in my mind it was him. I recognised him immediately. He was sporting in his buttonhole, sprigs of lavender; this was an instant delightful reminder that he had not forgotten the lavender which he had given to me all those years ago and which I still kept in my Bible. Seeing the lavender put me completely at ease. He did not fail to recognise me nor did he walk straight past me. He stood in front of me and as I looked into his lovely blue eyes I instantly felt, once again, the same warm wonderful emotion that I had experienced all those long years ago in the graveyard at St Mary's. As he put his arms around me he said, ‘Might I kiss you Amelia?'. As our eyes met he knew there was no need to ask. It was as though we had never been apart. He was exactly the same, yes, somewhat older, with greying hair but still the same smiling eyes.

“We found a seat in a quiet corner of the station. As we sat there holding hands, he said he would like to speak of his daughter and show me a photograph of her. Upon opening his wallet, his hands started to tremble a little but soon stopped when I put a reassuring hand on his. He then took from his wallet the photograph. I could see instantly how proud he was of her. She was dressed in cap and gown and had the same smiling eyes. He told me that she had achieved a first-class honours degree in English Literature. He said he had been determined that she would receive the education that, because of his circumstances of birth, had been denied him.

“I asked him what name he had given her. He paused for a moment and then with some nervousness in his voice said, ‘I hope it will not cause you any unease but no matter how many times I wrote down lists of names, I always came back to the same name each time, your name: “Amelia” '. I reassuringly kissed him lightly on the cheek and told him it gave me great pleasure to think that his daughter bore my Christian name. As we walked to his hotel, he told me of his life since we last met.

“His parents had now passed away and he had inherited their cottage in Tisbury and was living there with Amelia. He said he greatly missed his parents, who had helped him bring up Amelia. Both had been totally supportive, it had not been easy living in a small rural community where people felt entitled to ask questions and pass judgment concerning Amelia's mother and whether in fact they had been married.

We came to a mutual understanding that we would not be parted again. I saw no wrong when he suggested that he alter his arrangements at the hotel and I am not ashamed to say we spent three days and nights together there. I remember being very nervous walking into the hotel and purposely keeping the glove on my left hand being totally convinced that the receptionist would be looking to see if I wearing a wedding ring. On the final evening, we had a very special meal in the restaurant, after the meal Arthur asked the waiter, if we could have our coffee served in their beautiful Victorian conservatory.

The conservatory was furnished with palms and was lit by candles, the flickering of the candles reflected back from the glass created a truly magical effect. We were completely alone in the conservatory. I still had Arthur's letter to my father in my handbag. But I was uneasy my mind whether to bring up the past. I had gone over it time and time again in my mind whether I should show him the letter.

I was concerned that the past might once again cause us hurt but luckily finally common sense prevailed. Arthur did have a right to see my father's letter of regret of his treatment of him.

I finally took it from my handbag. He looked surprised and a little apprehensive on seeing the letter again. I told him to read what my father had written on the back of his letter.

As he slowly read my father's words any apprehension that he had disappeared instantly. He said he gained great pleasure from my father's words and felt reassured that my father, had he lived, would have given him permission to ask for my hand in marriage. He then stood up from the table and went to one knee and asked me to be his wife. For the second time in my life, I accepted his proposal of marriage. He then took from his waistcoat pocket a ring. There was a small piece of card rolled up inside it, he said the ring had been the engagement ring of its mother and hoped I would accept it as our engagement ring. He removed the piece of card and then put the ring on my finger as he did this he handed me the small piece of card.

I unrolled it with great curiosity and was delighted to see that it was single rail ticket to Tisbury.

The next morning, I telephoned Lilly who had worked as a maid for the family for many years and had become a good friend. I asked if she could pack a case for me and send it by taxi to the hotel. Initially she was a little uncertain but as soon as I told her I had found my Arthur she delighted in my happiness. As good as her word, on the morning we were leaving the hotel to take the train to Tisbury, my luggage arrived and, after a leisurely breakfast, we caught a taxi to St. Pancras Station. As we walked arm in arm past the ticket barrier at platform three I noticed that it was the same ticket collector. He smiled at me and obviously had remembered me waiting at the barrier. As we arrived at Tisbury I told Arthur I was extremely nervous about meeting his daughter. He assured me I would be made most welcome.