PER ARDUA

    With the arrival of the latest THE MITRE I feel it's high time I honored a pledge given several years back to write a little something -if only to fill those pages. A (nother) wet summer's day affords me just such an opportunity....
    1 arrived at The Pottery from smoky, smelly Teesside, a difficult and in some ways daunting first curacy after ordination in York Minster. It was a wonderful education in that Teessiders believe in calling a spade a bloody shovel (even worse!).Visiting happened daily so one could never be accused of idling away the time. They are a most hospitable people and when you were invited into their homes (as you invariably were) you took them as they were...put on the kettle and maybe wash up the cups if you want a cuppa. But of course, those were the days when double-shifts in both the chemical and steel industries were there for the taking.
    Heacham, parish and school, was a whole universe away from what was to follow. I recall being driven around Heacham, ingoldisthorpe and Hunstanton by RPP but was nonetheless disoriented for some little while. AII credit to Mukhlis therefore for taking me under his wing and endeavouring to explain Who was Who and What was What. A vivid memory is of the start of the September '63 Staff meeting during which everybody but me grabbed the classes they wanted for the subjects they taught, so that when it was all but over I remarked that 1 seemed to have a modest teaching commitment. So, it was back to the drawing-board and at last. l was In!
    Tales such you and I could tell about St. Michael's are the stuff of legend. And I can tell you I've given many an off-the-cuff taik I've named A Ragbag of Memories to many, many societies. And, what's the bet that when leaving they confide to each other that he DID tend to embroider - to exaggerate. Wrong!
It was as a result of an advertisement in the CHURCH TIMES for RAF Chaplains that I was able to get a free trip to London for interview. I actually then had no such intention of wearing the Queen's uniform... but, a free rail ticket was part of the deal. My favourite theme is the part that Chance has played in my own life. And so it was with me.
    I said Farewell to St Mick's in May '56' and was given a signet ring by the boys of the Ingoldisthorpe boarding-house which I treasure to this day.
    Within a few months of leaving, suitably attired for warmer climes than UK, 1 found myself in S Yemen and what turned out to be the final year of the British presence in S Arabia. Aden was the centre for nationalists intent in driving the British out sooner rather than later, urged on by Marxists from Egypt, China and Eastern bloc countries, who were generous in their supply of arms to the Arabs. British troops were involved in shooting incidents sometimes 40 times daily and as chaplain to the military hospital I was constantly on call to attend to the spiritual needs of the wounded, the dying - and the dead. Active Service was an experience I wouldn't have missed for the world. Everything that was to follow would be anti-climax. Incidentally, I paid a return visit to Aden just 18 months ago - and how the memories flooded back, more especially when I participated in the Remembrance Day services at the 2 military cemeteries...'there is some corner of a foreign field that is forever England'.
    I was not destined to return to UK when the final pull-out occurred in late '67'. Instead, I was posted to Sharjah in Oman, another desert station, far removed from dangers and difficulties, but challenging in quite another way. Let's put it like this, the temptation within most if not all of us when in an isolated outpost with seemingly little to do is (a) to lie back and do nothing (b) to moan excessively. And yet, in the nearby village there was another lifestyle altogether. My church building was used as social centre, cinema and even worship - and yes, the British are inclined to be more religious when far away from Home.
    Reluctantly in my own case, I returned to Lyneham in Wiltshire, then the departure-point for most overseas-going aircraft. The RAF chaplains also happened by some unusual arrangement to be in charge of the civilian parish...a dramatic happening because it meant having to deal with the moaning Minnies who complained about just everything. And what did WE care or know, seeing we were birds of passage, here today and gone tomorrow. Mmm!! I
    '69' and my posting order arrived for a fighter station in Scotland, Leuchars by name - in the Gulf Stream and so quite often warmer than in the deep south. This was the time of the Cold War when Russian Bear aircraft attempted to penetrate our defences and had to be intercepted....continual noise throughout the 24 hours, fascinating in quite another way.
    Two years were to pass quickly before I was told that I'd been posted to the plummiest of the plum postings, to Singapore. But, this was also the time when the British presence generally was being withdrawn from east of Suez. I therefore found myself working with the army, navy and air forces of the 3 constituent parts of the ANZUK force. Australia New Zealand and of course, UK. Here was the Day of Pentecost updated! There followed 30 months of hard work - mustn't forget that! - plus exploration up-country to the delights of Malaysia and even to one of the islands of the Maldives group. l thrived in the tropical climate. Who WOULDN'T be reluctant to return home?
    March '74' saw my return to Cosford and the Apprentices Training School - pretty much like a sixth-formers in uniform and under discipline with money in their pockets. Pretty volatile. And impressive too inasmuch as one almost felt the pride and the urge for adventure.
    A Maintenance Unit was my next home for over 3 years whose main job was to supply the entire RAF with its supplies of whatever. And then to Sealand near Chester for my final 3 years in uniform - here, a mix of servicemen and civilians in a ratio of 1:2. Their high rate of pay came about as a result of their technical skills, their working environment demanding and stressful in a dust-free environment....plenty of opportunity here to prop up the workbench and talk over whatever featured on the menu.
    I became Chaplain & Head of Rl and Teacher of English at Woodbridge School in '83' - not at all like The Pottery,'nuff said. A year's unemployment in '89 came to an end when I was offered the living of St. Paul's in Newport S Wales, scheduled for closure.This was to be combined with the chaplaincy of the 2 town-centre hospitals..... if you seek a quiet 9 - 5 job, most emphatically DO NOT apply for a hospital chaplaincy. But I loved it. An average week would see me talking with something in the region of 500 people of all sorts and conditions.
    In August '99' I decided to call it a day however and have since enjoyed doing my own thing in the currently not-so-sunny south!! find it impressive that these many years after the school's closure so many still wish to relive some of the Pottery experiences. I for my own part acknowledge just such a debt and an attraction.
    One final thought....! occasionally meet up with parish clergy whom I knew in my undergraduate days and find myself wondering how on earth they could have remained decades, within the same rather dull parish routine, within the same diocese or the same province. Never (it seems) a thought that there is a wider and infinitely more exciting world beyond. Education is a lifelong experience!!!

Bill Kelly