WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO TALK TO ME ABOUT THE WORD OF GOD?

I think I ought to say that there is some sensitive material in this piece. There are some ideas here that some may consider unpleasant or worse. I make no apology. This is fiction.

What do you know about it? Have you been through the torment, the trials, the tribulations that I have? I've lost everything only to hear the word of My Redeemer who lives in me. I feel his fire, his love, his truth every day. I have been burned, scorched, purged. I could tell you stories, some of the terrible things I saw during those raids. Working until weariness and lack of sleep made me collapse. The cold. The hunger.

Oh, the Lord spoke to me during the war. Before that I was a sinner. I would not let him into my life. I was young, ill-prepared for The Truth, cynical, blinkered, hopeless. What changed the course of my life was the day I found a life blown to smithereens. I found her after a big raid, one leg here, an arm there and an eyeball glaring at me from the rubble. This was in our street and our house was untouched.

The lads I worked with said that she was better off where she was. At first I could not conscience what they said.

"Listen, La," they said. "It’s terrible. But we've work to do."

And they went on to say that I might have been saved for better things. "The Lord takes care of his chosen ones." I thought they were wrong in the head. But I got stuck in. Well I had to. They made me.

On my way home, weary, hungry and thirsty I went into Bethesda Chapel. I thought there might be sustenance in there: food, a cup of tea, conversation. Instead, I found a window had been blown in. There were shards of glass glittering all over the floor. Stars looking up at me. I sat down and fell asleep.

I don't know how long I was there but I woke to a feeling of warmth. Someone stroked my head, neck and shoulders. It was a firm though soothing massage and I sighed. Then a voice spoke in my ear. 'Samuel Skelly.’ When I turned round there was nobody there. But the voice came again. This time merely shushing, calming. Like a parent would to an upset child. And there was that warm feeling once more.

I looked down at the glass on the pew and there was one fragment that the moonlight illuminated. It was a piece from the frosted bit of the window and it had the word ‘HOLY’ written on it. I picked it up.

Well, that’s when I felt something or someone touch my shoulder and my neck. I turned round. There was nobody there. Then I heard a voice. “Suffer,’ it said. And I remembered the picture in the window and all those things I’d heard in church and at school. “Suffer the children” and “lamb of God.” And then the light shone more clear and bright and picked out the word on that piece of glass: “HOLY.”

And then the voice again, just a whisper, said, “Take care of yourself but you must also do my work. Bring them all to me. I am the Lord, your God.”

I thought I was going mad. And then the voice told me I was not mad, that I had been chosen.  

Perhaps I fell asleep again because I remember this hand stroking my head, soothing my aches and pains and that voice telling me that I could do it. That, because of my experiences in the city, I was in the right place to bring the children to find the light, to help those devastated and lost. I felt something clutch my insides, warming me and making me feel strong.

Then I knew. When I realised what was happening I became alert and full of confidence. I began to study the Good Book. That became my way of life. I took that piece of glass and had it set in silver so I could wear it as a medallion, a reminder of my calling.

And Edith had moved in with us. I knew she wasn’t really a cousin but that’s what we called her. She’d worked on the market with Mum and nobody had thought to send her away. They were so desperate to have women at the munitions factory that they took her on. Even though she was so much younger than me. She shared my bed sometimes. Just to keep warm and feel safe. I soon realised there was more to it than that.

Then there was Henry. I found him one day with his grubby face. I got him a meal and he thanked me. He was filthy. I took him home, found him some clothes and cleaned him. His skin was white like an alabaster saint. As I dried him I felt his flesh warm. "Hurry up," he said. "It's freezing." I realised that there was a different way to bring him to goodness.

Well, is it wrong? To have special ones I mean. That’s what Henry was. I told him about the furies and how they would come for him if he gave away our secret. Soon after that I left Liverpool. Me and Edith moved around a bit. She was doolally after the munitions work and the blitz. I think she always was crazy. But I saved her. I became Edwin Coombes for a while, then John Cook, Alfred Stout and Francis Childers.

Sometimes it cost me dear. But I prayed to God and the Lamb.

“Dear father in heaven,” I said. “If you are everything how can it be wrong?” 

Sometimes I grew so angry, disgusted. I thought hellfire and damnation would never purge me. There were times when I took a cord and thrashed myself. But the feel of sensitive, white, innocent flesh was too much for me, though I always felt love and tenderness. That softness and trembling. The innocence that must be preserved, that I wanted to get back. They loved the warmth of my caress, enjoyed God’s love. All I do is holy. There are plenty who condemn, who point a finger and say that me and my kind need to be slaughtered. But I know different. I know it is a love that dare not speak its name, whatever the cost. All the same to bring the young to God in ecstasy, to help them understand. I know that joy.