Falling In Love At Clapham Junction
Yesterday I celebrated the passing of a life. Of course, I do this often. But there are some funerals that remain with you; they capture part of your heart and refuse to let you go.Funerals are a constant in my village. We have an enormous senior community. According to those people who stay locked away in windowless rooms, fiddling with numbers and such throughout the day and night, the average age mean where I live is … well … more or less … deceased! So to say I celebrated a funeral today is a bit like saying I brushed my teeth this morning.
Last November I celebrated the life of the gentleman's wife. Sixty-seven years they had been married! Look at the divorce rate today. It’s an actuarial fact that the average marriage will not survive more than 7.5 years now.
But this couple were in it for the long run. Till death do us part. Back then, people took their words before God seriously. But just as with so many other things today, solemn words are little more than just words. And when I hear people proudly tell me of all those years they lived together, I feel a burst of wholehearted admiration for them.
The day I went to their home to discuss his wife’s funeral, I couldn’t wrestle away the thought of how lonely he was going to be. Elderly British men have it particularly rough when their wives die. Not only are there all the understandable emotional sorrows, but most of them have never once set foot in a kitchen.
But this couple were in it for the long run. Till death do us part. Back then, people took their words before God seriously. But just as with so many other things today, solemn words are little more than just words. And when I hear people proudly tell me of all those years they lived together, I feel a burst of wholehearted admiration for them.
The day I went to their home to discuss his wife’s funeral, I couldn’t wrestle away the thought of how lonely he was going to be. Elderly British men have it particularly rough when their wives die. Not only are there all the understandable emotional sorrows, but most of them have never once set foot in a kitchen.
He was severely deaf, and his hearing aid seemed to be more of a nuisance than helpful. And sadly, he was at that awful beginning of ageing dementia, where everyone but you is becoming concerned about your welfare.
I was so grateful that his daughter was there. She was making all the arrangements for her mother. She kindly shared with me many personal private thoughts about her parents. I wanted to speak with her father as well, but without exaggerating, I literally had to forcefully yell in order for him to hear me. And even then I wasn’t assured that he had fully comprehended what I said.
But he did say something that stuck with me for all this time. He told me of when he and his wife first met and where they would rendezvous-beneath the large clock at Clapham Junction Railway Station. He really wasn’t able to share much more with me. But it was this thought that remained at the forefront of his mind.
There’s an old British maxim that says when you die and go to Heaven, you will have to change at Clapham Junction. And as I left them that day, I couldn’t escape the image of this young couple; she was 17, he was 18, meeting time after time at Clapham Junction, Europe's busiest railway station.
If you’re in your late seventy’s and reading this, you will easily be able to recreate the image. If you’re fifty and below, it would be difficult. You have to remember that during that time, the station would have been shrouded in a miasma of smog and smoke. The endless arrival and departure of trains, not the ‘quiet’ ones we enjoy today, but the powerful steel horses, snorting like an enraged team of black stallions, and belching bellowing black plumes of soot and ash into the air, amid the ever-oppressive drone of the tannoy, calling out such exotic destinations as Crossbush, Liphook and Brighton ("well, Hove actually.")
I was so grateful that his daughter was there. She was making all the arrangements for her mother. She kindly shared with me many personal private thoughts about her parents. I wanted to speak with her father as well, but without exaggerating, I literally had to forcefully yell in order for him to hear me. And even then I wasn’t assured that he had fully comprehended what I said.
But he did say something that stuck with me for all this time. He told me of when he and his wife first met and where they would rendezvous-beneath the large clock at Clapham Junction Railway Station. He really wasn’t able to share much more with me. But it was this thought that remained at the forefront of his mind.
There’s an old British maxim that says when you die and go to Heaven, you will have to change at Clapham Junction. And as I left them that day, I couldn’t escape the image of this young couple; she was 17, he was 18, meeting time after time at Clapham Junction, Europe's busiest railway station.
If you’re in your late seventy’s and reading this, you will easily be able to recreate the image. If you’re fifty and below, it would be difficult. You have to remember that during that time, the station would have been shrouded in a miasma of smog and smoke. The endless arrival and departure of trains, not the ‘quiet’ ones we enjoy today, but the powerful steel horses, snorting like an enraged team of black stallions, and belching bellowing black plumes of soot and ash into the air, amid the ever-oppressive drone of the tannoy, calling out such exotic destinations as Crossbush, Liphook and Brighton ("well, Hove actually.")
It all creates such a powerful juxtaposition-young lovers, oblivious to the raging world around them. And raging it indeed was. The great depression would have been in full swing when they first met. And Europe was in turmoil. Our government was grasping at any able-bodied young male, preparing to drag them into the dark swirling caldron of war.
Each passing of a life leaves a passport to the future in its children and grandchildren. And it is those sweet memories that reside within us and embrace us years later when we begin to prepare for our own next journey. But it’s a powerful force when someone’s passing gently touches another.
Yesterday, when we committed your soul to God’s care, you gave me something that I will draw upon from time to time, whenever I need to momentarily escape from the belching, snorting, steel horses around me.
Each passing of a life leaves a passport to the future in its children and grandchildren. And it is those sweet memories that reside within us and embrace us years later when we begin to prepare for our own next journey. But it’s a powerful force when someone’s passing gently touches another.
Yesterday, when we committed your soul to God’s care, you gave me something that I will draw upon from time to time, whenever I need to momentarily escape from the belching, snorting, steel horses around me.
I’ll think of those two young lovers, back together again, meeting beneath the clock at Clapham Junction.
.
.
Labels: Big World Small Boat, Clapham Junction, Falling in Love at Clapham Junction, Father Bill Haymaker, words of comfort, words of comfort for death of a mother, words of comfort for death of a parent
posted by Father Bill Haymaker | 07:35:00
10 Comments:
I read your story today about the people falling in love at the train station. It made me cry. What a lovely story. God has blessed you with a gift. Thank you.
Reading this made me very happy. It's always reassuring to be reminded that things can go well for people despite the external factors working against them. :)
I regularly pass through Clapham Junction station (I live nearby) and I don't think I'm likely to meet my knight in shining armour there. It's dirty and smelly and there are tiny stalagtites hanging from the ceiling of the tunnel. But when I'm there I expect I shall remember this story and it will make me smile. Thank you for the pleasant start to my day.
This is so sweet! What I like most is how you can make me FEEL what you have written. I hope you have shared this with the mans family. I think they would like it.
This is such a lovely story. What a beautiful life they must have led.
This really made me cry..I felt the love they have for each other..a love which will go on for all eternity. They may have been parted, but they will be reunited one day.
Thank you for sharing this and your other stories.
I think I have read this story a dozen times. Its so lovely. I change trains at Clapham and its awful but I always think of your story and can imagine this couple kissing there on the platform. This story is the nicest thing about Clapham Junction! Dee Asprey
Is the clock still there? I tried looking for it last week when I changed trains there. I remembered your story and had to come back and find it again on the internet. Do you know where the clock is or what platform. I just want to see it so I can imagine what it was like.
hi. I found your page from reading this in the paper. It is the nicest story ive ever read. It made me think of my mum and dad. They loved each other the way you wrote about these people. I hope you write more.
Hi. My husband and I took the train from Brighton yesterday and I saw on the sign in the carriage that we would be stopping in Clapham Junction. I tried telling my husband about your story but couldn't remember it completely. So I when we got home I had to find it again. Its lovely and I wanted him to read it.
Changing trains at Clapham Junction will never be the same again for me. Thank you for this lovely story.
For those who are interested; yes the clock is still there. It's embedded in what is now called the 'Debenham's Tower.' It's easily visible. May all the journeys you take be ones of discovery!
Fr. Bill+
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