2 May 2024

‘In all thy ways acknowledge him, And he shall direct thy paths.’ Proverbs 3:6

Absolutely delighted to have reached May: it is the local elections today and I remember thinking how far off it was when the voting cards first arrived, wondering how I would be at that point- or if I would even be here. But here I am, full of energy (thanks steroids, although a little less enthusiasm for keeping me on a high would be welcome as I only managed 2 hours sleep on Tuesday night and 5 last night) and generally feeling and looking well despite everything. We are slowly allowing ourselves to entertain the notion that I might be able to go to Lydia’s wedding in Cyprus in July- I wouldn’t mind if I got to do nothing else on this earth apart from that… I think we will be brave enough to bring it up with SuperProf next week.

But let’s cut to the chase: it’s time for the big love story! I’ve been looking forward to writing this post…get your popcorn/choccies/tissues at the ready…

We reach the summer of 1994, almost exactly 30 years ago. Shortly before my conversion in the spring, I had been at absolute rock bottom- in addition to feeling generally unhappy, I had been very badly treated by someone I thought was a friend. I felt like I had nothing and nobody, and found myself literally on the floor of my poky student halls room (no ensuites in those days), crying the same thing out to God repeatedly: ‘Lift me up… please lift me up…’

As you read in the previous post, this was answered in a more wonderful way than I could ever have imagined. But where to go now? I still had few friends to speak of, and any thought of men was utterly off the cards. I approached my next door neighbour, a shy and somewhat immature but lovely Irish guy called Craig, with a sheet of paper requiring him to witness my signature.

‘I, Sam Maltby’ read the document (for that was my maiden name) ‘do declare that for the rest of my time at York I will have absolutely nothing to do with the opposite sex, as they are all total scumbags. Signed, Sam Maltby.’

‘Except you,’ I quickly added (but Craig would never be a romantic prospect to me, so it didn’t count). ‘Sign here please!’

Craig laughed. ‘You are no way keeping to this!’

I was indignant: ‘Just watch me…’

Craig did. And was rewarded as very soon after, as to my slight annoyance another of our hall mates had cunning plans to undermine my promise… Andy was a third year and had somehow decided that I would be a good match for his best friend Steve. Believe it or not, I had actually first met Steve at the beginning of the year during a pub crawl in Freshers’ week, when I found myself chatting with Steve and his friend James. They were super keen to regale me with tales of their interrailing adventures across Europe, but when they started on the fourth country I got a bit bored and left them in search of other new people to meet. Harsh! (I’ve heard all of the interrailing stories many, many times since then, don’t worry). It just wasn’t the right time for me to meet my future husband and soulmate: I had to go through a lot first.

So Steve and I didn’t see each other again all year until the very final week of the summer term, which kicked off with the Derwent Barbecue. This was actually a half decent event with inflatables and everything. Steve and I were basically pushed together in the queue for entry. However, we hung out for the whole of the evening and had a lot of fun. At one point I remember a random person taking a picture of us, the first ever one (I wonder what will be the last? 😢) I remembered feeling that it was a bit fake as we posed as a couple but definitely weren’t… until I came across the outtake photo many years later, which gave a very different picture of things that night:

Looking at these, it is so flipin’ clear that we belonged together- we just look like we match… I had always had a vision in my head of my perfect man, who had blond hair (slightly curly) and glasses. Here he was! But I had pushed those thoughts completely out of my mind at the time; I was completely wary of men and also no longer confident in myself.

I couldn’t believe that Steve wanted to hang out with me all week, but he just kept popping up, often in the library in the small hours of the night: I had an essay deadline and was too busy partying earlier in the evenings so had to burn the midnight oil. I lost count of the number of times Steve appeared under the ruse of bringing me yet another glass of water…

One evening that week saw us invited to a ‘Summer Solstice’ event that my slightly hippy friend had organised. We quickly revised ‘slightly hippy’ to ‘very hippy’, trying to hold back our guffaws as Flower Girl and her followers sat around the camp fire in total seriousness with the backing of a rather unrefined didgeridoo accompaniment. There was only so much of this we could take and so Steve walked me back to halls. It had turned chilly and Steve asked if I was cold. I was. He thus put his arm around me and I remember thinking ‘It doesn’t mean anything, it’s only because I’m cold..’. I was still in complete denial that this could go anywhere. Steve seemed too good to be true, almost too nice, and my guard was still firmly up.

It didn’t stay up for much longer, however (ok Craig you were right). Seeing Steve every day during that last crazy week led me to get to know and trust him. And I quite liked him too! We had our first kiss at Toff’s nightclub- not the most romantic of venues, but Steve did pick a rose for me from someone’s garden as we walked back to campus, so that totally made up for it.

And I was finally having fun! Steve and his third year friends certainly knew how to party. Now of course as third years they were all leaving: this week was their final fling. Would it also just be a fling for Steve and I? I guessed so, after all he had what I as a Surrey girl considered to be a northern accent; wherever he lived would be too far away for us to keep anything going.

‘I live in Hertfordshire’ he revealed. ‘The accent is from the 7 years we spent in Barrow-in-Furness’.

Ah, this changed things: he lived 50 mins or so away round the M25; maybe it was worth making the effort and seeing each other a bit over the summer. Can you tell that I was still quite cool about it?!But the seeing each other a bit turned out to be seeing each other a lot…

I had a rather bizarre summer nannying job down in Godalming, hanging out with a slightly strange train-obsessed 12-year old boy with academics for parents who wore his hand-knitted British Rail tank top and conductor’s hat whenever we went on a train, which was most days. One time he wanted to go into London with the sole purpose of riding the entire Docklands Light Railway, line by line. I didn’t mind, it was an easy enough job. It was also a weekday live-in post for the entire summer, so Steve would borrow his Dad Allan’s Vauxhall Cavalier and somehow get from Welwyn to Godalming in 45 minutes… let’s just say that speeds of 130 mph may have been involved… ah, the days when the M25 wasn’t a car park riddled with speed cameras…

On the weekends Steve would come to my house in Woking or I would drive to his in Welwyn. We were becoming close and having a great time together, but it wasn’t immediate love (not for me anyway, I suspect it was different for Steve…)

But things began to change. Steve told me about his church and encouraged me to come. I found it a little different at first; they met in a hired room at a school and services were centered around preaching from the Bible for around 45 minutes, with hymns and prayers either side. Wow, that seemed long to me! Sermons at the Catholic church had lasted a maximum of five minutes… But the teaching was rich and captivating- it explained everything to me fully. I saw that is wasn’t at all a matter of choosing a type of church or denomination, which is simply a man-made construct changing and adding to the nature and practices of the early church. Steve’s church was just like that early church- completely faithful to everything in the Bible- no more, no less. I learnt that the true church is simply the people of God, the people who believe him. It is not a human organisation with a hierarchy of importance, it is not a building, ornate or otherwise. It is not a charitable organisation that exists to make people’s lives on this earth better. I understood and had found my home. And Steve and I were growing closer all the time, especially as we explored spiritual things together and he led me gently out of the teachings of the Catholic church.

Of course in the autumn everything would change and I had to head back to York for my second year while Steve launched his career in an illustrious fashion at the British Poultry Meat Foundation in London, working in statistics, which basically came down to ‘counting chickens’…

Before we were plunged into our different lives, however, we decided to get away for a few days camping in the Lake District.

All I can say is that before we climbed the challenging mountain that was Harrison Stickle I wasn’t in love with Steve, but when we reached the bottom again, after laughing at our jelly legs all the way down, I certainly was. I can’t explain it. Everything fell into place, particularly as we huddled together under a rock in a burst of torrential rain. and I just knew that this was the man I would spend the rest of my life with.

I know that Steve had reached that point a little sooner, keen as he was, but on our return to the lakes we were absolutely on the same page.

To say that things snowballed from there would be an understatement. We resolved to spend alternate weekends together, either in York or Welwyn. In the interim we wrote long letters to each other, almost every day. Of course mobile phones weren’t a thing in 1994, but real letters were way more exciting anyway . I still have every single letter in a box. Sick bucket recommended when reading…

One weekend in York we were crossing a busy road when Steve casually said in the middle of the road over the traffic noise:

‘Shall we get married?’

What? Was this some kind of proposal? I didn’t attempt to find out as I was too busy trying not to get run over. Once safely on the other side, I can only assume we had a little chat. Of course we would get married, I didn’t have any doubts about that. It wasn’t exactly the proposal I had dreamt of, but that didn’t (really) matter.

We had only known each other for 4 months and it seemed a little early to go public, so we kept the news to ourselves, planning to make the announcement over Christmas when our parents would be meeting each other. In the meantime we celebrated in stealth fashion, enjoying our special secret.

The bi-weekly arrangement became unbearable, however, and soon one of us was travelling north or south each weekend. On one occasion I ‘accidentally’ missed the Sunday night train from Stevenage back to York. Oh, the feeling of pure happiness to be driving back to Steve’s house for an extra few hours with him, a temporary reprieve from the inevitable loneliness that awaited me in York: I saw friends very occasionally but mainly studied all week and lived for the weekends with Steve.

The Christmas holidays finally came. The arranged dinner for our parents to meet took place at my house in Woking. All went well; everybody got on. After dessert, Steve and I disappeared off upstairs to my room. Our parents were no doubt suspicious…

‘Will you marry me?’ asked Steve, getting down on one knee (a definite improvement on the last proposal) and producing a beautiful delicate ring sporting a single small but exquisite diamond. It was perfect, and fitted like a glove (well done, Steve! Not sure to this day what percentage of his very first set of pay packages was required for the purchase…but I have always loved the ring and still do.)

Obviously my answer had been yes and we hurried joyfully downstairs to share the news. Needless to say, everyone was delighted.

I will leave you there, but we have a wedding to come, and a baby, and a race to finish a degree and… you’ll have to wait and see…back soon (very soon, if the steroids have anything to do with it…)

‘A man’s heart deviseth his way: but the Lord directeth his steps.’ Proverbs 16:9