Sunday 29 May 2016

A Conversation with Terry Waite

My friend, Jo, and I went to a talk last weekend at a local church. In the 1980s, as Special Envoy to the then Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert Runcie, Terry Waite had been in Beirut, in civil-war-torn Lebanon, negotiating with the captors of Western hostages. Then one day he had been kidnapped himself.

I had become interested in the plight of the Lebanese hostages during my travels around Australia in 1990/91, when a girl I became friends with talked about them. Her ex-boyfriend had worked with one of the hostages, John McCarthy. Suddenly it became more real, rather than just another item on the news.

When I returned home I continued to follow their plight and rejoiced as they began to be released. Several wrote books about their experiences and I read them all. John McCarthy wrote his with his then girlfriend, Jill Morrell. American, Terry Anderson wrote his with his wife. These also gave the view of the relatives on the outside, not knowing whether their loved one was even alive. Most harrowing was Brian Keenan’s account of the horrors and treatment experienced.

Terry Waite had spent most of his five years of captivity in solitary confinement. He saw no-one, no daylight and was chained, except for ten minutes a day when he could go to the bathroom. He did the only thing he could and kept his mind active by reciting hymns he knew by heart. He wrote stories and a book in his head. He had no paper or pen. Taken on Trust was published three years after his release and will be republished later this year to mark twenty-five years since then, with an extra chapter about his thoughts now.

Terry is a tall and gentle man with an air of calm reassurance and is very approachable. Just before the talk was due to start, I thought I’d best nip to the loo. As I left the church, I was confronted with him on his way in. “Hello,” he said, as if he was greeting a friend. I replied with the first thing that came into my head. “Hello, you’re taller than I imagined.” What was I thinking? What must he think? But he was very gracious in his response. I imagine he was very good in his role as negotiator.

He has almost no anger about what happened to him and bears no grudge against his captors. During the first half of the talk, he spoke about his work with the families of current hostages and with those who have recently been released. The charity he set up following his own release, Hostage UK, is about to become International.

During the break, a lady showed him a newspaper with its front page headline, which she had kept from the day he regained his freedom. He had not seen it before and was clearly touched. It reminded me of how important and wonderful that day had been.

After the break, Terry talked more about how he had come to be captured and what had then happened. At the end there were more questions and answers with the audience than there was time for. He had captivated the attention of the full church for over three hours and nobody wanted him to stop. We could have listened for hours more.
 
 

Thursday 5 May 2016

A little bit of Culture

It was nice to be already in London when I got up the next morning. Over breakfast of a coffee and croissant, I looked out of the window across the road and saw heads wandering about behind what appeared to be a walled garden. On further investigation I discovered it was The British Library. In the middle of the peaceful oasis was a statue of Isaac Newton concentrating on something he was measuring with a mathematical instrument, an empty cafe and the entrance. I didn’t stay long. It was cold and a detour on my way to somewhere else.
Scootering to the pub the previous evening, I had passed a sign saying ‘London Canal Museum’ just before I crossed Regents Canal. I resolved to go there today.

It was a tiny museum in an old ice shed. Until the advent of mechanical refrigeration in twentieth century, ice had been shipped from Norway and stored underground before being distributed around London by canal. You could peer into the depths of one of the storage holes. There was so much ice it stayed frozen for months.
Also in the museum was information about the construction of the canals, and the huge network of them there had been across London and the country. There were stories from many of the barge owners who had worked them. There was half a barge in the museum where it was possible to see the cramped conditions that families lived in. Despite that there had been a community spirit of everyone working together.
From the museum I took a short stroll (scooter) along the canal towpath. It was hard to believe I was in the middle of London, it was so peaceful. There were birds and ducks bobbing on the water and colourful barges moored along the edge. I passed a couple of walkers and cyclists also on the towpath, but mostly I was on my own. When the canal disappeared into the Islington Tunnel it was time to return to the city. I was sorry to leave.
I consulted my map. Nearby was The Charles Dickens Museum so I headed there. The author had lived at 48 Doughty St for two years and was where he wrote Oliver Twist. The house has been preserved as it would have been at that time. It houses a huge collection of his personal books and other belongings and contains the history of both his writing and his social campaigning. If you love Dickens and his wonderful stories, it is a delight to visit. I must just return.