On Saturday my husband drew my attention to the obituary of the Rev Michael Newman. On closer reading,we found he was indeed the Michael Newman who “married us” in 1972. In fact, Michael was rather responsible for us getting married at all. My contrivance as a 20-something was to find a job and flat away from domestic and “live in sin” with my boyfriend. Unexpectedly, and in February 1972,I found myself in hospital having my appendix out and, as I had entered “Methodist” on the admission form (on the basis of attending Sunday school and the occasional Christmas service), and Michael turned up at my bedside. He remarked on the flowers I had received from my boyfriend and nearly the next minute he had enrolled us in “marriage preparation classes”. We married that May and,if I remember rightly, he sent us a wedding anniversary card for about five years after that. In 1977 Michael led the funeral service for my father. As was the custom, and we duly invited him back to the family lunch afterwards,expecting him to decline. To our surprise he turned up and fortunately “mucked in” with the family. Michael’s demeanour had led us to reflect he was a rather shy, old-fashioned type. Reading of his long career and many achievements and leisure interests confirms this was a false impression.
Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com