Martin and Emily lived another 17 years, very happily. There were, however, some disappointments and trials.
Jack Marden, the Vicar of Locking and Diocesan Missioner of Bath and Wells, died far too young. He had been a joy, a man of great faith and energy, and full of love. One of his last appointments was to lead a day retreat for a group of schoolgirls that I had been preparing for Confirmation, and although he had to return to the vicarage and rest for a while during the day, what he said, and his personality, impressed the girls deeply. Jack developed a lively family worship, as well as providing traditional services for those mature Christians who appreciated order and beauty in worship.
Martin took an active part in keeping the church life going through the interregnum until the new vicar was appointed, and a number of possible new vicars came to talk to him. He had taken such a leading part in the appointment of clergy during his years as Chairman and Secretary of Simeon's Trustees that he was naturally very interested, and rather regretted the changes in proceedure that meant that the final choice in effect lay with the two parish representatives, who had no experience in the appointment of clergy, and had little to go on except a CV and an interview. At that period it was still the practice for men (and it was then only men) to come as prospective vicars one by one; the current system of several clergy taking part in a 'beauty contest' on the same day had not yet come in. Martin pointed out that the Patron of the parish would naturally try to choose the best person for the job first time, and that it would be foolish to reject that first person without good reason, just in the hope of someone more attractive turning up later. The parish representatives were of a different opinion, and rejected several men that Martin felt sure would have made excellent vicars. It was not until many months had passed that an appointment was made.
Jack Marden's successor after a short while stopped the traditional services, and Martin and Emily had no alternative but to attend the only Sunday morning service, non-liturgical all-age worship with very few familiar hymns or songs. With failing eyesight, neither Martin nor Emily was able to read from the screen on which song words were projected, and even the large print copies which a kind member of the music group printed for them were not enough in the end for them to read. They did not find the sermons helpful. Martin sadly told me: "All my life I have looked forward to going to church, and now I don't." A number of faithful church members transferred their allegiance elsewhere, but despite my strong suggestions that my parents should accept a lift to the next village to attend church, he maintained his life-long principle that a Christian should join with his or her neighbours in the local church, and not go 'sermon-tasting' or shopping around for the most congenial service.
After my family and I had moved out and gone to live in our own home in Street, Martin underwent a prostate operation, which proved psychologically shattering. He recovered physically, but was unable to preach or take services thereafter. It seemed like a recurrence of the trouble he wrote about during his first days in the ministry: "a nasty nervous blackout in the pulpit ... led to my having to stop preaching ... I have been worried by 'nerves' since ..."
One major joy was a reunion of the St John's Blackheath youth club, 50 years on. A large number of Blackheath teenagers, now men and women in their sixties or more, together with two Blackheath curates, Desmond Gritten and Michael Brettell, converged on Locking for a party and a thanksgiving service. Gavin Reid, by then Bishop of Maidstone, preached inspiringly at the service, and a frisson went through the whole congregation when Martin walked unsteadily to the front of the church at the end of the service and gave the blessing. His voice was virtually unchanged from those earlier days, and the words were those everyone had heard him say so many times in their youth. It was a Proustian moment.
Another even deeper and more lasting joy was the return of Dorothy and David from Peru after 18 years away. Dorothy has told how, each time they returned to South America after a furlough in England, she wondered whether her parents would still be alive when they came back next time; and they must have wondered the same thing. They had seen a lot of Hilary, Caroline and Peter, who all went to boarding school within striking distance of Locking, Hilary and Caroline in St Brandon's, Cleveden, and Peter at Monkton Combe near Bath; but to have Dorothy and David in England was something more. They visited them and had them to stay and enjoyed it all thoroughly. Martin was always very openly proud of the achievements of his family; he once said that an acquaintance he met "dragged it out of me" that a son had done well in college; and he almost burst with pride at having a son-in-law who was a Bishop. And now not only his favourite daughter but his son-in-law Bishop were within reach.
The ordinary daily round was quiet and ordered. Martin, who confesses in these memoirs that he once spent too little time with the family, now became quite domesticated, and washed up after meals enthusiastically. He was very well known in the village shops, as he combined his constitutional walk with the errand of getting groceries from the shop by the village green, or vegetables from Mrs Day only a couple of hundred yards from the bungalow. I don't believe that he ever learned to wire an electric plug; Emily, daughter and sister of engineers, was the practical one in those matters.
As his sight failed he used a large print Bible for reading the daily passage as he and Emily joined in prayer after breakfast, and had a very bright light set up behind his chair. Emily, who sat opposite, must have been continually dazzled, but never complained, just as she never thought of grumbling that her chair, just by the television screen, gave her a poor view of programmes, while Martin had the good view. Robert and Elizabeth gave Martin an arm chair with a specially high seat, so that despite his arthritis he could stand up unaided. During his last years he never managed to climb the steep narrow staircase to his study in the loft conversion, but he had full bookshelves in the drawing room, in the dining room, and in the spacious hall. I was sorry when he had to ask me not to give him books as Christmas or birthday presents any more, because he could no longer see to read them.
From the time of his operation I realised that I should make the most of my parents while they were alive, and so we settled into a pattern of sharing Sunday lunch and tea. I used to drive over from Bruton after leading the school morning worship, and arrive in time for lunch, which was invariably a chicken; as they grew older I found that I needed to do more of the cooking, too. Then Martin would suggest a cup of coffee, often saying: "That was a lovely dinner - so far!" And there would always be a sweet or chocolate to mark Sunday as special. Probably both of them would have a nap. The ritual of Sunday afternoon tea, with cake, followed at 4 o'clock, and then I used to have to leave before 5 to return to play the organ for evening service in Street. I certainly treasured those Sundays, and I think my parents enjoyed them too. During that time Martin and I learned to hug each other, something which had not been part of our repertoire up till then.
On the 4th of February 1997 Martin stumbled and fell in the bedroom. He was taken into hospital, and the three children were called. Emily stayed with him in the intensive care ward to the end, and Dorothy was there with him when he died. He was exactly six months short of his 90th birthday. A deluge of letters and cards came to Emily. According to his wishes, John Moore preached at the packed funeral. His body was laid in Locking churchyard, where his ancestors also lie.