BEING A JONAH IN TADOUSSAC

Jonah 1:17

“Now the Lord had prepared a great fish to swallow up Jonah. And Jonah was in the belly of the fish three days and three nights.”

At the end of the year 2000, Keith obtained a new temporary job working at Her Majesty’s Prison at Lancaster Castle, located in the centre of Lancaster. He worked as a messenger, carrying out administrative tasks such as photocopying, delivering mail, and franking letters.

He really enjoyed the work. Although it was only temporary and part-time, he was able to accumulate some holiday leave, which he later used to visit his brother in Canada.

Mum had already spent the summer there, and the plan was for Keith to spend the last three weeks in Canada before accompanying Mum back to the UK.

Valerie, his sister-in-law, had asked him to bring some packets of Bird’s custard powder. Trying to save space, Keith removed the packets from the main box and hid them among his clothes.

Unfortunately, the small white packets — complete with expiry dates — looked rather suspicious!

Sure enough, when he arrived at customs in Montreal Airport, a customs officer pulled him aside and insisted on searching his suitcase.

Oh no — how was he going to explain packets of creamy white powder hidden among his clothes?

Nervously, I stammered:

“It’s custard powder!”

Thankfully, she believed me and even repacked my suitcase better than I had packed it myself.

The previous year, my brother had visited Tadoussac, a resort town at the mouth of the St Lawrence River where several species of whales could be seen.

So we travelled there and had a wonderful time. First, we went out on a large boat, but to be honest, we did not see any whales. Later that afternoon, we decided to go out on a much smaller and faster boat.

This time we saw many whales.

That evening we excitedly told everyone that we had to go out again the next day — this time with Mum.

The following morning, Mum, Peter, and I boarded the small boat. It was extremely windy, and Mum struggled to keep her headscarf on. Peter was becoming increasingly irritated.

The trip was supposed to last three hours, but it ended up lasting four. By the end of it, both my brother and I were absolutely desperate, as Peter put it, “to get to the bogs.”

We had never been so happy to set foot on solid ground. The moment we landed, we ran like Usain Bolt straight to the nearest toilet!

Our final adventure was a helicopter ride. There were eight of us altogether, so the pilot had to make two trips.

Later, my nephew Paul informed us that the helicopter door on his flight had been slightly open during the journey. I am very glad he did not tell us that while we were in the air!

Back on land, life seemed ordinary on September 11th, 2001.

I had just finished taking a shower when I walked into the living room and saw Peter watching television. At first, it appeared that a plane accident had taken place.

What we were actually witnessing was one of the most devastating terrorist attacks in modern history — an event that changed the world forever.

---

Devotional Thought

Why have I shared this holiday story? What significance does it have?

It was the last time we were all together as a family.

We all have earthly families, but one day they will pass away. Yet we also belong to a spiritual family made up of people from every nation and language, and we will spend eternity together.

I now live in China and have many brothers and sisters in Christ who love me dearly. I have Christian friends who are American, Australian, South African, French, and Ukrainian.

God’s family has no language barrier.

When we meet another brother or sister in Christ from a different country, we may not understand one another’s language, but there is an unspoken bond between us that cannot be broken.

In Galatians 3 we read these words:

“There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there is neither male nor female: for ye are all one in Christ Jesus.” — Galatians 3:28

THE CLOSED DOOR

Acts 16:6

“Now when they had gone throughout Phrygia and the region of Galatia, and were forbidden of the Holy Spirit to preach the word in Asia.”

In early 1997, I returned home to Morecambe. My mum was glad to see me back home. I was able to take her shopping and spend time with her, and she was able to look after me.

The only thing missing was work. Morecambe was not exactly a magnet for employment. It was a quiet seaside town, and the main employers were the university, the local colleges, and the two nuclear power stations — now four.

The job hunt continued through the local job club. I did get a couple of short-term contracts, but nothing permanent.

Life was good in many ways. Mum and I got on very well together. She was heavily involved in her local Church of England congregation. I occasionally attended with her, but there was still no real spiritual response from me.

In the year 2000, I organised a special meal to celebrate Mum’s 80th birthday. The grandchildren attended, and my brother and his family in Canada were able to see her through Skype.

Three days after that meal, my niece Victoria — who was always struggling financially — was returning home with her boyfriend at the time. He spent one pound on a lucky dip lottery ticket. Later that night, at around 11:30 pm, I received a hysterical phone call from Victoria screaming, “I’ve won the lottery!” Well, she hadn’t — but her boyfriend had. He gave her a little money, although sadly the relationship ended soon afterwards.

My brother Peter and I were very close. Sadly, my eldest brother and I became estranged and no longer have contact with one another.

After I returned to Morecambe, Peter wanted Mum and me to move to Canada, so we began the immigration process. We completed all the forms and medical checks. The final step was the interview at the Canadian Embassy in London in early January 2000.

We travelled down to London and attended the interview. Mum passed, but I was refused. I urged Mum to go without me, but she said we came as a package, so in the end we did not go.

To say we were disappointed would be an understatement.

Life continued, but Mum’s health slowly began to decline. She was now over 80 years old and started forgetting things. Gradually, it became clear that Alzheimer’s disease was taking hold.

The Lord was speaking to me.

In November 2001, I was alone in my room while Mum was in the kitchen. Suddenly, I broke down in tears. I fell to my knees crying out to God in repentance.

Part of my change began when I started looking for a girlfriend. I met a Christian girl who lived nearby, and we spoke both online and in person. I remember saying to her:

“Even if God forgives me, He will never trust me again to serve Him. He will hold my faults against me.”

How wrong I was.

Mum was happy when I started attending church again, even though it was not her church.

I began attending Heysham Free Methodist Church. I joined the fellowship, became involved in many ministries, and even started writing devotional thoughts. I also became involved in website ministry, but sadly that eventually led to my downfall.

More about that in the next chapter.

---

Devotional Thought

For many years I wondered why God closed the door to Canada. Now I understand why.

If He had opened that door, I almost certainly would never have come to China, met Helen, or experienced all the amazing things we have done together.

So often God closes a door, yet we keep banging on it, trying to force it open. We need to remember that when God closes a door, it remains firmly shut unless He Himself chooses to open it again.

Sometimes we resent those closed doors.

For years I resented that closed door to Canada. I questioned God and complained:

“Why have You said no? They are letting thousands of people in from other countries — why not me?”

Those thoughts only created resentment and anger, and I became trapped in that cycle.

God sees the complete picture. We only see from ground level, but He sees everything from His heavenly perspective. His plan for our lives is perfect, pure, and complete.

One verse that immediately comes to mind is:

Romans 8:28

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.”

Other verses to consider:

• Jeremiah 29:11–13
• Psalm 37:1–4
• Proverbs 3:5–6

The World’s Grasp

1 John 2:15–17

15 Love not the world, neither the things that are in the world…
17 And the world passeth away… but he that doeth the will of God abideth for ever.

During the final two years of my hospital employment (1987–1989), I attended night school to study Business Studies and Computing. I obtained basic diplomas in both. When my job ended, I planned to pursue a National Diploma at my local college while still living at home.

However, I saw an advertisement in the Bradford newspaper for a two-year full-time course at Bradford and Ilkley Community College, so I returned to my birthplace.

I loved the lectures and felt intellectually stretched. These were subjects I truly enjoyed.

In our first year, we had to create an investment portfolio and produce a business plan for a real business. Two fellow students, Mark and Jacqui, and I decided to design an organic restaurant. We worked through costings, locations, menus, and operational planning, then submitted our project for assessment. We received a distinction.

In my final year, I achieved five distinctions out of seven subjects.

Although I loved college, my life completely forgot God and the church. I did not live immorally, but God was absent from my life. I enjoyed concerts, theatre, and culture. My friend Mark used to call me a “culture vulture.”

During my second year, I became friendly with a girl. Nothing improper happened, but we spent time together socially. Eventually, the friendship faded.

We graduated in June 1991. I applied for many jobs, but no one was interested. Many of my peers continued into a BA in Business Studies, but foolishly, and partly to impress this girl, I chose to pursue accounting qualifications at City College in Norwich (1991–92). This decision led to failure.

I returned to Morecambe, but my eldest brother insisted I go back to Bradford to continue job hunting. I tried everything.

While my mother was on a world cruise with her sister, she suffered a stroke on the final day. My brother Philip insisted that I live away from her. I moved through various contract jobs, but nothing permanent.

I lived in some very unpleasant places.

One landlord lived at No. 3, and his son and I lived at No. 1. One Monday morning, I met the landlord entering the house.

“Where’s Mark? He should have been at work.”

“He’s asleep in the living room,” I replied.

We went in and found that he had fallen off the sofa and choked on his own vomit. His body contained 634 mg of alcohol. A late-night drinking session at the local pub had led to him consuming large amounts of Pernod.

There was an inquest, and I had to testify. My mum used to say, “When drink’s in, wit’s out.”

We had many lodgers pass through No. 3. One evening I met a very talkative new lodger in the kitchen. He kept receiving strange phone calls and came and went frequently.

Then one day, he disappeared. I was relieved.

Later, my landlord arrived with five police officers. One officer questioned me.

“What do you know about this man?”

“Why? Has he done something wrong?”

“He has been accused of murder.”

I later discovered that this man had been a rapist and murderer. I had spoken with him alone for over an hour.

I managed to visit my brother in Canada, and he strongly advised me to leave Bradford. Soon after my mother returned, I went back to Morecambe.

During this period, I had been prescribed strong antidepressants — Cipramil 15 mg — which I remained dependent on for many years.

---

Devotional Thought

The prodigal son in Luke 15 had to experience hardship before he remembered what he had lost.

I lost much in the eight years after leaving Morecambe in 1989. The early 1990s were not a happy time for me.

I regret deeply what happened, especially between 1992 and 1997. Years later, I met a fellow student who had been academically weaker than me, yet she had earned a degree with a 2:1. It filled me with sadness. We often make mistakes because we choose our own way. I can blame no one but myself.

But remember: there is forgiveness with God. He truly forgives. The real question is whether we forgive ourselves.

To do this, we must take responsibility for our mistakes. Then we can be cleansed of guilt and pain. “If only” are small words, but we cannot dwell on what might have been.

In truth, I am grateful for the pain. It allowed me to see life honestly and recognise how fallible I am. It has also enabled me to help others.

Do not dwell on your failures. The apostle Paul did not dwell on his past. In Philippians 3 he wrote:

7 But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ…
10 That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection…

That was probably the darkest time of my life.

Praise God — He brought me through it. Only He could.

A Sunny Afternoon in Hell

Jude 22–23

22 And of some have compassion, making a difference:
23 And others save with fear, pulling them out of the fire; hating even the garment spotted by the flesh.

You may be intrigued by the title: How can it be sunny in Hell?

As I mentioned earlier, I was born in Bradford, which has a football team called Bradford City. I remember standing behind the goal at City’s Valley Parade ground many times. It was an old stadium, with crumbling terraces and an ageing wooden main stand.

They were the first winners of the FA Cup in 1911, but by the 1980s they had fallen on hard times and were playing in the third highest league in England. However, in the 1984–85 season, they had a young and exciting team. They stormed to the division title, and the last game of the season, on 11 May, was meant to be a celebration.

I wanted a ticket, so I called my brother. He was going with his children but was unwilling to get me one, so I phoned the club myself and secured a ticket. I drove to the ground that day.

The stadium was swarming with people. It was a joyous occasion. I sat toward the far end of the main stand. It was a sunny day, but the wind was blowing strongly down the valley where the ground was situated.

It was a poor match. One of the players suffered a serious injury, and the game was dull. About five minutes before half-time, I felt the need to go to the toilet, but something stopped me. I clearly felt, Don’t go. I believe this was the Lord stopping me. If I had gone to the back of the stand, I would have been killed.

No sooner had I settled back into my seat than I heard laughter behind me. Then I saw smoke rising from the seats. Someone had dropped a cigarette, and it had fallen through a crack in the flooring, igniting rubbish beneath the stand.

We were pushed forward, and soon we had to climb, or be pulled, over the wall and onto the pitch. By now the flames were overwhelming. The fire had reached the roof, which was covered in highly combustible felt cladding.

I wandered around on the pitch, searching for my brother and his family, who had been seated in the next section. I remember asking myself, If this is the heat of a fire, what will Hell be like? Total fire and destruction for those who do not trust Christ.

Fifty-six people died that day. Lives were changed forever.

---

Devotional Thought

For Christians reading this, please consider the following.

This should be our greatest motivation. We ourselves have been pulled out of the fire, so we should seek to rescue others from the fire of Hell.

Some people that day were heroes. They helped those who were on fire. I remember walking past the goalmouth and seeing two bodies lying there. This is the situation in the world today. People are dying every minute of every day, and the church and many Christians stand idly by, doing nothing.

I once heard the story of a man being interviewed for a job as an usher in a cinema. He was asked:

“What would you do if a fire broke out?”

He replied:

“I would be fine. I would make sure I was safe.”

That is how many Christians live.

They have salvation, or so they believe, but they have no care or compassion for those who are perishing all around them.

Spurgeon said:

“The world lies in darkness… If you have found the remedy, tell the diseased about it. If you have found life, proclaim it to the dead. If you have found liberty, publish it to the captives. If you have found Christ, tell of Him to others…”

This memory remains vivid for me. It is a day of sorrow for those who died, but also a day of deep thankfulness that the Lord preserved me.

Let me tell you: it is not enough to attend church, to give to missions, to belong to social media groups, or even to write devotions.

For anyone who has not trusted Christ, life is very short. Many who died that day were young and looking forward to long lives, but suddenly life was gone.

Please do not delay. The day of salvation is now.

2 Corinthians 6:2

Ezekiel 36:31

“Then shall ye remember your own evil ways, and your doings that were not good, and shall loathe yourselves in your own sight for your iniquities and for your abominations.”

---

College, Church and Cars

After becoming a Christian, I joined Andrew’s church and youth group.

My faith began to grow, and in 1980 — shortly after my 21st birthday — I was baptised by immersion as a public testimony of my commitment to Christ.

During this time, I had a wonderful pastor, David Green, who spent many hours counselling me, along with my dear friend Kevin.

Just before I came to China, I was able to phone Pastor David to apologise and tell him I was walking with the Lord. As always, he responded with grace.

Kevin passed away from cancer in 2024. While in the UK, I was able to speak with him. I will always be grateful for his friendship.

Just before my 21st birthday, I also lost my father. He died in front of me, quietly slipping away after losing his will to live.

This was a huge blow to my mother, who blamed herself. He had only been retired six months and never had the chance to enjoy it.

After school, I attended college to complete my GCE O Levels, and later studied accounting in Preston. I hoped this would lead to office work, but due to my stammer, employers felt I would struggle — especially on the telephone.

So in late 1979, I took a job as a storeman at a local mental hospital. I intended it to be temporary, but it lasted ten years.

It was not the happiest period of my life. I lived at home, worked full-time, and remained active in church — yet I was still a rebel in many ways.

The work was physical and demanding. The store contained everything from food to furniture. Fifty-kilogram bags of rice, sugar, and flour had to be unloaded daily. It was not work for the faint-hearted.

I later moved into the medical stores, which was the best position available. However, the stores closed in 1989 when all supplies were centralised 40 miles away.

Although the job was not particularly fulfilling, I paid into the National Health pension scheme. Today I receive that pension in China. God knew exactly what I would need in the future.

As a Christian, I was in the church — but still with one foot in the world.

During this time, I also bought my first car: a small lime-green Mini, nicknamed “The Lime Green Terror.” I loved that car and had it for nearly eight years. It brought a lot of joy — though not so much when driving down the aptly named Cemetery Road in Bradford, dodging potholes like an obstacle course.

By the mid-1980s, my faith began to decline. I left church membership. That was my own decision, and no one else was to blame. I chose my own path, and the consequences were serious. The scars remain.

Have I been forgiven by God?

Yes — completely.

But the regret for those wasted years still remains.

---

DEVOTIONAL THOUGHT

I say this with honesty and shame: I wasted significant portions of my life. I am not proud of it. I share it so that others may avoid the same mistakes.

Time is the one thing you can never replace. Everything else can be regained — but not time.

Those years are gone forever. In my case, they were lost through sinful and foolish choices.

The years between 25 and 40 — often some of the most productive years of life — were largely wasted on things that did not matter.

There is always a cost to sin and disobedience. God restores and heals, as He did with David, but consequences and scars often remain.

So do not waste your life on things that do not satisfy. Do not allow bitterness, anger, or selfishness to take control.

I am a prodigal — but, thank God, the prodigal returned and was restored.

Praise God for His forgiveness, mercy, and grace.

If you have made wrong choices and drifted far from God, there is restoration and healing at the foot of the cross.

Returning to God took many years. In between, I went to places I should not have gone and saw things I should not have seen.

Yet the Lord is patient and slow to anger. Psalm 103 reminds us:

The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and full of compassion…
He has not dealt with us according to our sins…
As far as the east is from the west, so far has He removed our transgressions from us…

Come and receive that healing.

Psalm 40

I waited patiently and expectantly for the Lord;
and He inclined to me and heard my cry.

He brought me up out of a horrible pit of destruction and turmoil, out of the miry clay,
and He set my feet upon a rock, giving me a firm place to stand and establishing my path.

He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God.
Many will see this and fear the Lord with reverence, and they will trust confidently in Him.

---

PULLED OUT OF THE PIT

In previous chapters, I mentioned that I was a churchgoer — and I was. But not because I wanted to be. I was forced to go.

We were given prizes for attending. I still have a book from 1971 with photos of the UK, given as a Sunday school prize. At that stage, I was mostly interested in getting things. It was all about me — my wants and my interests.

When I reached Class 4, I looked around wondering who I could upset first. The unlucky target was a rather stout boy who sat by the window. I often found myself at his desk teasing and tormenting him. Ironically, he was more religious than I was. He attended youth groups on Friday nights, Saturday nights, and church twice on Sundays. I used to think, “He needs to get a life!”

So he became the target of my anger. I punched him, pulled his hair, shouted at him — and yet he never responded. Everyone else reacted, but not him. It puzzled me: what is wrong with this guy?

Our class became Class 5, and yes — we were still in the same class. Very frustrating. Our teacher, Mr Scott, once said to him, “You will never get Keith to become a Christian.” How wrong he was.

He kept inviting me to meetings on Saturday nights. My response was basically, “I’d rather cut my toenails with a hacksaw.”

But he kept asking. Eventually I gave in — not because I was interested, but just to get him to stop.

So one Saturday night I was allowed out of the house. My parents should probably have known better.

We met and went up to Moorlands Gospel Hall. The place was packed. I remember thinking, what is going on here?

We began the meeting. Hymns were sung. People stood and shared how Jesus had changed their lives. It meant nothing to me at the time — it all went over my head.

Then the preacher stood up, Victor Jack from Suffolk. He spoke about what would happen if Jesus returned that very night. I remember feeling uneasy and even a little afraid. I had never heard anything like it.

He said that Jesus is the only answer.

At the end, he said he would go into a side room, and if anyone wanted to speak with him, they could knock on the door.

All I can describe it as is this: it was as if my eyes were opened. I turned to Andrew and said, “I’m going into that room.” His jaw dropped.

We arrived just before someone else. If they had gone in first, I might have backed out. But I was ushered inside.

Victor took me through the booklet Journey into Life by Norman Warren. I prayed at the end and meant it.

I went home and told my parents, “I’ve become a Christian.” My father simply replied, “You should have been home earlier.”

But something had changed that night. I had passed from death to life.

---

In 2024, I was able to meet my dear friend Andrew again, and also see Victor once more — now 87 years old. He welcomed me and my family into his home and church.

I owe them both a debt I can never repay. On that night, I was truly pulled out of the pit.

---

DEVOTIONAL THOUGHT

Salvation from sin through Christ is a miracle. It cannot be achieved through good works or any human religion.

I know this, because I tried.

Going to church does not make you a Christian. Sitting in a burger restaurant does not make you a hamburger.

What saves a person is what Christ has done on the cross. He brings us to God as the Saviour and divine substitute — the One who died in our place.

I was not good enough to come to God on my own. I needed someone to take my sin. That One is Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

The moment I trusted Him, I was justified and accepted by the Father. I was sealed by the Holy Spirit. It was He who opened my eyes and my heart that cold February night.

We can share the gospel and explain the truth, but only the Holy Spirit can open blind eyes and bring true life.

Every born-again believer is a trophy of God’s grace — given a new heart, a new nature, and a new direction.

They are now on the pilgrim road. I thank God that I am on that road.

I am a living miracle of God’s grace.

Are you?

SILENT KILLER

Proverbs 15:3
“The eyes of the Lord are in every place, beholding the evil and the good.”

I write this for those who have suffered bullying, both at home and at school.

Bullying can scar a person for life. It is like an itch you cannot scratch.

My story began at a friend’s school, where I met a boy a year older than me who took it upon himself to bully me — verbally and physically.

I will say this: I did irritate people, and perhaps I brought some of it on myself. But that does not make bullying acceptable.

Later, at Skerton, the bullying worsened. The more I was bullied, the angrier I became. Years later, I met a girl from our class online. The first thing she said was, “You were the one they bullied.” That was her lasting impression of me.

Into adult life, and even into my first marriage, this pattern continued. Some of it may have been my fault — but not all of it.

So how do you deal with it?

---

Devotional Thought

A deep relationship with God is the first step toward healing. Bullying often happens in the shadows, unseen by others — but not by God.

When you come to Him, you come as a child and become His son or daughter, loved and accepted.

You can pray and forgive those who bullied you, whether in the past or even now.

The verse above gives great hope. The Lord sees everything. He has heard every word spoken against you, and He will hold people accountable.

You must not repay evil with evil. The cycle must be broken. One way to do this is to tell someone you trust — a pastor, close friend, parent, or family member.

Yes, I may have deserved some correction in life, but never the uncontrolled anger of another person. That is never right and never acceptable.

I write this to give hope. I have been where you are. Now I rest secure in God’s love, knowing that no verbal or physical abuse can define me.

I finish with Romans 8:

“If God be for us, who can be against us? … Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

ST TRINIANS WITH BOVVER BOOTS

Isaiah 53:6
“All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.”

The St Trinian’s films of the 1950s tell the story of a girls’ school that was completely out of control and caused mayhem wherever it went.

Skerton School looked fine from the outside. The drive had beautiful apple blossom trees on either side, and there were hundreds of little cherubs running about. But scratch below the surface and you would scream.

The teachers were legends. These included Charlie Emmett — boys were sent to him if they had done wrong, and he would bring their backsides into close proximity with a T-square. Our music teacher, “Sweaty Betty” Wilson, used our lesson time to lecture us on the state of the world. There was Ms Pallister, our young French teacher, and Mr Curnow, our RE teacher, who met and married at the school. Mr Waterhouse, my history teacher, did train impressions. My form teachers were Mrs Warrington and Mr Scott.

School uniform was often augmented by bovver boots and associated items — indeed, anything that could cause grievous bodily harm. This was the 1970s. You could not imagine students changing gender or openly calling themselves homosexual at Skerton; they would have been torn to pieces. Some of the girls did look a bit like men — no names mentioned, but your name begins with S.

All those teachers did their very best under the most trying circumstances. We were a right bunch. But Keith was the school clown. He drove teachers and schoolmates mad with his antics. He was an attention seeker, desperately trying to be noticed.

Some stories about school trips are the stuff of legend — from fire extinguishers being set off on the Mersey ferry to buses getting stuck on Formby Sands.

On other trips, small swords were stolen in Keswick and items taken from a shop in Grasmere. The shop owner came onto the bus to identify the culprit but couldn’t, as most boys had their heads under coats or seats. But we all knew who it was. You know who you are!

Grasmere was also where a group of students staying at the youth hostel got locked out, so the smallest boy was ordered to shimmy up a drainpipe, climb through an open window, and unlock the door.

Keith was placed in the lowest stream in fourth year. He ended up doing woodwork, metalwork, and PE, with no academic studies. My father fought to get me into an academic class. Finally, after missing two terms, I was moved into Class 4S — but I still continued acting the clown.

We had to leave our bags outside the classroom at lunchtime. Ours was the art room, and there was a small ledge just above the door. Someone took great pleasure in throwing my satchel onto that ledge. At 1 p.m., everyone was kept waiting while Keith ran around retrieving his bag. Again, we all knew the culprit. He still lives in Morecambe… doesn’t he?

The school had many landmarks, including the toilets near our classroom — the only toilets with a chimney. This was the place for smoking. You know how white smoke comes out of the chimney when a new pope is elected? It was like that. White smoke streamed from the windows as students tried to “have a drag.”

The school was not PC or “woke.” It was a throwback to a bygone age, but for us, it truly was the best days of our lives.

Not only was there a place for smoking, there were places for snogging too — behind the bike sheds and near the brass band room. So I am reliably informed by someone who spent plenty of time in both places. In fact, the bike sheds have probably been moved to Altrincham town centre as a memorial — or a souvenir. I’m not sure which.

Lunchtime meant football in the playground, but it was never long before you heard the shout of “FIGHT!” followed by teachers running over and saying, “You two clowns, get to Mr Emmett!”

Skerton is now demolished. It has become a housing complex. But for us, it remains a deep memory imprinted on our minds. Life revolved around school. Next time I return to the UK, we will have a reunion with Russ, Wilf, Bruno, Gary, and of course, the legendary Sheri.

Other memorable occasions include sports day, when Keith attempted the hurdles and fell at the first one, causing the biggest laugh ever.

We played sports where teams had to be chosen. In football, I was never chosen first — always last. The choice often came down to me or a lamppost. The lamppost was usually chosen first.

Eventually, Keith did buckle down. He achieved Grade 1 in both History and Geography, and Grade 3 in English Language and Literature. He won the prize for History — well, they had to give someone else a prize. The rest went to a certain genius from Mount Avenue, including the “snogging prize.”

Lifelong friendships were formed at school. My dear friend David Hobbs is still a great friend to me, as is my dearly beloved Andrew, whom I can never thank enough.

Years later, Mr Waterhouse and Mr and Mrs Curnow came to my church. What a joy to know we will meet again.

One last story. Our head girl in Year 5 was Diane Stephenson. She was vivacious and had a very quiet friend called Deborah Ormerod. They were inseparable and in my class. Diane often came to talk to me; she was a lovely person.

I remember our last lesson on a Friday afternoon was Geography. One Friday, I looked across at Diane’s table. The boys were gathered around, hanging on her every word. She had her whole future ahead of her.

On the following Monday morning, the headmaster and senior teachers came into our classroom.

On that Friday night, Diane and Deborah had gone out with their seventeen- to eighteen-year-old boyfriends. As they came down a hill in their village, the car lost control and crashed into a wall. Diane, who was not wearing a seatbelt, was killed instantly. Deborah was seriously injured.

I will always remember seeing them that Friday afternoon. Hours later, Diane was gone.

Life is so fragile. That has always stayed with me.

In Keith’s last term at Skerton, something happened to him — but more of that in the next chapter.

---

Devotional Thought

As youngsters, we go on our merry way. We laugh and cry together. For us, school was not about academics; it was about survival.

I remember Mr Curnow saying in RE class, “Jesus is the answer.” I mocked him. I wish I had listened, because He truly is the answer.

I did not want to go to Skerton, but it was the place where God had placed Andrew. Mr Scott once said to him, “You’re wasting your time with Keith — he’s beyond hope.”

But there are two wonderful words at the start of Ephesians 2:

BUT GOD

“But God, who is rich in mercy, for his great love wherewith he loved us, even when we were dead in sins, hath quickened us together with Christ (by grace ye are saved).”

No one is beyond the grace and mercy of God. I am living testimony to that fact.

On a Green Hill Far Away

1 Timothy 1:15
“This is a faithful saying and worthy of all acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief.”

I ended the last chapter by saying that I sometimes read the Bible at home but did not understand it.

I continued living in the nursing home with my parents, but my isolation was becoming worse. Everyone thought it was because of my stammer or my environment, but in truth, it was because of my sin.

I was becoming a rebel and a thief. If anything was available, you could be sure Keith would take it.

Biscuits, cheese, and cakes were my main targets, but money also became an idol. My dad had a large jar filled with 5p and 1p coins. The trouble was, it never seemed to increase—no matter how much he added to it.

My parents sent me to the Methodist church near our house, but this did not stop this little artful dodger.

These are things I am ashamed of, but they are written here to show that Keith truly was the chief of sinners.

I went to Sunday school and church under duress. I heard the hymn below and thought I was fine:

There is a green hill far away,
Outside a city wall,
Where the dear Lord was crucified,
Who died to save us all…

So I continued going to church, thinking I was safe. After all, Jesus had died, and surely I would go to heaven. Wasn’t God a God of love?

Life went on as normal. My childhood was quite unhappy. My parents had sent me to the private Friends School in Lancaster, where the bullying really intensified. Although I was intelligent, I wanted everything done for me.

My eyesight worsened, and I had to wear strong glasses, which earned me the nickname “Joe 90,” after the television character.

Life was spiralling out of control and was about to get worse when I was moved to Skerton County Secondary School, a place that felt like a madhouse. It was full of some of the toughest boys and girls imaginable.

Yet, this is where my redemption began—but more on that in the next chapter.

It was also at this school that I made two lifelong friends, David and Andrew, my dear brother in Christ, both of whom have been pivotal in my life.

---

Devotional Thought

Have you ever thought that living in a Christian country or being raised in a Christian home makes you a Christian?

It does not.

Many people trust in their environment. We live in a Christian country, we go to church at Christmas and Easter—surely that’s enough?

I remember going to Sunday school mainly for the sweets and prizes.

I used to read the picture Bible but did not understand it. Who was this Jesus?

Why didn’t my parents explain it?

My mother used to pray with me:

Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child,
Bless mummy and daddy…

But I was never told that He could be my Saviour and my Redeemer.

So, have you made it personal?

He desires a personal relationship with you.

Later in this book, you will see this miracle happen to Keith.

Psalm 139

O Lord, You have searched me and known me.
You know my sitting down and my rising up;
You understand my thoughts afar off.
You comprehend my path and my lying down,
And are acquainted with all my ways.

---

Soaking Wet at the Seaside

I arrived in Morecambe in 1964. It was a seaside town trying to restore its former glories. It was best known for the famous comedian Eric Morecambe, part of the well-known double act Morecambe and Wise.

When I arrived, it had two piers, two theatres, the aquatic centre Marineland, and a pleasure park. All of them are gone now.

We settled into Whitelow House, a four-floor nursing home situated in the Bare area of the town. It was next door to a church, which neither my parents nor I ever attended.

The best part was the large garden at the back, with apple and pear trees and a greenhouse where my dad grew tomatoes and cucumbers.

The house had a lift, and Keith spent many hours going up and down in it. No one could ever get into the lift because it was always in use!

We lived right on the promenade, which stretched for up to six miles and had the most beautiful views across to the Lake District hills. The sunsets were amazing, and they remain my fondest memory of Morecambe.

The sea regularly came over the road in front of the house and flooded many homes along the seafront. Our home was largely unaffected until the great storm of 1977, when it was completely flooded. The lift shaft filled with water. This happened on a Friday night and continued for several days, leaving the sea wall badly damaged. Today, there are stone sea barriers that prevent such flooding.

On many days, I used to walk down to the centre of Morecambe and return along the seafront when the tide was coming in. I would stand by the railings and wait for a big wave to hit the wall. Then I would run away from the spray. Sometimes I got wet, sometimes I didn’t. I often returned home smelling of seaweed and salt spray, much to my parents’ dismay.

There wasn’t much sand on the beach—mostly pebbles—but there was a paddling pool where we caught crabs. We used a stick with bait tied to a piece of string, and the crabs would latch on.

One day, I spotted a very large crab. I reached down into the pool and, as you’ve guessed, fell headlong into it.

Morecambe had two piers and many amusement arcades filled with penny falls and one-armed bandits. Sadly, some of my pocket money was spent there—and also at my favourite sweet shop.

My parents loved their work, and I was loved, but work often took precedence over me. I became very unhappy due to my speech problems and the bullying at school—some of which was my fault, but more on that later.

Every Christmas I received the latest craze, whether Action Man or racing cars, but I longed for more time with my parents. A quiet anger was beginning to grow.

To be honest, my parents spoiled me. They sent me to private school, arranged membership at the local golf club, and gave me horse-riding lessons, which I loved. We galloped over the sands until one day, after dismounting near the nursing home, I slipped. The horse was startled, and one of its hooves struck my head, causing a deep cut. I have never ridden a horse since.

Between the ages of 8 and 10, this was one of three occasions when I fell and badly injured my head. Once I was tripped while running at school and went headfirst into a radiator. Another time, I fell headfirst into a bench—don’t ask me how.

My parents took me on holidays to Scotland and on cruises. I am thankful for everything they gave me. I hold no anger toward them. I remember them both with love and gratitude.

Thank you, Eric and Rita.

I especially remember one morning when I was asleep and the night staff were knocking on the door. It must have been about 5 a.m. They shouted for my dad to come quickly. One of the male residents had taken his own life. Events like this affect a young mind deeply.

One thing Mum loved was her music. We had a radiogram with a record player and many classical vinyl records. I loved playing them. Mum was also a great reader, and books were everywhere, including a picture Bible. I read its pages without understanding what it meant.

Now, I have come to love that Book.

---

Devotional Thought

Many people think that honouring their parents, as outlined in the Ten Commandments, applies only while they are alive. It does not.

After we lose our parents, we are still to honour them by our actions and our words.

Many children carry resentment toward their parents. This is not the right path. Blaming your parents for your problems leads nowhere. I did this for many years.

The best way to honour your parents is to be thankful for all they gave you and all they did for you.

This is how we honour our father and mother.

Jesus honoured His Father and mother. So should we—in life and in death.

Exodus 20:12
“Honor your father and your mother, that your days may be long upon the land which the Lord your God is giving you.”

Psalm 139

15 My substance was not hidden from Thee, when I was made in secret, and curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth.
16 Thine eyes did see my substance, yet being unperfect; and in Thy book all my members were written, which in continuance were fashioned, when as yet there was none of them.
17 How precious also are Thy thoughts unto me, O God! how great is the sum of them!

In The Sound of Music, Julie Andrews sang, “Let’s start at the very beginning, a very good place to start.”

Keith came into the world on 5 March 1959, born at home at 247 Cooper Lane in Bradford, Yorkshire, UK.

He was the third son of Eric and Rita Hobkirk. He had two brothers, Philip and Peter. He was closest to his middle brother, Peter, who sadly died in 2017.

My parents were hardworking people. They tried to do their best for this very small person who was quiet all day but screamed at night.

Later, I found out that I was only born because my mother had miscarried a baby girl. My father had wanted a girl — but he got me. Much later, I was told that I was not really wanted.

Has this been your experience?

Maybe you have been told that you were unwanted or abandoned by your parents.

But you are not.

You are not a mistake. God saw you. He knew you even before you were born.

His love is greater than that of any human mother or father.

I do not hold any bitterness toward my parents. They did their very best for me. But it was — and is — the true love of God, and of course my dear family, that has transformed my life.

I cannot remember much about my early childhood. The first memorable event was moving to Morecambe, where my parents were to take over the operation of a retirement home run by the Bradford Council.

Before I left for Morecambe, I had an eye operation to correct a squint in my left eye. Throughout my life, I have needed to wear glasses.

So at the age of five, I moved to the sunny seaside town of Morecambe. Life was about to change in a big way.

Off to Morecambe we went — a whole new adventure.

---

Devotional Thought

People today are searching for value. One of the major causes of suicide is the feeling of having no value.

Some of you reading this may feel unwanted or even deserted by your parents. Some of you may have been born in very difficult circumstances — perhaps as the result of rape or sexual assault.

Whatever your situation — however and wherever you were born — God was there. He saw everything.

As I said earlier, you are not a mistake. I was told that I was not wanted. Yes, I was loved — but not wanted.

Only when you come to Christ can you find your true value. Only in Christ can you experience the true love of God the Father and be filled with the indwelling presence of the Holy Spirit.

---

Verses to Ponder

Ephesians 1:3–14
Jeremiah 29:11–13

DEDICATION AND INTRODUCTION

Dedicated to the Ones I Love

My precious Saviour and Lord Jesus, who pulled me out of the pit.

My precious wife, Helen, whose love, care, and prayers bless me every moment of every day.

My precious daughter, Sherry — the cherry on top of my cake. You are my angel.

My beloved son-in-law, Peter, who is such a blessing to me.

To my beloved Chinese brothers and sisters — you are an inspiration.

---

Thanks

Thanks to the following dear friends who have blessed my life:

I have sat under several very anointed pastors, such as David Green, Richard Scholes, Mark Johnstone, and Zanmei. You have moulded my life through your preaching.

To Victor, Andrew, Kevin, and Mike, who were instrumental in bringing me to faith and helping me grow in faith.

Thanks also to my late parents, Eric and Rita, and my dear brother Peter. You are loved, remembered, and treasured every day.

A very big thank you to my dear friend Pastor Johan Lourens, who kindly gave his time to proofread this document.

---

Introduction

Everyone has a bucket list — things they want to do before they “kick the bucket”!

One of the things I have always wanted to do is write my life story.

So why should you read this book?

It is the story of my life, told in my own words — the experiences I have had and the people I have met — shared with humour, honesty, and a twinkle in my eye.

This book tells the story of an ordinary person who has the one true God as his Saviour, Guide, Redeemer, and Best Friend.

This is not Keith’s story, but God’s story. It is the story of God’s power to change one person’s heart.

I hope you will enjoy these stories — the good and the bad experiences I have been through. May these words bring glory to God and lead you to the one true Saviour, Jesus Christ.