"Plebgate" is a peculiar UK controversy which has escalated out of all proportion... and for good reason! The initial cause was the allegation that a UK government minister, Andrew Mitchell MP, called officers in the Downing Street security cordon "plebs", the resulting publicity made it inevitable that the minister resigned his post. ("Pleb" is considered a patronising insult in the UK, while to call someone, its antonym, a "toff" for some reason passes without notice; but such is the reverse snobbery of public discourse in the UK).
As it turns out the Security TV footage does not accord with the police account and subsequent police inquiries have been fraught with mendacious self serving commentary. It turns out that Andrew Mitchell may be the victim of a police "fit up"!
Internet trolls have made the point that the ongoing inquiries and the cost incurred are merely the product of MPs seeking to protect their own but I believe these people miss the point entirely. If the police can "fit up" a government minister then how can any of us feel safe?
Regardless of the cost this incident needs to be investigated and if the police officers are found culpable they should be prosecuted. This particular incident comes on the back of the Hillsborough Inquiry, the mistaken shooting of Charles de Menezes in 2005, the police assault on, and subsequent death of, Ian Tomlinson etc etc etc. The fact is few police officers are ever called to account, the worst sanction often being that they resign on a full pension.
My opinions of the police were first formed a long time before any of these particular incidents. When I left school in 1976, aged 19, my first job was as a 'legal executive' in the criminal litigation department of a firm of solicitors in Bradford in the north of England. Over the course of the four years that I worked there preparing defence cases for hearing in the Crown Court (UK's superior criminal court) I moved from the naive opinion of 'if you can't trust the police who can you trust?' to one of deep scepticism. My role was to interview defence witnesses, brief the defending barrister and attend court as a note taker and adviser.
During my time at TI Clough & Co, solicitors, Market Street, Bradford, there were several cases where I was convinced the defendants had been "fitted up" by the police and in all of them, Thank God, they were acquitted. They were many less clear cut cases where the defendant was probably guilty and yet one suspected that the evidence produced by the police was concocted. Policing was then, and for all I know still is, about identifying a suspect and then finding the evidence to convict them. Let me explain why this procedure is flawed.
I had a case where a woman was being prosecuted for a serious assault on her infant. Her partner said she had done it and she herself had confessed to it. It seemed an open and shut case on the 'get the suspect and then collate the evidence'. But I sensed she was lying to protect her partner. The case came to trial at the Crown Court and fortunately the barrister felt as I did. Professionally speaking what we did next was totally unethical - even though we had been clearly instructed by our own client that she wanted to plead guilty, we cajoled her into making a 'Not Guilty' plea! As the trial unfolded we picked holes in the police case and we ignored her subsequent instructions that she wanted to plead guilty. We suspected her partner was continuing to pressurise her, but we fobbed off her instructions. The barrister spoke to me privately, "you do realise what we are doing is unethical?" I wish I had made some sort of noble comment at this point but I think I just laughed, "yeah, right!".
Our defendant, and the infant who was assaulted, were ill served by the police and the law; it is not cynical to say that the law is not the same as justice. It leaves me cold when I hear smug pundits in the media who seem to believe that the law provides Mankind with adequate notions of right and wrong, and put their trust in legal procedure. Humanists have misplaced faith in the fundamental goodness of Mankind. Human institutions are fallible and it is foolish to trust them so implicitly. I agree with King David who said, 'let us fall into the hands of the LORD, for his mercy is great; but do not let me fall into the hands of men!'
Realising that we could never get our client to give evidence in her own defence we set about destroying the police case before it ever got to that stage. And Thank God, by the end of the prosecution evidence we persuaded the judge to throw the case out! We got her off. Of course, having backed the wrong horse, the police could not now get a conviction on the real culprit. The leading police officer even asked our advice on the issue - I wasn't overly impressed by his intelligence I have to say.
The lesson of all this; there is much talk in the media about 'transparency' and 'ethics' in public life generally not just with regard to policing, but it seems to me that "transparency" is not a substitute for trust and "ethics" are no substitute for righteousness.
Showing posts with label Bradford. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bradford. Show all posts
Friday, October 25, 2013
Friday, March 15, 2013
The Day I Realised I Wasn't a Catholic!
I was raised in a Catholic family and attended RC schools until I was 18. Three of my Grandparents were Irish who moved to Bradford in the north of England before WW1, but I never knew them because they had all died before I was born. So to say that I come from an Irish Catholic family is a bit of a stretch because we had no links with the old country, and if asked I would have said I was from Yorkshire. In fact the only Grandparent I did know was a true Yorkshireman. Bradford was a boom town in the 19th Century and attracted Irish people looking for work. My Irish Grandfather, Patrick, had several brothers who emigrated to the USA. Bradford obviously had its attractions, with a sizeable population of Irish descent, even having its own soccer team, Bradford Park Avenue with its Celtic-like strip. Bradford City Football Club being its protestant counterpart.
If my ties to Ireland were tenuous my connection to the RC church was little better - I did the stuff required by the Catholic school system but had no personal attachment or sense of belonging. At primary school it was expected that all the lads would serve as altar boys in the parish church on a Sunday. I refused point blank, not that I was making any courageous sort of 'statement' by it, I just felt it looked daft! I gathered later that the Head-Sister (we were taught by nuns) spoke to my parents about this; 'doesn't he realise what an honour it is?!' In fairness to my parents, who were regular church-goers, they never pressed the issue and when I was 13 they allowed me to decide if I still wanted to go to church. I did not.
Despite going through a 'raving atheist' phase in my teens, in one respect being Catholic did remain with me. In the late 1960's when I was 10 or 11 years old 'The Troubles' started in Northern Ireland and I vividly recall the parish priest coming to our house and speaking to my mother about the possibility of the violence spilling over to the UK mainland. My mother was in genuine fear and even though I didn't understand all that was said, being of a sensitive nature too I registered that sense of foreboding. Occasionally school would finish early and I recall that we would be told to go home directly when rumours circulated that gangs were planning to target Catholic kids - often in response to some IRA bomb outrage. Looking back now it may seem far-fetched that 'The Troubles' should affect us but the fear was genuine enough at the time, even if it never came to anything.
When I was 17 I started attending an Evangelical church and it grieved me that some people I knew felt a sense of betrayal far more acutely then than when I had ceased to attend Mass.
Later when I left school, in 1976, my first job was working in the Criminal Litigation department of a firm of solicitors in Bradford. The senior partner was an amiable gent called Desmond Joyce who, as this story will go on to relate, was a pillar of the Irish Catholic community, a point I had completely failed to register. One day I took a phone call for Mr Joyce from his golf partner arranging a game, I wrote down his name phonetically having asked him to repeat it a couple of times. Later I passed on the message to the Senior Partner, 'an Italian bloke called for you' I said. He looked mystified, slowly I read out the name, 'a Signor Roncelli'. Mr Joyce looked at me in despair, 'that should be Monsignor Ron Kelly, stupid boy!'
That was the day I realised that I really wasn't a Catholic!
If my ties to Ireland were tenuous my connection to the RC church was little better - I did the stuff required by the Catholic school system but had no personal attachment or sense of belonging. At primary school it was expected that all the lads would serve as altar boys in the parish church on a Sunday. I refused point blank, not that I was making any courageous sort of 'statement' by it, I just felt it looked daft! I gathered later that the Head-Sister (we were taught by nuns) spoke to my parents about this; 'doesn't he realise what an honour it is?!' In fairness to my parents, who were regular church-goers, they never pressed the issue and when I was 13 they allowed me to decide if I still wanted to go to church. I did not.
Despite going through a 'raving atheist' phase in my teens, in one respect being Catholic did remain with me. In the late 1960's when I was 10 or 11 years old 'The Troubles' started in Northern Ireland and I vividly recall the parish priest coming to our house and speaking to my mother about the possibility of the violence spilling over to the UK mainland. My mother was in genuine fear and even though I didn't understand all that was said, being of a sensitive nature too I registered that sense of foreboding. Occasionally school would finish early and I recall that we would be told to go home directly when rumours circulated that gangs were planning to target Catholic kids - often in response to some IRA bomb outrage. Looking back now it may seem far-fetched that 'The Troubles' should affect us but the fear was genuine enough at the time, even if it never came to anything.
When I was 17 I started attending an Evangelical church and it grieved me that some people I knew felt a sense of betrayal far more acutely then than when I had ceased to attend Mass.
Later when I left school, in 1976, my first job was working in the Criminal Litigation department of a firm of solicitors in Bradford. The senior partner was an amiable gent called Desmond Joyce who, as this story will go on to relate, was a pillar of the Irish Catholic community, a point I had completely failed to register. One day I took a phone call for Mr Joyce from his golf partner arranging a game, I wrote down his name phonetically having asked him to repeat it a couple of times. Later I passed on the message to the Senior Partner, 'an Italian bloke called for you' I said. He looked mystified, slowly I read out the name, 'a Signor Roncelli'. Mr Joyce looked at me in despair, 'that should be Monsignor Ron Kelly, stupid boy!'
That was the day I realised that I really wasn't a Catholic!
Saturday, March 06, 2010
Militant Cleric's Anti-British Rant in School Assembly.
Imagine the scene where a cleric uses the platform at a school assembly to denounce the British presence in his country and calls for his co-religionists to make a stand with those the army is oppressing there.
At the time of this incident the army had been deployed a couple of years earlier to help preserve the peace in that country and were taking casualties in this thankless task. There was some feeling that the army should be pulled out and the inhabitants "left to get on with it!" The cleric made his appeal to a secondary school in Bradford which had a large number of third and fourth generation immigrant children from his home country. Their forebears had come to the city to work in the textile industry which depended upon cheap labour - and that was recruited from overseas. The important point is that the cleric clearly felt that these children owed some loyalty to the old country and its people.
On the whole the children were baffled rather than inflamed by the impassioned plea by this man and I don't think anything much came of it. The cleric was not invited back to the best of my knowledge. By this time the children had only the most tenuous links with the old country and any resentment towards "the British" had long since dissipated. The stories of their grandparents and great-grandparents having to walk from Bradford to Leeds to attend their nearest place of worship had passed into folk memory and any resistance to such buildings being developed locally (as alien impositions on the national culture) had long since ceased. Additionally the immigrants had by now their own well established school system. That did not mean, however, that the immigrant community felt entirely at ease among the host nation and there persisted some unspoken but genuinely felt fear that the conflict in this cleric's country could have serious repercussions on British streets. Occasionally their children would be asked to disperse quickly from school on the basis of rumours circulating in the city that they would be targetted by gangs of local youths. This was probably sheer paranoia - but even so it was a genuinely felt fear, met with a resolve not to retaliate in kind.
A casual observer in the secondary school would have found one aspect quite jarring however. Each class did not have a number to designate them; the classes were given the names of those who had been "martyred". Such markers emphasised to the children that, as well assimilated as they were in English culture, there were differences too. Yet the names of the martyrs were carefully selected to emphasise their English rather than foreign origins. In fact the names of the schools themselves were carefully chosen for the same reasons as if there was a concerted effort not to create an immigrant subculture but to stress that they too belonged and wished to belong. So the challenge to the host community is how welcoming they choose to be.
From an Evangelical perspective (and that is where I am coming from!) there is a much deeper challenge - do we see our role as defenders of our national culture against faiths perceived as 'foreign'? Are we inclined to feel threatened, defensive or even angry? In the face of militant calls from hostile clerics do we really believe that the Gospel is our greatest asset or do we think we need to take "action" of some other sort?
Oh! by the way the assembly I described was in 1970 and the cleric was an Irish Catholic priest.... I was there that day! This was St George's Secondary School on Cliffe Road and I was there for two years in "Anne Line" and "Henry Morse" before moving onto St Bede's in Emm Lane, Bradford.
post-script, 12th March 2010.
I came across this BBC article on local history which ties in nicely with the comments above, just click on the link... http://www.bbc.co.uk/bradford/content/articles/2006/05/12/bradford_irish_katie_feature.shtml
Imagine the scene where a cleric uses the platform at a school assembly to denounce the British presence in his country and calls for his co-religionists to make a stand with those the army is oppressing there.
At the time of this incident the army had been deployed a couple of years earlier to help preserve the peace in that country and were taking casualties in this thankless task. There was some feeling that the army should be pulled out and the inhabitants "left to get on with it!" The cleric made his appeal to a secondary school in Bradford which had a large number of third and fourth generation immigrant children from his home country. Their forebears had come to the city to work in the textile industry which depended upon cheap labour - and that was recruited from overseas. The important point is that the cleric clearly felt that these children owed some loyalty to the old country and its people.
On the whole the children were baffled rather than inflamed by the impassioned plea by this man and I don't think anything much came of it. The cleric was not invited back to the best of my knowledge. By this time the children had only the most tenuous links with the old country and any resentment towards "the British" had long since dissipated. The stories of their grandparents and great-grandparents having to walk from Bradford to Leeds to attend their nearest place of worship had passed into folk memory and any resistance to such buildings being developed locally (as alien impositions on the national culture) had long since ceased. Additionally the immigrants had by now their own well established school system. That did not mean, however, that the immigrant community felt entirely at ease among the host nation and there persisted some unspoken but genuinely felt fear that the conflict in this cleric's country could have serious repercussions on British streets. Occasionally their children would be asked to disperse quickly from school on the basis of rumours circulating in the city that they would be targetted by gangs of local youths. This was probably sheer paranoia - but even so it was a genuinely felt fear, met with a resolve not to retaliate in kind.
A casual observer in the secondary school would have found one aspect quite jarring however. Each class did not have a number to designate them; the classes were given the names of those who had been "martyred". Such markers emphasised to the children that, as well assimilated as they were in English culture, there were differences too. Yet the names of the martyrs were carefully selected to emphasise their English rather than foreign origins. In fact the names of the schools themselves were carefully chosen for the same reasons as if there was a concerted effort not to create an immigrant subculture but to stress that they too belonged and wished to belong. So the challenge to the host community is how welcoming they choose to be.
From an Evangelical perspective (and that is where I am coming from!) there is a much deeper challenge - do we see our role as defenders of our national culture against faiths perceived as 'foreign'? Are we inclined to feel threatened, defensive or even angry? In the face of militant calls from hostile clerics do we really believe that the Gospel is our greatest asset or do we think we need to take "action" of some other sort?
Oh! by the way the assembly I described was in 1970 and the cleric was an Irish Catholic priest.... I was there that day! This was St George's Secondary School on Cliffe Road and I was there for two years in "Anne Line" and "Henry Morse" before moving onto St Bede's in Emm Lane, Bradford.
post-script, 12th March 2010.
I came across this BBC article on local history which ties in nicely with the comments above, just click on the link... http://www.bbc.co.uk/bradford/content/articles/2006/05/12/bradford_irish_katie_feature.shtml
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
John the Baptistic (2).
I am grateful to have been reminded that Adult Baptism is not without some controversy. Back in 1979 I joined a pioneering charismatic church in Bradford which had very clear views on adult baptism. (Incidentally isn't it curious how such churches could be quite legalistic?)
They took the view that only Baptism by "full immersion" was valid. It was suggested that the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit" (that's another story!) might be hindered by disobeying God's ordinance. I remember querying this with one of the elders; "what if you don't quite immerse [the candidate] completely? What if you stumble at the key moment and don't quite immerse them, you know.... a bit of their head is still showing... would their baptism be invalid?" I don't recall ever getting a satisfactory answer beyond a withering "stupid boy" look! which I took to mean "I'd make sure I did it right!" So I'm still unclear what they ever meant by 'valid'.
It did make me think that, maybe unwittingly, this particular church had an overly sacramental view of the ordinance.... by which I mean, not performing the ritual correctly could materially affect one's relationship with God! It struck me then to be a denial of God's grace, and I still consider it to be a denial of God's grace now. I note that the 1689 Baptist Confession of Faith states "Immersion, that is to say, the dipping of the believer in water, is essential for the due administration of this ordinance" (Ch 29, part 4). This seems to me to be way too prescriptive. Why and in what way is this mode essential? "Essential" is a very strong word to apply, particularly if they actually meant pertaining to the essence of Baptism! It strikes me as ridiculous to dogmatize about the mode of Baptism. Don't get me wrong, my instinct is toward "full immersion" because that fits the symbolism (of burial & resurrection) better but my greater instinct is not to make a ritual a barrier to fellowship with a believer who takes a different view!
Incidentally I recall William Taylor, the rector of St Helen's Bishopsgate, making exactly the same point about "full immersion" during a Sunday morning sermon and how legalism on this point can be a sign that we are more Galatian than Christian!
Since 1979 and my encounter with the Bradford elder I mentioned I have been fairly agnostic on the mode of Baptism. The question really is 'what is the essence of Baptism'? It is all well and good to agree to differ on secondary issues - but what happens when one party sees it as a primary issue?
I am grateful to have been reminded that Adult Baptism is not without some controversy. Back in 1979 I joined a pioneering charismatic church in Bradford which had very clear views on adult baptism. (Incidentally isn't it curious how such churches could be quite legalistic?)
They took the view that only Baptism by "full immersion" was valid. It was suggested that the "Baptism of the Holy Spirit" (that's another story!) might be hindered by disobeying God's ordinance. I remember querying this with one of the elders; "what if you don't quite immerse [the candidate] completely? What if you stumble at the key moment and don't quite immerse them, you know.... a bit of their head is still showing... would their baptism be invalid?" I don't recall ever getting a satisfactory answer beyond a withering "stupid boy" look! which I took to mean "I'd make sure I did it right!" So I'm still unclear what they ever meant by 'valid'.
It did make me think that, maybe unwittingly, this particular church had an overly sacramental view of the ordinance.... by which I mean, not performing the ritual correctly could materially affect one's relationship with God! It struck me then to be a denial of God's grace, and I still consider it to be a denial of God's grace now. I note that the 1689 Baptist Confession of Faith states "Immersion, that is to say, the dipping of the believer in water, is essential for the due administration of this ordinance" (Ch 29, part 4). This seems to me to be way too prescriptive. Why and in what way is this mode essential? "Essential" is a very strong word to apply, particularly if they actually meant pertaining to the essence of Baptism! It strikes me as ridiculous to dogmatize about the mode of Baptism. Don't get me wrong, my instinct is toward "full immersion" because that fits the symbolism (of burial & resurrection) better but my greater instinct is not to make a ritual a barrier to fellowship with a believer who takes a different view!
Incidentally I recall William Taylor, the rector of St Helen's Bishopsgate, making exactly the same point about "full immersion" during a Sunday morning sermon and how legalism on this point can be a sign that we are more Galatian than Christian!
Since 1979 and my encounter with the Bradford elder I mentioned I have been fairly agnostic on the mode of Baptism. The question really is 'what is the essence of Baptism'? It is all well and good to agree to differ on secondary issues - but what happens when one party sees it as a primary issue?
Thursday, December 07, 2006
A Tale of Two Cities.
Leeds and Bradford are two West Yorkshire cities less than ten miles apart
but their fortunes could hardly be more different. Bradford is my home town
and every time I visit it I genuinely want to like the place but such efforts on
my part are tinged with pathos. Even now I still love the night-time view from
Carr Lane across the city. But the close knit (not to mention stifling) working
class suburbs with flagstone paving and cobbled streets have long since vanished.
I find it sad to hear my relatives speak of the place in more prosperous
times when Bradford was at the heart of the worsted (wool textile) industry.
Once upon a time it hosted several department stores and had some real
civic pride. But textiles went into decline decades ago and Bradford hasn't
been able to find a new niche in the world; or so it seems to me.
The poverty of the place is reflected in the shops in the town centre - all
the major stores have relocated and have been replaced by shop squats
and discount stores. How many such shops does a place need?
Leeds in contrast seems ever more prosperous, having sensibly
pedestrianised the city centre [though this makes for some fiendishly difficult
traffic systems!] The range of shops there is quite astonishing; Helen & I
often do our Christmas shopping here rather than London! Leeds has a
cafe culture 'buzz' about it. I certainly enjoyed living in Leeds during the
1980s before I moved to London.
Another feature of the contrasting cities is how in the 1960's Leeds kept its
Victorian buildings when Bradford was happily demolishing what was then
regarded as its thoroughly unfashionable heritage. I bet the city fathers
regret that now! Anonymous, lookalike steel and glass boxes were erected
to replace the Victoriana but these now seem shabby and soul-less. Plans
are afoot to regenerate the city centre but one wonders how can a town
recapture its sense of place?
My temptation is to look back and feel rootless; so I'm glad to have been
reminded of where my true citizenship really lies. Last night in our penultimate
Bible study of the year we looked at the church in Philadelphia (Revelation 3).
They were a church that felt under the cosh but Jesus tells them that they
belong in the New Jerusalem. And that is where my home really is.....that's
not in the past but is a present reality and an eternal future........the place
where Ithaca and Darien meet!
Post Script: 23rd December 06. I should add that the village of Saltaire on the
outskirts of Bradford was recently given the status of "World Heritage Site".
The village was created by a local mill owner called Titus Salt for his workers
back in the 19th Century.
The grid of streets named after Titus Salt's family has become home to the
world's largest Hockney collection and has been joined by other arts, hi-tech
firms and shops. So maybe there is some room for optimism after all!
Leeds and Bradford are two West Yorkshire cities less than ten miles apart
but their fortunes could hardly be more different. Bradford is my home town
and every time I visit it I genuinely want to like the place but such efforts on
my part are tinged with pathos. Even now I still love the night-time view from
Carr Lane across the city. But the close knit (not to mention stifling) working
class suburbs with flagstone paving and cobbled streets have long since vanished.
I find it sad to hear my relatives speak of the place in more prosperous
times when Bradford was at the heart of the worsted (wool textile) industry.
Once upon a time it hosted several department stores and had some real
civic pride. But textiles went into decline decades ago and Bradford hasn't
been able to find a new niche in the world; or so it seems to me.
The poverty of the place is reflected in the shops in the town centre - all
the major stores have relocated and have been replaced by shop squats
and discount stores. How many such shops does a place need?
Leeds in contrast seems ever more prosperous, having sensibly
pedestrianised the city centre [though this makes for some fiendishly difficult
traffic systems!] The range of shops there is quite astonishing; Helen & I
often do our Christmas shopping here rather than London! Leeds has a
cafe culture 'buzz' about it. I certainly enjoyed living in Leeds during the
1980s before I moved to London.
Another feature of the contrasting cities is how in the 1960's Leeds kept its
Victorian buildings when Bradford was happily demolishing what was then
regarded as its thoroughly unfashionable heritage. I bet the city fathers
regret that now! Anonymous, lookalike steel and glass boxes were erected
to replace the Victoriana but these now seem shabby and soul-less. Plans
are afoot to regenerate the city centre but one wonders how can a town
recapture its sense of place?
My temptation is to look back and feel rootless; so I'm glad to have been
reminded of where my true citizenship really lies. Last night in our penultimate
Bible study of the year we looked at the church in Philadelphia (Revelation 3).
They were a church that felt under the cosh but Jesus tells them that they
belong in the New Jerusalem. And that is where my home really is.....that's
not in the past but is a present reality and an eternal future........the place
where Ithaca and Darien meet!
Post Script: 23rd December 06. I should add that the village of Saltaire on the
outskirts of Bradford was recently given the status of "World Heritage Site".
The village was created by a local mill owner called Titus Salt for his workers
back in the 19th Century.
The grid of streets named after Titus Salt's family has become home to the
world's largest Hockney collection and has been joined by other arts, hi-tech
firms and shops. So maybe there is some room for optimism after all!
Sunday, August 20, 2006
T.I. CLOUGH & CO,
Solicitors, Bradford.
My first job.
When I left school in the Summer of 1976 I was nearly 19 years old.
My first job was as a trainee 'legal executive' with a firm of lawyers in
my hometown.
I worked in the criminal litigation department specialising in cases
being defended in 'Crown Court' - that is the 'superior' criminal court in
England & Wales (Scotland has a different legal system). And yes,
this is the court where the judge and barristers wear wigs and gowns!
I would read all the prosecution statements and write "a brief" giving a
synopsis of the case as I saw it. This would go to the barrister who
would defend our firm's client in court. I would also interview the
defendants and their witnesses. Sometimes I would instruct a private
detective to make enquiries on our behalf and sometimes I would do
the sleuthing myself - which I can assure you is no where near as
glamorous as it sounds! We covered cases right across the north of
England and the whole spectrum of serious crime.
When my cases came to court I would sit behind our barrister in the
well of the court and make notes on the evidence on their behalf. My
job was to ensure our side of the case flowed smoothly and that all
our witnesses were still on side; it is so embarrassing when your
own witness turns "hostile" once they get on the witness stand and
that's when the statement I took from them becomes critical in under-
mining their U-turn!
I spent four years doing this sort of work and I am grateful for the
insight it helped to give me into the ways of the world. To find oneself
mixing with the bad, the mad and the sad at the margins of our society
was a revelation.
I was once on a case out of town defending a guy on burglary charges
who, although he was out on bail, fully expected to be sent to prison
when his case concluded that afternoon. It was not unusual for our
clients to get themselves plastered in the local pub at lunchtime in these
circumstances. As it happened in this instance the judge was minded
to suspend his sentence. So there we were after the hearing with our
client breathing beery fumes over me explaining that he had no money
left in order to get home having spent every penny on booze. I gave him
some out of my own pocket. "I swear on my [sainted] mother's grave
I'll pay you back" he said. I told him not to worry about it. Experience
had taught me that sincerity is in inverse proportion to such declamations.
Of course I heard nothing more about it, until that is I bumped into
him a year or so later in our office reception. He was a habitual
burglar so that isn't altogether surprising. "I remember you", he said,
"I swear on my [sainted] mother's grave I'll pay you back [the money]".
Again I told him to forget it, "just write it off" I said. No, no he would
not hear of doing such a thing "I will pay you back". He never did.
I knew he never would. But isn't it curious? He could have accepted
my offer to 'write it off' - he didn't even have to say a thank you - all
he had to do was agree. But it is as if he was offered it as a free gift and
yet chose to steal it instead by making a promise he had no intention
of keeping. He could have walked away scot free but chose not to.
There is a parable in there somewhere.
Sometimes I'd be asked by other Christians how I felt defending
people who were obviously guilty. I would say that everyone is
entitled to have their day in court and put their side of the story.
Besides everyone is innocent until proven guilty, right? The
depressing thing was seeing the same old faces time after time,
recidivists doing "a life sentence on the installment plan!"
I quit T.I. Cloughs in 1980 and worked briefly as an oddjob man for
Harvestime Publishing before I started my nurse training. I had decided
that the law was not for me and I wanted to do something more
constructive with my working life - I know it sounds corny - but that's
why I moved into nursing as a career.
It is tempting to think crime is something that is always done by "the
criminal classes", the unsavoury element in society, the misfits and
antisocial types; not "decent" middle class people like ourselves.
I heard that T.I. Cloughs were closed down a couple of years ago after
the 'Serious Fraud Office' prosecuted some of the lawyers there. One of
them is still on the run and there is a warrant outstanding for his arrest.
How's that for irony?
Solicitors, Bradford.
My first job.
When I left school in the Summer of 1976 I was nearly 19 years old.
My first job was as a trainee 'legal executive' with a firm of lawyers in
my hometown.
I worked in the criminal litigation department specialising in cases
being defended in 'Crown Court' - that is the 'superior' criminal court in
England & Wales (Scotland has a different legal system). And yes,
this is the court where the judge and barristers wear wigs and gowns!
I would read all the prosecution statements and write "a brief" giving a
synopsis of the case as I saw it. This would go to the barrister who
would defend our firm's client in court. I would also interview the
defendants and their witnesses. Sometimes I would instruct a private
detective to make enquiries on our behalf and sometimes I would do
the sleuthing myself - which I can assure you is no where near as
glamorous as it sounds! We covered cases right across the north of
England and the whole spectrum of serious crime.
When my cases came to court I would sit behind our barrister in the
well of the court and make notes on the evidence on their behalf. My
job was to ensure our side of the case flowed smoothly and that all
our witnesses were still on side; it is so embarrassing when your
own witness turns "hostile" once they get on the witness stand and
that's when the statement I took from them becomes critical in under-
mining their U-turn!
I spent four years doing this sort of work and I am grateful for the
insight it helped to give me into the ways of the world. To find oneself
mixing with the bad, the mad and the sad at the margins of our society
was a revelation.
I was once on a case out of town defending a guy on burglary charges
who, although he was out on bail, fully expected to be sent to prison
when his case concluded that afternoon. It was not unusual for our
clients to get themselves plastered in the local pub at lunchtime in these
circumstances. As it happened in this instance the judge was minded
to suspend his sentence. So there we were after the hearing with our
client breathing beery fumes over me explaining that he had no money
left in order to get home having spent every penny on booze. I gave him
some out of my own pocket. "I swear on my [sainted] mother's grave
I'll pay you back" he said. I told him not to worry about it. Experience
had taught me that sincerity is in inverse proportion to such declamations.
Of course I heard nothing more about it, until that is I bumped into
him a year or so later in our office reception. He was a habitual
burglar so that isn't altogether surprising. "I remember you", he said,
"I swear on my [sainted] mother's grave I'll pay you back [the money]".
Again I told him to forget it, "just write it off" I said. No, no he would
not hear of doing such a thing "I will pay you back". He never did.
I knew he never would. But isn't it curious? He could have accepted
my offer to 'write it off' - he didn't even have to say a thank you - all
he had to do was agree. But it is as if he was offered it as a free gift and
yet chose to steal it instead by making a promise he had no intention
of keeping. He could have walked away scot free but chose not to.
There is a parable in there somewhere.
Sometimes I'd be asked by other Christians how I felt defending
people who were obviously guilty. I would say that everyone is
entitled to have their day in court and put their side of the story.
Besides everyone is innocent until proven guilty, right? The
depressing thing was seeing the same old faces time after time,
recidivists doing "a life sentence on the installment plan!"
I quit T.I. Cloughs in 1980 and worked briefly as an oddjob man for
Harvestime Publishing before I started my nurse training. I had decided
that the law was not for me and I wanted to do something more
constructive with my working life - I know it sounds corny - but that's
why I moved into nursing as a career.
It is tempting to think crime is something that is always done by "the
criminal classes", the unsavoury element in society, the misfits and
antisocial types; not "decent" middle class people like ourselves.
I heard that T.I. Cloughs were closed down a couple of years ago after
the 'Serious Fraud Office' prosecuted some of the lawyers there. One of
them is still on the run and there is a warrant outstanding for his arrest.
How's that for irony?
Monday, July 17, 2006
CHURCH HOUSE FELLOWSHIP, BRADFORD, UK. 1979-1981. For three years I belonged to, what was then, a movement whose star was rising. Locally it was called "Church House Fellowship" after thinking better of initially calling itself "The Bradford Church" no less! In other circles it was often referred to as "Harvestime" [which was actually the name of it's associated publishing business] or sometimes called "Restoration" [which was the name of it's magazine]. They were probably most identified at the time with The Dales Bible Week which they organised annually at The Great Yorkshire Show Ground, near Harrogate, UK. The church itself had been formed in the mid 1970's under the leadership of Bryn Jones (a modern day self styled "Apostle") who brought together three like minded churches in the West Yorkshire area. Although it may seem rather incongruous Bradford was one of the pioneering centres of the new born Charismatic Movement. By the time I joined Church House Fellowship Bryn had re-located to the USA and the church was being led by his brother Keri (who would also be later `recognised' as an "Apostle". [They were both from South Wales incidentally]. In fairness I should say that I had little direct contact with the "Apostles" and so the following experiences relate to their immediate lieutenants. My understanding now of the Biblical qualifications for apostleship are that they must be an eyewitness to the resurrection of Jesus (Acts 1v22, 1 Cor15 v1-11 etc) so there is no such thing as a "modern day apostle". But I didn't realise this at the time. I was 21 years old when I was wowed by the seemingly inexorable rise of this particular church [or it may be that it created a big stir in a very small pond!] Whatever the reason I met up with one of the elders of Church House Fellowship (who I will denote as DaM) who gave me a "prophecy" that, inter alia, God had a job for me that no-one else could do. Of course it was all very exciting but, in retrospect, I can see that this message was full of "Barnum" statements that could equally apply to anyone. But at the time I gave enormous importance to this message - it turned my head and fed my vanity. Not surprisingly I joined Church House Fellowship shortly after leaving my previous church, which I am ashamed to say, I had come to describe as "spiritually dead"! I had accepted Church House Fellowship's teaching on "Baptism in the Holy Spirit" (I had actually become a Christian a little over three years earlier), but this "Baptism", they said, was a distinct event from conversion .....some people have got it.....and some haven't. I distinctly recall CmD saying how privileged we were to have it because some people of his acquaintance had begged God for it and had not been given it. (This implies a level of capriciousness on God's part which I now feel is a terrible slur on God's character - Luke 11 v13). I don't believe for one instant that that was CmD's intention but he had clearly not thought through the implications of what he was saying. Whatever the motive there was a degree of spiritual one-up-manship in our attitude towards others which belied the graciousness of Christ. Church House Fellowship was viewed with some suspicion by other churches in the city for "sheep stealing" and because it was thought to have certain 'cultish' features to it, not least it's emphasis on "shepherding" and "submission" in regard to the leadership. Of course Church House Fellowship poured scorn on the more fanciful rumours which circulated on the grapevine but there was an element of truth to them. I recall having a discussion with one of the elders (DiS) who suggested that "if I had the faith for it, the elders could choose a wife for me"! I didn't have sufficient confidence- even then in my most credulous phase - to take him up on the offer, maybe because I was too bashful but I was certainly left speechless by his proposal. This was not exceptional, the expectation was that church members would `submit' career decisions and marriage plans to the eldership. Conceived as the loving concern of intimate friends this might pass muster but the real problem was the sheer self belief of the leadership in its own prophetic role. One speaker (GwD) said that even if the leaders seemingly made a mistake it would still be `right' in God's plan. Any hint of dissent would be met by dark parallels with Korah's rebellion in Numbers 16. One episode in particular in those years bears examination: all the members were interviewed and some [no doubt in a kindly way] were asked to leave the church; not because they had done anything wrong but because it was felt that they weren't keen enough or because they made too many pastoral demands on the eldership. This seems outrageous to me now because I can see how this attitude reflects the "Colossian Heresy" (the notion of spiritual elitism) Col 2v18. Of course, at the time, I was intoxicated by this elitism - especially as I was an insider! The vision of Church House Fellowship (as preposterous as it now seems) was that we would be an elite that would restore the world wide church to its first century glory and power as a prelude to the Return of Christ. There was to be a restoration of the "Ephesian 4" ministries - hence the justification, nay neccesity, for modern day apostles. Indeed on more than one occasion it was stated that ultimately there would only be one church - and ours was to be at the heart of it! (Which makes it all the more baffling that anyone could be asked to leave!) It was indeed intoxicating to believe that one belonged to God's elite and that the future belonged to us. It was often said that whereas other generations had failed to "bring in the kingdom" this one would succeed. If this made me boorish towards outsiders.....it is something I deeply regret now. Was God at work there in Church House Fellowship? Yes; of course, but the key thing to remember is that God is a God of grace - he even blesses arrogant, vain, boorish people but we wrongly assumed that somehow we had earned God's approval by our inherent brilliance......and that is not an uncommon mistake. Since then it has seemed to me to be absolutely critical not to confuse the Biblical concept of the "Elect" (chosen by grace) with the dubious idea of an elite! That makes me a Calvinist (and if you are in sympathy with my comments I have to say that makes you one too!) A cursory glance at the example of the Corinthian Church should alert us to the fallacy of such elitism 2 Cor 4. A Christian is `a work in progress' and not yet the glorified end product, unless we realise this we will be consumed by self-righteousness and triumphalism....or we will be destroyed by the man-made standard of perfectionism we set and fail to live upto. I will not say all of Church House Fellowship was bad, there were some wonderful people there. There were also some wonderful leaders such as Arthur Wallis (who was based in Bradford shortly before his untimely death). Whatever its faults there was a sense of excitement and expectation and a closeness that was genuine. If I had to choose a moment when I started to grow disillusioned with Church House Fellowship I would have to highlight the time when JcW was sent from St Louis by Bryn in the USA to give a series of talks. The church had always emphasised the importance of `tithing' (giving one tenth) one's gross income, but JcW took this to a new level. During one of his talks he said that it was morally wrong to give away what God had blessed you with and to give it to someone he had not so blessed. I took issue with him on this teaching after the talk. I had hoped that the leadership might distance itself from such an ungenerous and ungracious message but Keri actually took the opportunity to emphasise that this particular line had full eldership approval. The focus on 'tithing' then became 'the more you give [to the church] the more you'll get' [from God], on the basis that "God is no man's debtor" etc. I grew increasingly uneasy at the whole 'power', 'success', 'health' and 'prosperity' gospel they moved into. It seemed to me to be a materialistic, one dimensional notion of the Gospel and one that was actually, thoroughly unchristian! Alarm bells started to ring in my head, I felt very uneasy about it all, but I didn't know then how to articulate what I know now and the eldership were not minded to assist me. My personal expectations of the leadership were - of course - wildly unrealistic and immature. I expected them to be as insightful, discerning, caring and "prophetic" as they claimed to be. Maybe I was particularly vulnerable in that my father had died three years before I joined CHF but it would be unfair to present myself as a victim in this situation - I wanted to believe in them. In retrospect I probably warmed to the paternalistic style of leadership and I certainly craved their affirmation and approval. There was an element of complicity in my victimhood if you like. But the leadership did foster a cult of personality so I'm not minded to be too self critical. My disillusionment with them was directly proportional to my initial credulity, perhaps if I had taken Church House Fellowship with a pince of salt and not at face value I wouldn't have tied myself in knots! But I was very serious minded and I did take things at face value. Things came to a head in a none too articulate way in September of 1981. I met with some of the elders to discuss my misgivings which I lacked the words to express, so we parted in mutual incomprehension. Perhaps this was the inevitable clash of the "visionary" with someone like me with a valet mind. Their vision was that Church House Fellowship and its circle would so impress the watching world by it's material prosperity and miraculous healing that they would be compelled to join. Among their final words were these; "one day (if you are still walking with the Lord) you'll be faced with having to rejoin our church because it will be the only one"! I would be lying if I said that that thought didn't haunt me for the following decade. Of course it was nonsense, but they had obviously gotten underneath my skin - and the fear of being confronted again by these people [as irrational as it seems now] made me very reserved with my other Christian friends. Maybe they too would one day be absorbed into this juggernaut and I would be left behind.......at least that was my fear. The classic put down in my final meeting was "So you think that you are right and everyone else is wrong!?" I found them overbearing and left - but there was always that nagging thought in the following years - "what if I am wrong?" The continuing expansion of this church certainly seemed to confirm all the seemingly pretentious talk of the eldership. It was only after I left Yorkshire and moved to London in early 1991 that I could start to see all these things in their proper perspective. Their church loomed larger in my head than it ultimately proved to be in reality. I joined an evangelical church with an excellent Bible teaching ministry. No longer moving in those circles I don't know what became of the Jones brothers or their circle of churches. But it seems that, for whatever reason, they lost momentum, possibly because other Charismatic churches came on the scene and they no longer cornered the market. I am given to understand that the Bradford branch of their outfit has long since renewed itself along a different model....the jury is still out as to whether that is for the better. If you are sufficiently interested there was a sympathetic account written about the rise of Church House Fellowship by Andrew Walker in "Restoring the Kingdom". The latest edition was published by Eagle in 1998. Why am I writing this? And why now? First up, all these events are over half-a-lifetime ago from my perspective so I sincerely hope that any sting in what I have said here will have been drawn by now. In any event one's perspective on these things is always better when seen in a larger context and as it turned out I needed this time to judge those heady days aright. In the meantime it may well be that the protagonists I've indicated have all since come to a better mind on these issues anyway, so I have not used their names but an annotation; unfortunately it isn't really possible not to identify the Joneses but I hope that they will forgive me. It was never my intention to cause unneccesary hurt to those people who acted in good faith. More importantly, even if I had had the means to lash out at Church House Fellowship, I was reluctant at the time to bring the church (the wider church that is) into disrepute because that may have reflected badly, by association, with the Gopsel of Jesus Christ. The onlooking world often jumps to the illogical conclusion that because Christians often fail to be Christ-like the example of The Christ is somehow discredited. (If nothing else I hope that this article can help correct such perverse logic). Having started on this account of what was, after all, only a brief couple of years out of my life I found my initial draft grew out of all proportion and became therapeutic in the writing. Perhaps, on reflection, this indicates actually how significant those years were to me both on a psychological level and in terms of my subsequent spiritual development. Why should anyone care? Good question! In many respects I do not look upon my experiences at Church House Fellowship as particularly unique and so I'm writing this in the hope that others will find these thoughts helpful. Maybe there are other groups and individuals out there that are making similar claims for themselves and are gathering a following among young, impressionable, misinformed Christians who are left wide open to abuse for want of good Bible teaching. "There is nothing new under the Sun" said the Preacher! post script 14/02/2010. At www.davidmatthew.org.uk/restorationhist.html there is an article about the Restoration movement written by David Matthew who I met in 1979. He was part of the leadership team in Bradford and this article is written from a sympathetic insider's point of view. It gives a good overview of the movement but doesn't address some of the main concerns voiced at the time about the Church's direction; eg its authoritarian tendencies. The article also plays down the significance of prosperity teaching within the Church, I recall it having far greater prominence than the author is prepared to admit. With those provisos I hope that this link is helpful. ------------------------------------------------------------------ tag-line: CHF. Church House Fellowship, North Parade, Bradford. Harvestime. Harvestime Publishing, Hall Lane, Bradford. The Dales Bible Week, Great Yorkshire Showground. Bryn Jones. Keri Jones. Bryn & Keri Jones. Modern Day Apostles. Restoration Magazine. Early Charismatic Movement UK. Arthur Wallis. Latter Rains. God's Chosen Fast. Dominion. Reconstructionism. Reconstructionist. Triumphalism. Christian Counter Culture. Versus. North. England. Wales. Great Britain. Europe. New. Covenant. Ephesian 4 ministries. City of God, Thomas Danby College, Leeds. Bradford Church. 1979. 1980. 1981. 1982. 1983. The Bradford Church. Restoration. Elect or Elite? Restorationism. Restorationist. Life Abundant. Premillennialism. Premillennialist. Morality. Grace. Postmillennialism. Postmillennialist. Amillennialism. Amillennialist. Centre. Center. Peter Swift. swiftypete. The church; elect or elite?
Wednesday, August 31, 2005
"Jack" Swift (1911-1975), by his son.
My father was born before the British Empire peaked in it's power and, I guess like many of his generation, shared in it's prejudices and in it's finest hour. My father's father died before I was born, but I am told that he was a lovely man. My father's elder brother, "Jim" was killed in action in 1918, aged 19. There is no known grave.
My father could have won a scholarship to a fine school, but rheumatic fever put an end to that dream. Those profligate interwar years did not give second chances. But like many others so rejected he would go on to be a skilled craftsman and a fine NCO when war came again.
He volunteered for the Royal Air Force before the desperate need of Britain's hard pressed army would draft even those with weakened hearts. He married my mother and after a weekend honeymoon in Ilkley, not far from their home town of Bradford, left for the war not to return home for four years. He was with Eisenhower's forces when they invaded North Africa. He flew on board DC-3s [or"Dakotas" as the British called them], ferrying supplies. From Africa he continued his war into Italy and stood on Mount Vesuvius when it erupted in 1944. He ended the war by Lake Como, and I think he had grown to love Italy, though he would never have the opportunity to return.
Having been de-mobbed, he never left these shores again, unless you count our annual trip on the "Yorkshire Lady" around the bay at Scarborough. My parents worked hard in those post
war years ( which had brought no spoils of war) to provide for these little luxuries for me and my older brother and sister; these yearly breaks were the highlight of our childhood.
I remember him coming to my aid as a child when once upon a time I got my head stuck in a porthole of that ship. The time he defended me against my mum when my rabbit invaded the house and made a mess in the home she worked so hard to keep nice. He always used to buy me two ounces of wine gums each evening on his way home from work at the CO-OP department store, "Sunwin House". There were times too when he could be infuriating and opinionated, at least from the perspective of a know-all teenager. I think he aspired to be middle-class and he chose to be a poorly paid salesman who wore a suit to work rather than be a better paid blue-collar worker. I think he was immensely proud that my siblings went to university.
And I think he envied the opportunities our generation took for granted and little appreciated, but I don't think he begrudged us. I don't think he was a bitter man, but perhaps he was a disappointed one, which is a pity because he was content with little. And it is a great blessing
to be content with little.
He became ill - although we didn't realise how seriously -the year before he was due to retire. He was in pain and my last recollection of him alive was when I helped him out of bed and onto the commode. I think he must have hated the humiliation of his teenage son helping him so. But that was the first time I believe I actually did something for him.
Although I think I take after my mother's side of the family, there are times when I look in the mirror - I remind myself of my father.
My father was born before the British Empire peaked in it's power and, I guess like many of his generation, shared in it's prejudices and in it's finest hour. My father's father died before I was born, but I am told that he was a lovely man. My father's elder brother, "Jim" was killed in action in 1918, aged 19. There is no known grave.
My father could have won a scholarship to a fine school, but rheumatic fever put an end to that dream. Those profligate interwar years did not give second chances. But like many others so rejected he would go on to be a skilled craftsman and a fine NCO when war came again.
He volunteered for the Royal Air Force before the desperate need of Britain's hard pressed army would draft even those with weakened hearts. He married my mother and after a weekend honeymoon in Ilkley, not far from their home town of Bradford, left for the war not to return home for four years. He was with Eisenhower's forces when they invaded North Africa. He flew on board DC-3s [or"Dakotas" as the British called them], ferrying supplies. From Africa he continued his war into Italy and stood on Mount Vesuvius when it erupted in 1944. He ended the war by Lake Como, and I think he had grown to love Italy, though he would never have the opportunity to return.
Having been de-mobbed, he never left these shores again, unless you count our annual trip on the "Yorkshire Lady" around the bay at Scarborough. My parents worked hard in those post
war years ( which had brought no spoils of war) to provide for these little luxuries for me and my older brother and sister; these yearly breaks were the highlight of our childhood.
I remember him coming to my aid as a child when once upon a time I got my head stuck in a porthole of that ship. The time he defended me against my mum when my rabbit invaded the house and made a mess in the home she worked so hard to keep nice. He always used to buy me two ounces of wine gums each evening on his way home from work at the CO-OP department store, "Sunwin House". There were times too when he could be infuriating and opinionated, at least from the perspective of a know-all teenager. I think he aspired to be middle-class and he chose to be a poorly paid salesman who wore a suit to work rather than be a better paid blue-collar worker. I think he was immensely proud that my siblings went to university.
And I think he envied the opportunities our generation took for granted and little appreciated, but I don't think he begrudged us. I don't think he was a bitter man, but perhaps he was a disappointed one, which is a pity because he was content with little. And it is a great blessing
to be content with little.
He became ill - although we didn't realise how seriously -the year before he was due to retire. He was in pain and my last recollection of him alive was when I helped him out of bed and onto the commode. I think he must have hated the humiliation of his teenage son helping him so. But that was the first time I believe I actually did something for him.
Although I think I take after my mother's side of the family, there are times when I look in the mirror - I remind myself of my father.
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