Big Brother

John Ashby

8^th November 1946 – 4^th September 2016.

Where is my big brother when I need him.

Growing up I always looked up to him and for a time tried to emulate him.

As the second son many of the things I did were first done with John.

The first film I went to see without my mother

(my father only ever went to one film that I know of  –

South Pacific on a wet afternoon in Teignmouth.)

was with John in Colwyn bay. 

We walked from Rhos on Sea and arrived late

and had to sit in front row seats. Neither of us can remember the film.

My first big concert was to see Johnny Mathis

at the Prince of Wales in London with John.

John took me to my first opera:

Aida, up in the gods at Covent Garden

with a view just of a corner of downstage right.

My first taste of proper scotch was Chivas Regal

in a student bar in Liverpool. John taught me whisky is not just Bells.

My first major political rally was Harold Wilson

at St Georges Hall on the eve of the election in 1970.

Though I had been to a few demos before.

Academically he was two years ahead of me.

An inveterate hoarder of paper,

John  kept his test papers which I could then use for revision.

Often the same papers would come up when I took them.

John would pass with flying colours, sight unseen;

I would scrape through having had the papers for months.

 The history teacher said he couldn’t understand why I was so bad at it

when John was so good.

The difference was John put the work in.

 I did just enough to get through.

At school he was called Harry, possibly behind his back,

 as he always looked harassed.

He was sporty – in the school cricket team and rugby team (with Colin Blunstone),

and in the chess team.

He played cricket out of school in the local rec.

And allowed me to join in.

Later he went on to play in a charity cricket match with Roy Castle

at Gerrards Cross in a match organised by Uncle Bernard.

But where John was in the team I was always on the sidelines.

He played cricket, I became the scorer;

He played chess; I became secretary of the club.

John joined the tennis club to play tennis;

 I joined the tennis club to meet girls and organise dances.

He took up rock climbing – going on a course run by Hamish McGuiness

 in the highlands and gained his mountain leaders certificate.

Then he crossed Corsica with a  group from Michael Cobb’s youth outreach.

I stayed many times in Liverpool.

We went for walks around Sefton Park, The docks, the Cathedrals.

I can even remember John when he used to cook which shows how long ago it was.

Like most younger siblings as I couldn’t beat him I did the opposite.

Where he fitted in and by and large conformed

becoming for instance a school prefect, I rebelled.

He was socially conservative, I became a socialist;

when he had a time of reading the Guardian, I moved to the Socialist worker.

I even managed to get us thrown out of a pub in Lime Street – the only one that required you to wear a tie!

In faith, we were both influenced by the team at St Peter’s St Albans.

 John by John Wheatley, evangelical, charismatic lay reader.

 Me by David Woodley, Anglo Catholic curate and Andrew Bradley the vicar

who later went on to run a housing charity.

John was ‘born again’ and accepted a literal reading of the Bible;

I became a radical following in the footsteps of the Christian socialists and later the mystics.

John would send me books trying to convert me long after I was ordained.

His faith was always much stronger and firmer than mine ever was.

In many ways he was really the one who should have been ordained,

though he would have been as frustrated with the institutional church as I was.

I never really knew if he approved of me and I am pretty certain I never wanted him to.

But despite our differences he was a good friend, always there for me.

For a time we met up at least once a month.

I’ve just found a note attached to mum’s papers saying that after her death we should keep it up. Somehow with my retirement and John’s addiction to work it never happened.

I am pleased that in the past few months we have been able to get together,

relive some of the past and offer one another a blessing.

We are going to hear some of the Dream of Gerontius.

 At the centre of that is the ancient Latin prayer:

Go forth upon thy journey Christian soul.

Go from this world. Go in the name of God.

And may thy place today be found in peace,

and may thy dwelling be the Holy Mount

Of Sion: - In the name of Christ our Lord.