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Untied Laces“It was a pity that the deceased never wrote his memoirs”. Have you not heard these sentiments at the graveside?
Well, they can’t say that at mine! On top of the Ghanaian national flag draping my coffin, there should be room for my books, possibly my clarinet - the saxophone will be playing - and most certainly my ventriloquist chimpanzee, Charlie. Two international caps will drape their tassels over the flag. There will be some Muslims in the gathering recalling my confrontation with Usama bin Laden in Pakistan; some Jews recalling their erstwhile Jewish brother in America; some Humanist children’s panel members who knew me as their Reporter in southern Scotland; perhaps a few ex-prisoners who knew me in prison; some Lancastrian Anglican relatives and a host of friends who have lost their faith but ponder my fate at this moment in time. Three knives, unsheathed, will shine in the shaft of light descending on this laden coffin. And if I am lucky a bouquet of tropical flowers might just arrive in time, from a former African Head of State.
A son of the manse, missionary, educational social worker, Regional Reporter to the Children’s Hearings, sportsman, musician, ventriloquist, author, poet, film script writer and writer in residence in Dumfries Prison, International Research Panellist, and Camp Manger in Pakistan. Above all else, father to Fiona and Laura and husband of Jocelyn.
Chaucer told the original Miller’s Tale, a bawdy tale if ever there was. Could my tale mirror his? I write it for the next generation to understand the massive changes which have taken place in my lifetime; mostly for the better. But life is more than a collection of facts. It’s the humour and confusion, the doubts and the convictions which lead us to explore our circumstances. We have a freedom to explore, to assess possibilities and to respond appropriately. Sometimes when acting spontaneously, I find my laces become untied. The consequences become unpredictable.
The story begins.
CAIRO International Airport Egypt.
On my second tour of duty, en route to Ghana, West Africa, as a Church of Scotland missionary.
Transit accommodation during an emergency black out at the airport was provided in low ground floor rooms. Armed guards led the few transit passengers to a table where we were each given a ticket. We then proceeded to our corresponding rooms with a reminder not to put lights on. My ticket was for room 6.
A black American female voice rose huskily from the mattress on the floor.
“You got room 6, too?” “Oh, there must be a mistake. I am sorry,” I protested. “Listen”, the woman said, “There’s a war on. Just you keep to your side of the bed…. and by the way…….. no hanky panky.”
I did as she requested. That night, when my head lay down on the pillow next to hers, a thought came to mind. Surely this was not a typical missionary position to be in?
Finally;
This is the remarkable autobiography of a Scottish son of the manse, blinded in one eye, the consequences of a rugby accident and educated in Edinburgh. Does this sound familiar? He suffered abuse but turned that dark episode of his youth into a life of humanitarian service in Africa, Asia and Scotland. This head of department, until illness caused him to retire, found a new life as an author of eclectic books. He confronted Usama bin Laden in Pakistan and brought an African Head of State to tears. Yet tears of laughter make this one of the most heart warming autobiographies to come out of Scotland for a very long time.
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