Where Are All the Men?

Why don’t more men commit to God?

Why don’t more men commit to marriage?

Garry and Ellen Duguid

E
Strategic Book Group
 Scripture quotations denoted as NIV are taken from:
THE HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION
Copyright 1973,1978,1984,1985 by International Bible Society
Used by permission of Hodder and Stoughton,
a member of Hodder and Stoughton Group
THE NIV STUDY BIBLE
Copyright © 1985 by the Zondervan Corporation
All rights reserved
NIV is a trademark of the International Bible Society

Scripture quotations denoted as NJB are taken from:

THE NEW JERUSALEM BIBLE
Copyright © 1985 by Darton, Longman and Todd and Doubleday,
a division of Random House, Inc., reprinted by permission

Scripture quotations denoted NCB are taken from:

THE INCORPORATED CATHOLIC TRUTH SOCIETY NEW CATHOLIC BIBLE
Copyright © 2007, reprinted by permission

Passages denoted as CCC are taken from:

the Catechism of the Catholic Church
Reproduced by kind permission of Continuum International Publishing Group

The authors are grateful to the various writers and publishers for their kind
permission to reproduce quotes from the publications denoted in the Footnotes
throughout the text and the Bibliography.

Copyright © 2011
All rights reserved – Garry Duguid and Ellen Duguid

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form

or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including
photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval
system, without the permission, in writing, from the publisher.

Strategic Book Group

P.O. Box 333
Durham CT 06422
www.StrategicBookClub.com

ISBN: 978-1-60976-719-8

Printed in the United States of America

Book Design: Rolando F. Santos

 Contents

Introduction ix

Chapter 1: Childhood 1

Chapter 2: Marriage Beginnings 11

Chapter 3: Attacks on Marriage 19

Chapter 4: The Adamic Nature 32

Chapter 5: God’s View on Marriage 44

Chapter 6: In Whose Image? 52

Chapter 7: God’s Love 63

Chapter 8: Human Love 74

Chapter 9: What Love Is Not 83

Chapter 10: Relationships 89

Chapter 11: Paul’s View on Marriage 103

Chapter 12: Submission 111

Chapter 13: Roles 120

Chapter 14: Redemption 133

Bibliography 149
We dedicate this book to our daughter, Caroline, her husband Simon
and to our grandchildren, Oliver, Tim, Cara, and Sofia.
 With Grateful thanks

W
e would like to express our sincere gratitude to our
dear friends in Christ, Jill and Mike Lillie, and their
daughter Michaela, who have supported us in prayer
and inspiration throughout the entire length of this project.
Without their constant belief and encouragement that this book
was to be written for men and marriage we would have faltered
on several occasions.

“As soon as you began to pray,

an answer was given…”
Dan 9 v 23

Garry and Ellen Duguid, 2011

 Introduction

W
hy are we writing this book? If God calls men and women
alike, then why is it that women seem to respond more
quickly, more fervently to that invitation?
We noticed in church there are three or four times more
women than men. Why is it that on retreat or on a prayer day there
are no men signed up, or on a seminar about relationships, two or
three couples arrive with the husband usually the reluctant party?
Often the meeting is cancelled through lack of support. This begs
a larger question: why don’t many men commit to their families,
let alone to God? And again: why are there so many “fatherless”
children in the Western world?
As we shared our thoughts, we both stood back puzzled.
So we prayed: Where are all the men? We asked: what is his role as
man, as husband, as father – as Christian?
We are not theologians, we are not pastors, we hold no
acknowledged office in our church, but we are both practising
Christians and we have been married for forty-seven years. At
Christian World Revival College in Surrey, Ellen undertook Bible
study together with Pastoral Care and Christian Counselling to
university standard, and several other short courses on aspects
of anthropology and psychology. Together we have attended
courses on personality types, which was of particular help to
Garry in the various senior management positions he held in his
career. So what follows is not theology, it is not doctrine, it is not
dogma, but it is that which God has shown us through scripture,
prayer, and through our own experience. Our insights have been

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Introduction

expanded by the writings of others, both religious and secular,

and from an understanding of the spiritual life. It has helped us
in our relationship with each other. We pray that it will also help
you in yours.

The Clue

One day God in His mercy gave us a clue from quite an

unexpected beginning. He prompted us to look for some answers
with a few words from a course we attended in 2007. Thus we
began our search in earnest. We think we might have found some
of the insights we had been seeking.
This clue came almost as an aside during a course about the
spiritual root causes of sickness. Ellen had suffered ill-health for
many years. We prayed together for her healing and engaged in all
the things Christians do: healing services, anointings, pilgrimages,
and so on. So here we found ourselves on yet another search for a
cure. Garry signed up as well so that Ellen might get healed. But
he did not need healing, did he? Did he?
For some time Ellen had been getting the word in prayer that
she wouldn’t get better because her well-being had something to
do with Garry. Frankly, we didn’t understand this.
The course was by Henry Wright, pastor of Pleasant Valley
Church in Thomaston, Georgia, USA.1 Twenty years ago he had
asked God why there were so few fruits of prayer for sick people,
and God directed his studies towards the spiritual roots of their
sickness. We do not intend to go into his ministry too deeply here,
but the following few words are necessary to understand what
resonated with us both. If you are interested to find out more, you
might visit his website or read his book. 2
Wright says that 80 percent of his caseload is women,
many of whom are suffering from auto-immune diseases, mostly
because they have not been “covered” by the male in their family
– either a father or a husband. That means most men – four out
of five – aren’t doing their job. Because much of Ellen’s ill-health
was due to her failing immune system, Garry was included in
that number!
1
www.beinhealth.com
2
Henry Wright, “A More Excellent Way”

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 Where Are All the Men?

Further, Wright states, “They are emotional widows…

Their husbands might as well be dead!” He also claims that the
emotional well-being of the family is down to the man. We were
surprised by this because hitherto our understanding was that the
woman is the “emotional heart” whilst the man is the “head.” We
notice a growing awareness of this feature in that psychologists,
marriage counsellors, even mid-wives now encourage men to be
more in touch with their emotions, especially in regard to their
wives and children.
Our book here is not about illness or healing in the accepted
sense, but there is truth to be found in the most unlikely places! A
course on healing led us to seek an answer to this question about
men’s role in women’s lives: if so many women are physically ill
because of their poor relationship with their husbands, who is to
blame? Is it the fault of the women or is it the fault of the men? Is
she trying to do something for which she is not equipped, or is she
trying to confirm the man in her life, or trying to be “head” where
he is absent either physically or emotionally? Or is it elsewhere,
in church or society, for instance?

What Is the Root Cause?

Recently we read an item in a publication promoting

nutritional eating habits. It is worth quoting in part:
“Why are women’s overall health and happiness declining?
I believe it is because most women are living a life that they are
not genetically designed to live. Humankind’s genetic makeup
has hardly changed in the last 30,000 to 40,000 years… In fact
most women are likely to experience many of the following: long
working hours, excessive time pressure, sleep deprivation, lack
of role models, breakdown of the family unit, being a sole carer,
financial debt, increasing levels of isolation, cultural and societal
focus on appearance, weight and socio-economic status, sex and
gender discrimination, high risk of sexual and physical violence,
increasing levels of fear and anxiety and insecurity… The truth
is most women struggle to cope with the physical, emotional,
psychological and social changes that have taken place in the last
50 years. This failure to adapt to the demands of 21st century life
is making it progressively more difficult for women to meet the

xi
Introduction

physical and emotional needs that are so essential for health and
happiness.” 3
There is a deeper truth here than women’s ills being solely
due to poor eating habits. The absence of responsible men in
their lives has something to do with it, too. Hence the title of this
book: Where are all the men? Not just the physical whereabouts of
the male of the species, though there is much to be said on this
topic, but where is the very masculinity that makes them men
as opposed to wimps, bullies, or boys; that strength which was
placed there by God since the beginning of time? We shall explore
what we have come to understand as the essentials of both men
and women from the perspective of the Image of God that we all
share, whether we acknowledge it or deny it, whether we give it
full rein or suppress it.
The author of the above passage lists some ingredients for
happiness. He includes among others: love, security, meaning
and purpose, a sense of competence and connection to family,
friends, and nature. While he assumes lack of these is the cause
of much female unhappiness, we maintain that these same needs
are missing in many men’s lives, too, and are therefore equally
destructive. Are men any happier than women?
We are hard-wired to be man or woman; there is an essence
that God has given to every man and a different essence to every
woman. Therefore, man cannot be woman and woman cannot be
man. Man needs woman, woman needs man; it is God’s design.
We are made by God to be in relationship, one with the other. This
is not saying that all men and all women should be in a married
relationship, but casual relationships do not supplant marriage.
The question “Where are all the men?” can be answered
in several ways, for example historically, anthropologically,
psychologically, and morally. We are looking at it from a Godly,
scriptural, and etymological perspective. We also acknowledge
the presence of evil in the world. In other words, we are examining
the root cause, the Fall and its consequences, and not just issues
arising from that event. Throughout history there have been
times of great social upheaval: wars, the Industrial Revolution,
political extremism, scientific discoveries. All these create a moral
vacuum that leaves the populace floundering. For example, the
3
Dr Mark Atkinson, Nutrition News, Issue 2, February 2009

xii
 Where Are All the Men?

Second World War separated men from their families, and those
who returned found a very changed society. From this evolved
the rebellious teenagers in the ’50s and ’60s who became parents
in their own right in the ’70s and ’80s, perpetuating the problem
of rootlessness.
During the last century there has been a growth in secularism
throughout the Western world, with a concomitant lessening
of commitment to Christianity and an increasing tendency to
multiculturalism.
There has been an attempt towards the recognition of the
intrinsic value of woman, heralded by the so-called Women’s
Movement in the Western world. Even in the West women are
still pandering to the whims of the male sex by an overweening
propensity to fret over their physical appearance. So, too, it seems,
in Islamic nations where we see women wearing the burkah and
niqab, being persuaded by their menfolk that it is a religious
requirement.
We maintain that the fundamental fallacy underpinning the
Women’s Movement of the last fifty years is that they can perform
as well as men or even do without men. Much blame lies with
men both in the past and continuing into the present time, and
they should recognise and accept their part in their response to
women. Feminism was a reaction to these very failures, perhaps
an overreaction. While women might achieve the societal status of
men, may even supplant them in certain areas of life, they cannot
attain the essential essence that is man. In many areas where the
women’s movement has caused disappointment, distress, and
even damage to both sexes, it is not so much that women have
failed, but rather that women have failed to be like men. And it
still does not result in men becoming men and assuming their
proper role and responsibilities; rather, men’s roles have become
emasculated and diminished.
We have based our book principally on what we observe
around us in the United Kingdom. But having researched written
material and videos from elsewhere in the world, especially North
America, it suggests to us that the same situation is reflected there
and elsewhere, such as in Europe and Australia. We say that
during our childhood we saw marriage as the bulwark of society,
divorce being regarded as anathema. During our married lifetime

xiii
Introduction

we have observed marriage being progressively devalued and

divorce becoming more prevalent. This was heralded by the so-
called no-fault Divorce Act of 1969, introduced into UK law by
then Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. As we shall see in later
chapters, this has loosened the bonds of marriage to such an extent
that it now seriously undermines society as a whole. Indeed, a
recent report from the Office of National Statistics acknowledges
marriage is under threat. Official predictions show that marriages
will fall from 49 percent to 42 percent over the next twenty-five
years. At the same time the number co-habiting is set to rise from
2.3 million to 3.8 million. This has been described as “living in
sin,” even in secular parlance. So, in spite of all the changing shape
of relationships between men and women and the limiting effect
of Christian ethos, there is still the underlying acknowledgement
that co-habitation is against God’s principles. It is Adamic.
In all these movements the intrinsic value of humankind is
undermined and diminished. With God it is not. We say the only
way forward is in a return to Godly values that are constant.
Whether you, the reader, agree with us or not is not the
point. All we endeavour to do in the following pages is to invite
you to consider what we have discovered in our quest. Because
these are answers from our own research combined with our
personal experience and prayer, they are not necessarily general
to everyone. But from what we have heard from others with
whom we have spoken, there is truth enough. We hope this book
will address some of what we believe are wrong attitudes and
teachings pervading our society and churches today. We pray
you will find something to stir your mind, heart, and spirit and
hopefully change your life, as it has surely done in ours. If what
we say causes disagreement, then so be it.
“I don’t have to make you believe, I only have to tell you.”4

4
St Bernadette, 1844 - 79

xiv
 Chapter 1

Childhood

Child of God

O
n the day I stood with Ellen at my side, before the altar
of God, the priest said, “Who gives this woman?” Ellen’s
father stepped forward and put his daughter’s hand in
mine. The father hands on his daughter in trust to a stranger.
If I had looked a little closer, I would have seen another
father standing before us, the Father of us all. It was He putting
the hand of His child in mine. Can you imagine this? The Father
says, “Here is a child-of-God for you to care for, for the rest of her
life. I trust you to do this for Me.”
What a gift!
But who was this child of God that had been entrusted to
me?

Ellen’s Childhood Story

My journey began in Ireland. I was born into a Catholic

family in a little village near the West Coast, County Mayo. There
I went to a Catholic school run by the Sisters of Charity. These
early years influenced what I knew about God. Pondering on this,
I now realise that my image of God was a hand-me-down God.

1
Chapter 1: Childhood

He seemed distant, policeman-like, ready to trip me up whenever

possible. God, to me, in my mind’s eye, was much like the pictures
in our home depicting Jesus as bearded, white, and holding His
heart in the palm of His hand. There was a lot of guilt and fear
engendered in the way in which He was mediated.
As I grew up in this environment, church and school defined
my life. I was required to faithfully attend Mass on Sunday and,
in order to protect myself from the Headmistress’s wrath, every
morning also. My constant question was: do I stay at Mass and
please my parish priest or do I leave before it finishes in order to
get to school on time to assuage Sister Martin? She expected me
to go to Mass, remain until the end, and still get to school by nine
o’ clock, which was when the service finished.
“Hands up, all those who’ve been to Mass,” she would say
every morning. My head then was so full of conflicting thoughts
and my heart would beat rapidly. I could feel it pounding against
my chest. In the event of my missing Mass, I would ask myself,
“Do I lie and offend God, or do I put my hand up and escape
a reprimand? Or do I stay at Mass until the end and please the
priest?” I never fully solved the dilemma. Instead I became
familiar with the damaging feeling of guilt.
My world-view was that of stained-glass windows, large,
over-bearing pulpits, a myriad of statues of saints, nuns in long,
black, flowing robes, priests in elaborate vestments, oppressed
women, and inebriated males. The Church told me what to
believe. But mostly I was told how to behave. The saying “A
woman’s place is in the home” was certainly true in the Ireland
of my youth. Those poor benighted Irish women! They waited to
be born. They waited to marry. Marriage seemed to be the sole
purpose of their existence. They were prisoners of their sex. It was
their place to fulfil their physiological destiny, which was that of
pleasing their husbands or their fathers, or their priests, or, in
other words, men. The drama of sex, conception, pregnancy, and
birth was the measured tempo of their lives. Or at least that was
how I perceived it.
They were further committed to their inherited religious
beliefs. Religion, in a way, was their only aesthetic outlet, or
should I say the understanding of what was meant by religion
then. I have since come to see that religion involves a search for

2
 Where Are All the Men?

the meaning of life. In the time of my youth, religion consisted in

an obligation to attend Mass, like I said, and also engage in plain
chant, litanies, Benediction, rosaries, novenas, votive candles,
prayer books, scapulas, religious pictures, and processions on
Holy days.
God was mediated through the nuns and priests. It appeared
to me to centre mainly on ritual. There was no opportunity to
question, or to grow in love and knowledge of God. The failure
could in part have been mine!
Each week I listened to my Bishop deliver a sermon on the
vengeance of God and my sinfulness. I do not remember any
mention of love or grace. The bishop was a pious, very sincere,
gentle, bookish old man. He was short, round, and fatherly. He
did convey a kind of confidence.
Every Sunday the church was full to capacity. Most of the
congregation remained standing at the back of the church. I
observe this was a very “Catholic” way! Mostly men filled this
position, tall men, short men, thin men, men with thick curly hair,
bald men, men wearing thick, creamy hair oil, ill-fitting suits, and
large, equally ill-fitting shoes. All of them were waiting to rush
out before Mass ended. They went straight to the nearest pub. I
hasten to add it did not apply to all Irish men.
Women were more deferential with their heads bowed
and their mouths animated in prayer. They also were wearing
their Sunday best: hats with feathers, clusters of fruit and grand
ribbons, coats with fur collars, some with velvet collars or plain
collars. Many in winter wore fur-lined boots. It was a kind of
uniform!
“Don’t be bold,” the bishop would say, his voice filling the
church. Do not indulge in sex outside marriage was what he
meant. This was his weekly message to his flock. Every Sunday
morning he delivered virtually the same message, and every
Sunday evening it was put to the test at the local dance.
As I write, I recall as if it were yesterday our annual retreat.
This lasted for three weeks each year. It was a special time of
repentance, pledges to stop drinking, and good resolutions.
It was a time of shouting from the pulpit, a time of fasting and
abstinence, a time of purging the soul. I liked the retreat. My
father always became a pioneer, wore a badge, and promised not

3
Chapter 1: Childhood

to touch a drop of drink as long as he lived. It was a noble, short-

lived gesture. Mother, my four sisters, and I had wonderful peace
while it lasted.
I see now that the strict Irish upbringing in the church of
my young years fashioned what I knew of God. In a way it kept
me from Him. Certainly it deprived me of the understanding of
His unconditional love. I do not blame my mentors. They knew
no better. I’m sure that many experienced a similar upbringing to
mine.
I do recall, however, as a young girl feeling awe at creation,
my own being, the presence of Jesus in the Blessed Sacrament and
the sense of security that gave me. I was fascinated by the concept
of eternity, and of one day meeting with Jesus face to face. I know
I felt a deep love for Him, which is His gift to me. There were
many questions I desired to ask but did not dare. To question was
considered a sin! There are certain parts of the spiritual journey
that must be undertaken in solitude. When I do meet Our Lord, I
cannot blame someone else for my own decisions. God has given
me freewill, even to a woman!
The country and church of my youth certainly have a lot to
answer for, I believe. One sad fact of my childhood was that my
father’s attempt as husband and Dad had been clouded by his
passion for drink. This undoubtedly happened through no fault
on my father’s part. Much was due to lack of understanding of
how we are made, and lack of opportunity to receive help. At the
tender age of eight he witnessed his father’s sudden and violent
death. From that bleak moment on, his mother required that he
step into his dead father’s shoes. This was undoubtedly a truly
daunting task for an eight-year-old boy. And that sad and sudden
departure of his father from this world was not the end of the
miserable turn of events in the family.
At that time his mother was imminently pregnant. Cruel
fate contrived to arrange life such that his youngest brother was
being born in the master bedroom at a time when his little sister
was in a coffin in the living room. She had died at the age of four
following a bout of pneumonia. All this occurred within months
of his father being buried. Incredibly, later that year, that doomed
year, Father was told that his grandfather, whom he especially
loved, had died. Again this death was sudden.

4
 Where Are All the Men?

The dreadful, blank pain of deprivation and the frightening,

miserable effect of the deaths in his family composed itself
indelibly on his life, he confided to me many years later with tears
in his eyes.
My father! I reached out to him so often. A father is
everything to a young girl. I wanted his love, his support, without
complications. I felt my life was empty without him. I believe the
events of his youth, and his escape into alcohol deprived him of
the ability to truly love. I now know I placed too much emphasis
on receiving his love, the love only Father God can give, which
is unconditional love. Of course, my father needed to know the
love of God himself. Did he? I don’t know. All I know is he did
not act like one living out of a heart-knowledge of God’s love. Oh,
I know we are finite, and will never fully experience this love in
our fallen world! Yet, we search for it until we die.
I speak now of how the relationship with my earthly father
coloured my relationship with “Abba” Father. The relationship
with my father affected my ability to love and receive love
completely. Yet I experienced amazing and forever moments with
my dad. On one occasion my class was asked to draw a cow as
homework. I rushed to my dad and said, “Daddy, can you make
a cow?” With a smile he said, “No.” My child’s heart sank. My
daddy could not make a cow. What a relief it was for me when
he said, “But I can draw one.” A father is so important in a family
– even if it is just to draw cows! As I grew older, I became aware
that my father would have defended me to the death against any
danger.
Even as I write, I recall that marriage was the bulwark of
our society. I never remember anyone being divorced or deserted,
and it engendered a deep sense of belonging and community.
Before I move on with my story I feel I must mention my
mother. I first became aware of her as Mother when I was about
three years old. Before that I cannot remember much. Even now
at times, I can pretend she is still with me. One of the most vivid
memories I have is of her walking up our front path laden with
little gifts. She was generous, loving, and truly maternal. My father
often spoke to me about her in later years after her death. He said
she had dark, good looks, a fine complexion, and a small, lithe,
trim figure, which she never lost in spite of all her pregnancies.

5
Chapter 1: Childhood

She was fine-boned and finely proportioned, standing only about

five feet two inches. She seemed taller because of the dignity of
her bearing. My father was enchanted with her. When I asked
him shortly before he died to name the happiest day of his life, he
said, “When I got the girl I loved.”
From my own perspective I would say the most precious gift
that came from my mother in large measure was the gift of love.
She gave it abundantly to all members of her family. As children
we considered her to be the fountain of all knowledge. However
insurmountable the problem, my mother had an answer.
She died far too young from breast cancer.
Life! Death! Eternity! Life confused me. Death disturbed
me. Eternity intrigued me. To go on and on and on without end, how
could that be? I used to ask. Yet, I felt even then that without God’s
love, it can appear as if we rush headlong towards it blindly, as
though life were nothing but one long, slippery road down which
we slide at a terrifying speed towards this darkness called death
and the unknown, eternity. One day I will understand, I believed,
but until then I craved love, I knew.
Shortly after my eighteenth birthday I packed a suitcase.
The label on it read the name of my destination: London, England.
London held for me a fecundity of wonders. On the night before
I left, I put on my coat and walked out one last time into the
moonlit scene: the empty field, tall trees, and the brick wall were
clear in the yellow light. It was so full of serenity it brought an
ache, the very ache I desired to forget, the ache of longing for our
lives to reflect this moonlit calm. But I knew only too, too well
it neither was nor could ever be peaceful so long as we all lived.
It is a futile dream. A dead dream. A fool’s dream. I walked idly
on. I looked into the houses. I saw calmness there. I pulled my
overcoat tightly around me. I was cold. Not a physical cold. An
inner cold. I walked on and on. A bird moved in the branches of
an old tree above me and again the silence was so dense, so deep,
so solemn it hurt. And frightened me. I had at times longed for
such silence, so many times, yet then it only frightened me. And I
begged for the bird or anything or anyone to move again.
The moon shone on, I walked miles, I paused again outside
our house. I stood in the alien silence as if waiting for a word, or
sign, or revelation… anything. But nothing came, nothing ever

6
 Where Are All the Men?

came, and I laughed at my foolishness, at that part of me capable

of expecting, standing out there waiting, when only what was
will ever be, I felt then.
Suddenly the lights in the kitchen went out. Mother had
enticed Father to bed, and she had joined him there. When I
finally lowered myself into bed on that, my last night in the “auld”
house, I did so carefully that no sound, no murmur disturbed the
quiet. And time was still moving on, time that had reached only
a few conclusions for me, time that, in time, would renew my
expectations of it – hopefully! Even then, truly, morning was on
its way with its chirpy newness. In no time at all it would come
tumbling in and my big day would begin, please God.
I recall a great eruption of joy mingled with sorrow opened
out around me like a dense cloud behind which the sun shone
brightly, as I pictured my father taking hold of my suitcase to walk
me to the station. How wonderful, how terrible, how excitingly
significant, how brave, how hopeful it was for me. He would not
utter a word because he would be sober. He had to be, the pubs
were not open. My time of departure was half past seven. I did
not utter a word except “Goodbye and God bless you.” Tears!
God, the tears! I can see them now. They rolled down his withered
face and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. It was
his way. He clung onto my hand until it almost broke. And my
mother’s gentle sobs will haunt me for as long I live. But my mind
concentrated beyond all that to the moment I stepped on the train
and I was away to the promise of a new life, a better life.
Was I in for a surprise!

Garry’s Childhood Story

I was born in a small village on the South Coast of England in

the early years of the Second World War. I can’t say that I remember
much about the war except that my father, being shore-based in
the UK in the Royal Navy, was still away a lot. As a pharmacist
he worked in the Royal Navy Hospital at Haslar. Directly after
VJ Day he was shipped to Ceylon (Sri Lanka) to help with the
repatriation of British POWs from the Japanese camps. In his
own words, “They had to be fattened up and made presentable
before they could be sent home.” This experience affected him

7
Chapter 1: Childhood

very much and he harboured an abiding dislike of the Japanese

from that time on. I have a vivid memory of his return to the UK.
We went to Portsmouth Dockyard to meet him. There was this
huge aircraft carrier alongside the docks with sailors and soldiers
streaming down the gangplanks to rejoicing families. How hard
it must have been during all those long years of separation,
and doubt, and fear. And so, life returned to normal… school,
birthdays, holidays, family gatherings.
One thing was noticeable when I look back: I do not recall
ever playing with my older brother. In fact, he seemed always
unapproachable, unfriendly even, certainly not what one would
call a brother. I cannot relate to “filial” love because I never
experienced it. Similarly I don’t remember ever being told by any
member of the family that I was accepted for who I was. There
were no hugs or encouragement, no outward expressions of love.
My first recollection of being told I was loved was when Ellen
spoke of it years later. She loves me and she makes sure she tells
me so often.
I do not believe the word existed in my childhood lexicon.
There were only frowns of disapproval if I didn’t measure up –
whatever that might mean. Don’t misunderstand me – my parents
did what they thought best against the background of their own
childhood experience. My mother’s own father had died when
she was very young, and whether she knew it or not, it must have
affected her ability to show love. Her childhood was coloured
by a distinct lack of money with a widowed mother struggling
to bring up six children. My father was more fortunate in being
comfortably off but not excessively so, and as a professional man,
he provided for his wife and family such that we never were
neglected. He was always home on the dot. He never indulged
in selfish behaviour. He was a man of principles, but not over-
demonstrative towards any of the family. I suppose both my
parents were typical of the day. They did their best.
It was many years later that I discovered that the vast majority
of adults never heard the words “I love you” from their parents,
their father in particular. So I was like so many others who have
only experienced conditional love, not the unconditional love
that we all crave. Much, much later I was to discover that this is
the most wonderful gift that is poured out upon us freely by God,

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 Where Are All the Men?

our true Father.

During my formative years we occasionally went to church
as a family. But it was to church we went, not to meet with God. My
father joined the choir, my older brother became very “churchy,”
my mother stopped going. I sat bored in the pews listening to an
aged vicar who droned on interminably about “Gad,” whoever
He was! I was confirmed at the appropriate age, and promptly
ceased attending. The most enquiring I ever did was to think
up awkward questions for our RK lessons at school, and these
were more concerned with embarrassing the teacher rather than
exploring the nature of religion or of God Himself.
If there ever were a personal encounter with God in the lives
of any of my family, no one was ever overtly changed by it. God
was not acknowledged in our house. He was never mentioned; no
one ever prayed to Him. Every Christmas we exchanged presents,
decorated the tree, filled up on turkey and pudding, but He was
still not mentioned. Easter would come and go without any affect
on our lives, apart from the ritual of pancakes on Shrove Tuesday,
hot cross buns on Good Friday, and chocolate eggs on Easter
Sunday. The years were marked by term-time and exam results,
not by the church calendar.
My parents were very driven by academic success. The
End of Term Report was always cause for anxiety in my heart in
case I failed to be in the top two or three of the class. My brother
always was, and I felt the necessity to compete in order to be
acceptable. The ultimate blow fell when I failed to pass the exam
to get into Grammar school. Like my brother, I was entered for it
a year earlier than was usual. But he had passed and gone to High
School in the year above his academic year. I had to stay on the
extra year in junior school and take the exam again the following
year. I remember being consoled by the headmaster. He met me
by chance on my way to school the day after the results were
published. He congratulated me on trying and then said, “Never
mind that you failed this time, you will pass next. And I know that
you will do better than your brother.” I am reminded here that
intellect and knowledge are often confused and the difference is
not understood.
How right he was. It was the word of encouragement that
I desperately needed at that moment. But I don’t remember my

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Chapter 1: Childhood

parents encouraging me in the same way. In later years I would

look back and recall what he had said. Yes, I felt I had succeeded
in getting to where I wanted to be, to do what I felt was right for
me. But on my way to that destination I was to encounter the two
most life-changing experiences any man could expect. I met the
most wonderful woman I could hope to meet…
And through her I met God!

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