When Two Worlds Collide

I well remember, some years ago now, meeting my then hairdresser in the supermarket, saying 'hello', and then puzzling for hours before recollecting where I'd seen her before.  This event was recalled yesterday when, as I walked down the street, I saw passing each other before me two people I know in totally different contexts.  Not surprisingly, neither showed any knowledge or recognition of the other and they probably didn't notice each other's existence.  One was a man I meet at the warehouse where I volunteer on Tuesdays, and the other a client at the drop-in centre that I'd just left.

Sometimes encounters like this can be foreseen and therefore prompt no reaction of surprise when they happen.  One of the ladies from my church recently completed her studies and was ordained in the summer.  As it happens, she is spending the first years of her new career as the curate in the neighbouring parish, where I've been one of the bell-ringers for many years (our own church has no bells).  Thus on one occasion in late spring, I was present at the gathering to celebrate her life with us for the last number of years, and wish her well as she moved on.  A month later, I was a peripheral member of another community, who had just taken part in a quarter peal to welcome its new curate!

At other times these 'two-world' experiences can be deeply personal.  Since my retirement, it has been my custom most weeks to attend the mid-week service at the church.  It only lasts about half-an-hour, and the congregation, while averaging perhaps nine or ten, is drawn from a couple of dozen or so souls who, like me, value a spiritual highlight during the week, whenever they are able to attend.  As I left the church on Wednesday morning, I was aware of being quiet and having a feeling of peace, of being 'settled within'.  Perhaps it was simply the contrast from the previous evening when I felt pressured by two or three e-mail conversations that had dominated what would usually be a restful time after a day's work.

Whatever its cause, this tranquillity was just what I needed later in the morning, for the post brought news of the death of an old friend.  She was no only old in years, having made it to the age of 95, but - as I later calculated - I have known her for about 35 years and knew of her for some years before that.  Lilian had been my children's primary school teacher and, as she often reminded me, often thought of them (and, I suspect, of many hundreds of other children who had passed through her hands down the years) and wondered how they were getting on.

She lived a few miles away, but after her retirement still liked to keep in touch with the village where she had taught and so joined a Bible study group attached to the church, which is how I came to know her.  A few years later, she and her husband moved - as many older couples do - to another part of the country to be closer to her daughter, son-in-law and growing grandchildren.  We exchanged Christmas cards each year, but of all those with whom I had such links, she was the only one who carried on a correspondence sporadically throughout the year.

When I started driving for a living, I sometimes found myself delivering in her area or beyond and would occasionally drop in for a drink and a chat on my way home.  I can't recall when it was that I learned that her daughter had been in the year below me at school, but on one of these 'drop-in' occasions, Lilian greeted me at the front door and announced, 'there's someone here who would like to meet you'.  I was ushered through to the kitchen, where her daughter was waiting and I think it warmed her heart to see the two of us chatting away about our schooldays of some forty years earlier as if it were only yesterday.

Goodbye Lilian, may you rest in peace.