The Cedars
- Details
- Written February 2021
When Margaret was selected as a delegate in the early 1980s she was following in the footsteps of her grandfather. He had served as an international auditor. She was one of about two dozen people involved in SA social work, coming from anywhere from New Zealand to North America, Nigeria, Europe and elsewhere. I was pleased she was given the opportunity, but how would I hold down a full time job as well as be father with extended domestic duties. The children may have joked about dad's varying versions of fried rice, but kept smiling, though I suspect they were very happy when Howard's mother, Joan Sercombe, came to stay with us for a few weeks. Pearl Woodford, a member of staff in the department also volunteered a weekend, though her 'bubble and squeak' with yesterday's leftovers was less popular. Their mother meanwhile was absorbed in the different routines of college life.
A significant event for her was a visit to Coventry cathedral. The damages of conflict and the commitment to peace and reconciliation all had their impact on her. 'I must take you there one day,' she told me. She returned with a gift - a poster with the beautiful prayer of St Francis: 'Lord. make me an instrument of your peace.'
While she was at the college, we were unexpectedly promoted in rank. This was five years earlier than usual, presumably acknowledging our university years. Sadly some of her fellow-delegates expressed their disapproval. 'You're just flying on the wings of your husband,' said one. We'd had to live with jealousy before. Margaret shrugged it off, but it hurt. 'I've just been to Coventry,' she said. 'We must forgive and live without bitterness.'
During the 80s I lectured regularly on health services at the college - yes, even to Margaret's session. In later years that widened to include the principles of sustainable development and then the relationship between pastoral care and disciplinary action. I would draw a smile as I arrived at the college on my bike, at least in the summer. We lived little more than a mile away. There had been other visits, supplementing local GP services: like diagnosing easy to treat acute gout or a more difficult scenario that turned out to be a brainstem tumour.
They must have thought I needed a refresher course myself. So my turn came a few years later. I was assigned to the 100th session. That included the usual mix of nationalities, including a group from Latin America. A new diet, subtly different etiquette, the separation from home and family all brought new challenges and for some extreme strain. A few days away from home and it's called a retreat; several weeks can seem like and exile.
The husband of a delegate from Africa contacted me, expressing concern about how his wife would cope. Please would I take special care of her, he wrote. Shortly after she arrived I saw her. She told me she was worried about a lump on her wrist. It was clearly a ganglion. I pressed, and much to her surprise and mine it burst. Cured! I was pleased. As the weeks passed she became increasingly unsettled. What was the cause? I figured it was 'culture shock'. In keeping with traditions common in her home country, however, she felt she was bewitched, and more than that, she believed I was responsible! I was understandably disturbed, but felt helpless. Only later did the penny drop. Of course, it was me. I had made that ganglion disappear.
It was good getting to know a group of people similarly committed. We listened to each other's stories. Some shared with me in greater depth. They were difficult scenarios. For two of our number marriage ended within a year of their return home. Strains might have existed before, but the changes that can happen to thinking during an experience such as this can precipitate breakdown. It was not the happiest of times for many.
Everyone had a task assigned. Mine was the responsibility for ensuring there was a question for a lecturer at the end of their presentation. Occasionally I felt uncomfortably like the leader of the opposition at question time. In addition there was the daily delivery of what seemed like the despatch box with correspondence that needed attention from the office. I sat late at night dealing with this, sending a dictaphone tape back next morning.
If this was meant to be a refreshing time for personal renewal it didn't happen for me. But it did make me pause to think. ‘Enough is enough,’ I thought. Some things had to change, most of all for me, but perhaps also for the college. Years later there was an indication that I was to be appointed principal of the college. But that was not to be. We were given another assignment where things had to change - Southern Africa!
Lent can prove to be like the 40 days in the wilderness with the turbulence of thought that can go with being alone. Taking time to take stock and reorder priorities is an important part of the rhythm of life; time to reflect and set the path for the future, Time at The Cedars for me was not withdrawal into austere monasticism for a few weeks, but rather an opportunity to learn from each other in a fresh community. I look back on my eight weeks there as a positive experience.
The college has since relocated once again, this time to Sunbury Court:
February 2021