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With mixed feelings May Eddington left her father’s study, crossed the elegant hall to the foot of the wide ornamental staircase, and with tears in her eyes turned to look back at the closed door. Never again did she want to go through such an experience as the one she’d just suffered at the hands of her father – it was more than enough to last her for a whole lifetime.

The past twenty minutes had been something she could have well done without. It had been so unexpected, so unkind, so unjust. She began to tremble as reaction set in. May was certain it would be a very long time before she’d be able to forget it; if she ever did forget it, that is.

The trouble with her father was that he just didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand. Or perhaps he understood too well!

Slowly she climbed the stairs. The portraits of her ancestors on the walls looking down at her seemed to be mocking her. They didn’t understand, either! She paused as a thought struck her. Could it be that her father was right? The question was very quickly answered. Even as she reached her bedroom, May knew with an uncanny certainty that she was about to take the only course open to her. There was absolutely no doubt in her mind, none whatsoever.

Throwing herself on to the bed, ruffling the pink rosebud patterned coverlet possibly for the last time, May reflected on the most recent encounter with her father. In spite of her sadness, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. The rotund figure of the local squire glaring at her across his desk, his bushy moustache bristling and quivering, his face turning a deeper shade of puce by the minute, was a sight she would not easily forget. The smile widened as she recalled his bald head glistening with globules of perspiration gliding around like so many skaters on a frozen lake; it was to her like something out of comic opera.

The smile faded. It’s not every day that the only daughter of Lord Eddington of Eddington Manor in the Yorkshire village of Eddington is ordered to leave her home within twelve hours, never to return – or at least not until she had completely pushed the ridiculous notions embroiling her right out of her head with the solemn promise that she would never again allow them to return.

“I can’t do that, father,” she had said, emphatically. “And in any case, the word ‘embroil’ suggests I’m confused, which I am definitely not.”

“Is that your last word?” Lord Eddington had demanded, angrily.

“It is.”

There was nothing more to be said. The sad outcome of this latest meeting with her father was the command to be out of the house by nine o’clock the next morning. There had been many such scenes during the past two years, each one more fierce than the last, but none as violent as tonight’s encounter.

Gazing at the ceiling, May cast her mind back even further, beyond the recent stormy scene in the book-lined study with its ornate oak desk, leather upholstered chairs and deep-pile carpet. Allowing her memory to dwell on the many events and varied experiences leading up to her father’s stern and seemingly inhuman command, tears began to form in the corners of her eyes and slowly trickle down her cheeks, mingling with the rose-buds on the coverlet. They were tears of grief. They were also tears of joy.

It had all begun when a team of youthful evangelists had visited Eddington village. The little chapel had been packed to capacity every evening of their visit. May had wandered into the first meeting out of boredom and curiosity. Although she hadn’t admitted it then, not even to herself – especially not to her self – she had been bored with life. She had everything she wanted in this life, or so she’d thought. Plenty of money, a lovely little car, a beautiful home, a personal maid, servants, prestige, a position of some importance in society, so her father kept telling her, even though she had yet to define just what the position really was.

Yes, she had everything she wanted, but no job. Definitely no job. The Eddington women were ladies of leisure and beauty, had been for centuries, and May was no exception even if women had had the vote for nearly twenty years, and it was now 1936. Things might have been different had she been allowed to work. May would always remember 1936 as the year of her spiritual conversion, the most important event in her life so far.

Her only brother, Mark, nearly sixteen years her senior, had been killed on the Somme in 1916, during he war to end all wars. He had lied about his age, as so many young men had done at that time, and was only eighteen when he was struck by a piece of shrapnel and killed instantly. Yet his father had been proud of him, even admiring his loyalty and devotion to his country because he had added a couple of years on to his age when enlisting.

Then he was dead, and Lord Eddington had consoled himself with the knowledge that his son had given his life in a just cause. May recalled the times when her father would say, “Mark died for what he believed in and we will all benefit from his death. Mark, and men like him, have made sure that there will be no more war. No man must be allowed to give his life in a just cause for nothing.”

But life at Eddington Manor had never been quite the same after the telegram had arrived – KILLED IN ACTIVE SERVICE. So abrupt, so final, no room for doubt or hope. May was only two at the time and so remembered nothing of her brother, although her father kept him “alive” by constant reference to him all the time she was growing up. Mark had become something of a national hero in her mind, which was a great pity because she could never think of him as her brother. He was always a stranger to her, someone high and lifted up on a pedestal like a Roman god.

May reflected for a moment on another Person “high and lifted up”, who had given His life in a just cause, and realised there was no comparison. Her brother had died to bring freedom to the world, something so elusive that even now, here in 1938, a man called Hitler in Germany was threatening it. Her brother had “bought” a peace and freedom which was only temporary; her Saviour had “bought” peace of soul and freedom from sin for those who believe which was everlasting. There was definitely no comparison, even though Mark had done what he believed was the right thing at the time. Poor Mark!

I wonder what he’d say now, May reflected, if he knew that their father had turned her out of house and home! Would it have happened if her mother had still been alive? Would she have understood? Lady Eddington had died not long after Mark had been killed – “of a broken heart,” the doctor had said. May only had very vague recollections of her mother. From the age of three she had known only a nanny. Now Nanny Wallis had retired and gone to live with her sister in Weymouth. Dorset seemed such a long way from Yorkshire. So there was only May and her father, and the servants, living in Eddington Manor...until tomorrow morning, May reflected, then her father would be left alone with the servants.

Once again May’s thoughts flashed back two years to that little chapel and the team of evangelists. She had been one of the first to “go forward” during the campaign. “We call it a ‘campaign’ rather than a ‘mission’ because we are fighting a constant battle with the devil,” the leader had explained. There had been eighteen “seekers” that particular night; eighteen very different characters, but nevertheless with singleness of purpose, to seek and find the Lord Jesus Christ as their personal Saviour and Lord.

In the chapel vestry after the meeting, the campaign leader explained to them the way of salvation, using St. John’s Gospel, chapter three and verse sixteen as his text. May had listened eagerly. This was something new to her. She had never thought of Jesus Christ as a personal Saviour. To be truthful, she hadn’t really thought about Jesus Christ very much at all, except perhaps that He was a famous character out of history, a good Man from the past maybe, but certainly nothing much more than that.

What was it the evangelist was saying? “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” Each word had brought new light, fresh hope, to her heart. If “whosoever” really meant “whosoever” then that included her.

As far back as she could remember, May had never attended a place of worship regularly. The annual pilgrimage with her father to Eddington Parish Church on Easter Day, the Carol Service the Sunday before Christmas, these were her only contacts with religion; except perhaps the little she had been taught at boarding school about God and the Ten Commandments. Now she was faced with something new.

To her, religion had always struck her – on the odd occasions she had thought about it, which was not often – as something out of date, a novel way for old people to spend their final days on earth. It was a pursuit for those who had nothing better to do with their time, in fact. How wrong she had been! As a new convert May was fast realising that the Christian religion was not really a religion at all, but more a way of life and faith for every day – a Faith for today!

Something else had struck very forcefully at the same time, and she recalled it as she lay on the bed. With Christianity one doesn’t join a religion, one enters into a relationship – a personal relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ.

Driving home that night in the little sports car given to her by her father as a twenty-first birthday present a year before – how she wished he would give her his love rather than lavish presents – May had lapsed into deep thought and reflection on her actions of the previous few hours. Even now, two years later, lying on her bed on the eve of her forced departure from Eddington Manor, she could still recall in vivid detail those thoughts during that journey home.

She had set out about six o’clock with the intention of driving down to the coast, twenty-five miles away, maybe meet a few friends, perhaps a cocktail party or an evening cruise, then return home about midnight. She had done it many times before. May enjoyed those evenings when nothing specific was planned and she could take things as they came. That way one was never disappointed. She had set off from Eddington Manor in high spirits, but a crowd of people held up the car in the village in the main street.

May was curious, and stopped to investigate what was causing an unusual disturbance in the normally sleepy little village. At this time in the evening the street was always deserted, but not this evening. To her surprise it turned out to be a group of young men and women, standing in a circle, singing hymns and preaching – in the street! She had never heard of such a thing! Church was the place for that sort of behaviour, not the main street, and certainly not the main street of Eddington village!

Yet again curiosity mastered her, and May edged her way with little difficulty through the crowd surrounding the group. People stood back respectfully to make way for the squire’s daughter. A few eyebrows were raised, too, but May ignored the mild sensation her presence was causing. She was only interested in the “religious group”, as she thought of them.

In the centre of the ring stood a young man. He began to sing a solo, accompanied by a young lady playing a piano accordion. The words brought a strange uncomfortable feeling to May’s heart as she stood listening – almost a feeling of guilt. But this was absolutely ridiculous! How could this be? She didn’t know these people, and she had nothing to be guilty about, anyway.

 Have you any room for Jesus,

 He who bore your load of sin?

 As he knocks and asks admission,

   Sinner, will you let Him in?

But, of course, that didn’t apply to May. She wasn’t a sinner. She had never done anything really bad. She had never done anyone any harm in her entire life. She was always, as far as she could remember, honest and kind and truthful. If there was an appeal for charity she was extremely generous whatever the cause, especially as she had plenty and didn’t even miss it. No, that hymn didn’t apply to her, definitely not.

 Room for pleasure, room for business,

   But for Christ, the Crucified,

 Not a place that He can enter

   In the heart for which He died!

It is true she liked her pleasure, but there was no harm in that. One can’t go through life without some pleasure. And she did a little business for her father from time to time when his secretary was away. Nothing very special, just typing a few letters and answering the telephone, and occasionally entertaining his business colleagues, although that could really be classed as pleasure. It wasn’t work; Eddington women didn’t work!

In spite of all this, she had to admit though that there was no room for Christ in her life. Why should there be, anyway? There was no need. She had managed all these years without Him!

 Have you any time for Jesus,

   As in grace He calls again?

 Oh, “today” is “time accepted”,

   Tomorrow you may call in vain.

He’s good looking, the one who’s singing. A pity he’s wasting his life on this preaching and singing business. He’d do well in a decent job. He looks the right type, tall and dignified, a fine physique of man. He’s the sort of man my father would employ as an Estate Manager, if we hadn’t got one, that is.

But wait, is he wasting his life? Who’s to say preaching religion and singing about it is not a decent job? That’s not being entirely fair. If he believes in what he’s doing, and he certainly looks as if he does, isn’t that enough justification for his actions? Was she misjudging him? Why was she thinking so unkindly? He may not be interested in the job of Estate Manager, even if her father offered it to him. Why…she drew herself up sharply.

This won’t do! What on earth was making her think in this way? It was none of her business. She had no right to entertain such thoughts. This man meant nothing to her. He was a complete stranger. Yet in spite of her thoughts – or perhaps because of them – May was very disturbed, and she didn’t like the feeling, not one little bit!

 Room and time now give to Jesus,

   Soon will pass God’s day of grace;

 Soon your heart be cold and silent,

   And your Saviour’s pleading cease.

One has to admit, this man is very sincere. He actually believes in what he is singing. That much is obvious from the look on his face. He sings as if he really means it. “Room and time now give to Jesus”. That was all very well, but what was the point? It may be all right for him, but not for me, and May had started searching for excuses. Then the whole group began to sing the chorus and May started to feel even more uncomfortable.

 Room for Jesus, King of Glory,

   Hasten! Now His word obey;

 Swing your heart’s door widely open,

   Bid Him enter while you may.

As the music and song seemed to echo and re-echo in the darkening street, where the gas lamps began flickering on one by one, and the lights were beginning to reflect from the windows of some of the houses, May stood listening, uncomfortable, yet unable to move. It was as if some invisible force had bound her and rooted her to the spot. She wanted to get away, yet couldn’t. It was uncanny. Already the North Star could be seen in the evening sky heralding a pleasant night, but all thoughts of the trip to the coast were cast aside for the moment as May looked into the face of the young evangelist.

Then he began to speak. He started to tell, with a strong, convincing voice, of the love of Jesus, how people these days find no room or time for Him. The 1930’s seemed to be an era when people could only find time for their own selfish pleasures – not necessarily sinful pleasures, but pleasures that left Jesus out of their lives. And that was sinful.

“Yes, my friends, I can speak with some authority on these matters – perhaps experience would be a better word,” he continued, and May felt a distinct impression that he was looking straight at her as he spoke, “ for I have found room for Jesus in my heart. There is no doubt about that. I have what the Bible says is complete assurance. I seek only to do His will. I desire daily to spend time in His service. This is not boasting but an honest fact. He gives me a wonderful peace and joy, which passes all understanding. As I believe you say in this part of the country, ‘It’s better felt that telt’. I just long to share some of that peace and joy in Jesus with you all.”

May was intrigued – she was not sure that was the right word – until he began to move around the ring and then, to her consternation, he stopped very close to her. She could not rid herself of the feeling that he was directing his words at her and no one else.

“You know, my friends,” that strong, young yet mature voice rang out, “this same Jesus who gives me so much pleasure – not the transient pleasure the world gives, the pleasure we were singing about just now, but a deep, lasting spiritual pleasure – this Jesus who brings such pleasure to my friends around me in this ring, this same Jesus can be your’s tonight if you but accept Him as your personal Saviour. This peace and joy I so long to share with you can be yours now if, in the words of the chorus we’ve just sung, you will but ‘swing your heart’s door widely open’ and ‘bid Him enter while you may’, realising that tomorrow may be too late. Only by accepting Jesus in this way will you find that inner peace, that wonderful joy and happiness, that lasting spiritual pleasure which only comes through making this decision to follow Him. Think about it, my friends, think about it very carefully. Don’t delay, I plead with you.”

May had certainly been searching for something, for some peace of mind, for some satisfaction in life. So far, she had to admit, whilst her pursuits into the realms of worldly pleasure had brought a temporary sense of joy and satisfaction at the time, there was no lasting quality about it. The effects had soon worn off. Could it be that this man held the secret? It was an interesting possibility, yet one she really must reject. It was doing her no good thinking like this. These were alien thoughts. She was just about to turn away when the young man began speaking again. He had only paused briefly for breath.

“After this open-air meeting there will be a gospel service in the High Street Chapel, to which you are all invited to come and hear more about this wonderful Jesus of whom we’ve been speaking this evening. The service commences at seven o’clock, almost immediately after this open-air meeting. Do please accept this as a personal invitation, not just from me, nor my friends here” – he made a sweeping gesture around the ring of happy smiling people – “but from Jesus Christ Himself. Do please come. You are most welcome.”

That’s a bit much, May thought, and wouldn’t wait for the hymn that followed. The word “pretentious” had crept into her mind. How could he claim to know that such an invitation had come from this Jesus? He couldn’t. Such a claim was unacceptable to her. She had to get away. Perhaps it was the fact that a few bystanders had begun to drift away, and the movement had brought her back to earth with a bump, that had finally prompted her move. She’d had enough, more than enough, she decided. These “religious people” were having a strange effect upon her. This wouldn’t do, especially for the local squire’s daughter. She must get to the car. There she would be safe. It would provide a cocoon of security. She hurried her steps, the sound of singing fast receding behind her.

Out on the open road to the coast she would feel better. It was a horrible feeling gripping her at the moment, almost of guilt, yet she had nothing to be guilty about. It all seemed so silly! Strong willed, self sufficient, well educated, sometimes impulsive, these things described her perfectly. They were not compatible with guilt feelings. How puzzling, then, that these total strangers should have such an effect on her feelings, her emotions. If she didn’t get right away from them she might do something which afterwards she might regret. She literally ran the last few steps.

Reaching the car, May climbed in, yet somehow she couldn’t start the engine. She was out of breath, true, but that shouldn’t stop her. She’d been out of breath on previous occasions, it hadn’t stopped her then! Why now? What was wrong? Her thoughts were neither on the ignition key nor on the starter button. They were on the man who had been singing and preaching in the open-air ring – or were they? The words he’d been singing were filling her thoughts and echoing through her brain right now, rather than the man himself. Those haunting questions hammering, hammering, so uncomfortable.

“Have you any time for Jesus? Have you any time for Jesus?

What, at first, had appeared to be just an unusual disturbance in the village street was effecting May far more than she cared to admit. It was causing an unusual disturbance in her heart, and she didn’t like it! Not one little bit! Why did she not just drive on? A turn of the key, a push of the button, the powerful little engine would roar into life, and in no time she would be away down the road, to the coast, to an evening’s enjoyment…to freedom?

“Have you any room for Jesus? Have you any room for Jesus?”

There it was again, the question haunting, hammering, seeming to explode in May’s brain – but what of the answer? Every question demands and has a right to an answer, her father had taught her that. There was no escape! Answer! Answer! For several minutes, which seemed like hours, she wrestled with her thoughts. There was still a struggle in her brain when, slowly, as if propelled by an invisible force, she climbed out of the car, and began to make her way up the darkened main street to the chapel where the service was just about to begin. May had never been inside the chapel before. The Eddington’s always went to the Parish Church!

Already the building was almost full, and extra chairs placed down the aisles were filling up rapidly. May chose a seat near the back…as far back as possible. 

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