Call Me Evil, Let Me Go. Sarah Jones

for all the children in the morning.

      Mum and Dad occasionally went to the local hotel for a posh dinner, and I loved looking at Mum when she was beautifully made up and wearing a smart dress, and thought she was absolutely stunning. When we were at home the family liked to play cards and above all Pit. It’s a very old game that simulates the activities on the floor of the stock market, and specifically the commodities market. Everyone would yell out the number of cards they wanted to trade at the same time, and the action was fast and furious. There was so much laughter and shouting going on that I got really cross when my parents sent me to bed, especially as I couldn’t sleep for ages because of the noise.

      These light-hearted interludes brightened our mood for a short time but didn’t provide a permanent solution to the nightmare we had with Roy. He kept thinking people were after him and often woke me at night with his shouting. Although I had my own bedroom I often rushed into my parents’ room, where I’d lie on the floor beside their bed, almost too scared to breathe. Sometimes Mum gave me warm milk with a drop of brandy in it to help calm me down. At other times it was really so unpleasant for me to be in our house that Dad called one of our neighbours and asked if I could stay there for the night.

      It was around that time that Mum decided once again that life was too much and she couldn’t cope with Roy. She’d been secretly going into his room and taking a handful of Valium, which she washed down with sherry, but this time she deliberately took too many and I came home from school to find her flat out on the floor of her bedroom. I was very scared and shook her hard. When she still didn’t move, I rang Dad at the college and, after a long wait for him to be found, was eventually put through to him. He rushed home and I stood with my back against the wall in the corner of the bedroom, barely daring to breathe, as I watched him slap her face to try to bring her round. Before long the ambulance arrived and she was taken to hospital. I was completely traumatized by what I had seen and had awful nightmares. Yet I don’t think it was a serious suicide attempt. It was more a sign of her desperation and her way of blotting everything out. She was again discharged within a day and not given any medication or a further appointment.

      It was the last straw and finally Dad decided, with a heavy heart, that Roy had to move out as he was very worried about the damaging effect his behaviour was having on the rest of us. But it was one thing coming to a decision and quite another finding the courage to tell Roy to his face. He was so volatile it could have easily triggered a serious outburst.

      Dad eventually mustered up courage, explained to Roy that he was being rather disruptive and told him gently that he had to go. He added that he was a much-loved son and although we couldn’t have him living with us all the time, he wasn’t banning him from visiting us. To our surprise Roy wasn’t at all bothered and shortly afterwards moved into a squat in a local town that was frequented by homeless people and drug addicts. Life calmed down and one summer’s day Roy came round to tell Mum and Dad that he had found what he described as a ‘fantastic new church’ close to where he was squatting. He asked Mum if she’d like to come with him. She immediately said yes and seemed so happy to find something she could do with Roy that could give them a shared interest and topic of conversation.

      Bethesda Charismatic Church was run by Pastor Edmund Collins, a charming, modest young man of 28, who had been building up the congregation from scratch. Mum found her first visit rather strange. She was an Anglican and found the hymns were very different to those to which she was accustomed. The congregation also clapped, which she was not used to. Nor had she ever shouted out ‘Halleluiah’ before. But the service lifted her spirits and helped her feel peaceful, and she believed that God was there for her to cling on to.

      After a few more visits she tried to persuade the rest of the family to join her. Kerry refused, while Dad was so deeply into drink and anti-religion that he said he’d rather spend his time at the pub. But I went along. It was a lovely, lively service, much friendlier than the Anglican church, and I even started going to the Sunday School. Mum became a regular churchgoer and soon wouldn’t miss a single Sunday service. She told us that she could sense God’s presence within her, felt safe in His hands and suddenly for the first time believed our family would come through our difficult times.

      Chapter 3

      My Life Is Turned Upside Down

      There was an amazing change in Mum once she started going regularly to church. She seemed to cope with life much better and Dad felt he could at last go out with peace of mind, knowing there wouldn’t be any more overdoses. Her habits changed too. Mum and Dad regularly went to the pub on a Sunday night, but since Mum found Jesus she usually went to church instead and on the rare occasions she did keep Dad company, she had orangeade rather than white wine.

      We all felt better when Mum was calmer and were pleased to see how well she was getting on with Pastor Collins. He told her all about a conference he attended nearby organized by the Divine Congregation, a cooperative fellowship that was spreading the Evangelical message in Britain. He was particularly enthusiastic about Troy Tyson, who he said was a marvellous Canadian missionary who was currently visiting various British churches. He had invited him and another young pastor, Ian Black, whom Tyson had taken under his wing, to speak in the towns and villages of the Pennines. He thought Mum would very much enjoy hearing them preach.

      Little did any of us know that this would be an encounter that would change all our lives, and especially mine. Mum went along and was totally absorbed by the service, Black’s powerful sermon and the way he singled out individuals, most often women, to pray for their health. She told us she thought he was a wonderful man and very close to Jesus.

      Nor was she alone. Rob Jarvis, one of our close friends and usually very down-to-earth, was equally taken with Black, who was, despite the power of his sermons, a short, stocky and sickly looking man. He described Black, who used to work for the Gas Board as a sales manager but who was now an evangelist, albeit with no formal religious qualifications, as someone with a personality that connected with people’s search for God and believed that women, in particular, would be captivated by his authority and power and not be bothered that he wasn’t particularly good-looking.

      Ian Black’s first appearance was such a resounding success that he returned each month to preach, staying overnight with various members. Edmund Collins supported him with a good Christian spirit and didn’t feel threatened when he heard that Black had created an organization called the Society of Christ’s Compassion in the south of England, and was targeting various churches round the country, including his own, to find potential members. And that is why, when Black told him he was organizing a weekend conference down south and had invited several key members of Edmund’s church, including my mum, the unwitting pastor encouraged everyone to go along for what he said promised to be a fulfilling Christian experience.

      Mum was obviously keen to go to the conference and told us enthusiastically that Pastor Collins believed it would be a place where people could feel the presence of God. She tried to persuade us all to join her, but Dad was indifferent to the offer and turned her down. Kerry said she would travel up from Southampton University, where she was studying occupational therapy, to join Mum. I was happy to be with Mum too. The conference took place in a spacious market hall and there were about 150 of us.

      Mum and I loved our time away. We stayed in the home of Celia and Patrick Jones, who were founder members of the Society of Christ’s Compassion; they were the parents of a girl, Carol, and the aunt and uncle – and guardians – of Peter, whose parents had been killed in a boating accident some years previously. They made us feel so welcome. Nothing was too much trouble for them and they were really good at putting us at our ease. I immediately hit it off with Peter, who was several years older than me, little thinking that before many years had passed we would become husband and wife.

      The highlight of the weekend for me wasn’t a religious one, but when Peter, helped by Carol, pushed me in a large old pram at top speed round and round the family’s vast garden. Later that day he and I were left alone in the kitchen and ended up having a food fight with some cakes. It all got very silly and Celia was briefly quite angry at the mess we’d made. We quickly apologized.

      Mum was really moved by how friendly and loving everyone was.