to work it out, I suppose. I don’t know yet.’
‘You could always come and ask me if you get stuck. Come after school. I’m always ready to help you out. We really can’t afford to let the spark go out now, can we? That’s if we ever manage to kindle it.’
I smiled and he turned his back on me.
John had had a very bad time of it in the 1914–1918 War and would rarely speak of it. What with that experience and the deformities that he had been born with, he had become slightly sour. The very mention of the word ‘God’ or ‘religion’ often provoked an outburst of scorn and anger. He was that strangest of mixtures of outspoken bitterness and almost total generosity. I really had to be so careful with him and choose my words with great care.
It was one of his great pleasures to be called a rationalist and, after World War I, Arabella and he had joined a new group called The New Liberation Society. From the little that I knew of it, I knew it was not for me. Even though in those days I did like a tight argument it appeared to me that the rationalists were carrying things a bit too far.
The whole of John’s personal life was so strictly regimented and his possessions so carefully ordered that no room was left for any kind of spontaneous gesture. If a thing could not be calculated it more or less did not exist for him, so much of a rationalist was he.
On the other hand, he could be very kind. He was more than willing to help those of his students who found it hard to grasp the point, and his willingness to help old comrades who had suffered in the war knew no bounds. On those occasions he was all gentleness and concern. He was an odd mixture, and the mix made it difficult for some people to understand him.
It must have been late summer or so when I had gone to see Old John to ask him for help. I was completely stuck with a problem. Although I had tried all the various ways that looked possible, I was just unable to resolve it. He looked at the problem for a moment or two, pointed out my mistake and left me to it. Of course, it was such a silly mistake to have made. The resolution of it was so simple that I could have kicked myself. He edged his way through the door from the kitchen, bearing a tray of coffee and some buns.
‘Solved it, young Fynn?’
I nodded. ‘I feel a right fool. How did I ever come to make that mistake?’
‘It’s one of the hazards of mathematics, Fynn!’ He laughed. ‘It so often turns out to be the simple thing. I’ve done it often myself.’
It gave me a lot of comfort to hear that. He handed me a cup of coffee and asked, ‘Well, young Fynn, your sentence is almost up. Any idea what you are going to do with yourself?’
It was true. I was of an age when earning a living was necessary. I had one or two ideas, but I hadn’t made up my mind.
‘Well, what might my young genius do?’
‘Not really sure yet, John,’ I replied. ‘Just don’t know. All I am certain of is that I can’t give up mathematics or physics.’
‘Glad to hear you say that, young Fynn. You’re always welcome here, you know that. But what about earning your keep, eh? An accountant? A teacher? There’s plenty of room in this world for anyone able to add two and two together.’
‘I know that, John, but I don’t think that I want to do that sort of thing.’
‘Why is that?’ he asked.
‘I know it sounds a bit daft, John, but I enjoy it too much! I suppose I just don’t want to lose the fun and magic of it.’
His laughter at that filled the room. ‘Oh, Fynn, oh Fynn, I’ve always known that to be a fact. You are reasonably good at it, you know, even if occasionally you do some silly things. That makes you doubly welcome here. Have you no idea what you might do then?’
This was the question I dreaded most of all, but the time had come to answer it.
‘John … well … I … I, er … think I would like to go into the Church.’
I waited for the explosion, but it never came. He merely said ‘Oh,’ and his voice dropped a couple of octaves. Still there was no explosion, no tirade against religion. Just a simple, ‘Why, Fynn? Why? Can you tell me?’
‘It’s just important, John, that’s all, I can’t give you any more reason than that.’
‘Important, certainly,’ he replied. ‘Important to know where we are, and why too, if that’s a proper question. I’m really not certain of that.’
His calmness had left me totally puzzled. ‘John, I thought that you would …’
‘I would blow my top …’
I nodded.
‘You know, Fynn,’ he said with a smile, ‘I wasn’t born without faith. I had to work very hard for my lack of it. I wouldn’t want to stop you becoming a priest, if that is what you really want. All I must ask of you is that you think hard and long before you make up your mind.’
Perhaps I had made some movement, some indication that I was about to ask a question. He laid his hand on mine.
‘No questions, young Fynn, not now. Perhaps one day when you visit me, and I am sure that there will be many days, many, many visits, I might even tell you all, but not now. There is one thing, however, that bothers me most of all, which you might like to ponder over before you take the plunge. Will you please fetch my Bible from my study? It’s on the small table by the lamp. Don’t look so surprised, Fynn. I really do have a Bible, and what is more I have even read it. In fact, more than once, mainly in the hope that I might have missed something, but I fear I haven’t.’
I fetched the Bible and put it on the chair beside him and waited. His next words were such a surprise that I had to laugh.
‘Do you drink beer, Fynn?’
‘Well, I have once or twice, not much though.’
‘Perhaps a small glass won’t hurt a young man who is soon to go into the world. It’s my own brew and I’m really rather proud of it.’ He handed me a glass of beer.
‘Before you drink perhaps you will read me verses 19 and 20 of the second chapter of Genesis.’
‘And out of the ground the Lord God formed every beast of the field and every fowl of the air, and brought them unto Adam to see what he would call them and whatsoever Adam called every living thing that was the name thereof. And Adam …’
‘Enough, enough,’ John broke in. ‘Now you may drink.’
I took a swig.
‘Well, what do you think of that?’
‘Think of what?’
‘The beer first, of course, and if you have any comments, the verses next.’
‘The beer is good, John.’
‘Good, Fynn? Good? Why, the only word to describe that beer is sublime. Take another draught and then tell me what you think about those verses.’
‘I
