Baptism of fire

THOUGH it could never be said that he boasts it – the opposite being the case – Brian Thornton has a hugely impressive CV, nonetheless.

He became vice-president of the Methodist Conference, that church’s senior lay position, was chief executive of its publishing division and held top jobs with NCH, the church’s children’s charity, and with the Church Missionary Society in West Africa.

Now, at 71, he’s become part-time pastoral assistant – a minister effectively, though still a layman – in the Deerness Valley, embracing churches in the former pit villages of Brandon, New Brancepeth and Esh Winning.

Why on earth? “It was just barmy,” he says genially.

Last Sunday he conducted a baptismal service at Esh Winning, 15-month-old Jake Heslop impeccably behaved, but the situation inevitably inviting analogies about being left holding the baby.

Though he is wholly self-effacing – “I wish that people would forget the vice-president bit, but they do like to say he’s been this, that and the other” – it may only be the bath water that’s thrown out.

“I’m sure there are some in the churches who wish they had a proper minister and not this strange lay person,” he insists. “This is the rebellious end of the (Durham) circuit, there’s no doubt about it.” Among his early innovations is a magazine serving the three communities. In the first, he writes about better serving the present age. “It might be some daring initiative, but equally it might be doing something we now do, but doing it better. I invite you to see visions and dream dreams.”

ESH WINNING Methodist chapel is an extraordinary, Tardis of a place, a vast twostorey monument to a different age that these days might be used to house a couple of battalions of infantry and most of their kit, an’ all.

Built on an acre of land, it was opened in June 1932, anticipating the formal union later that year between Primitive and Wesleyan Methodism.

The Wesleyans had themselves met in an old Army hut, the Prims in a building in Brandon Road.

“It was an act of faith during the worst months of the Great Depression when hardly any men were in full-time paid employment,” says a 1992 history.

Back then, the smaller neighbouring villages – East Hedleyhope, Hamsteels, Waterhouses, Cornsay and Quebec – all had chapels, too. Now all are closed, the faithful formally amalgamated into Esh Winning, but the average Sunday congregation still little more than 20.

Back then, they had more coal than enough, the boiler never out.

Now the heating’s oil fired and they can’t afford to turn it on, except on special occasions. The building needs major repairs, the roof needs insulating. Mr Thornton estimates the cost at £250,000, just to put everything right. “The challenges are quite horrendous,” he says.

Later this month, however, they meet with the Anglicans of St Paul’s, Waterhouses, a mile up the road, to discuss the possibility of demolishing both churches, selling the land – for five or six executive houses in Esh Winning, they reckon, lovely views too – and building a church for both congregations to use.

A similar move had been mooted, but shelved, five years ago. “I don’t think we were as aware of the potential,”

says Mr Thornton, gently. Holding joint services may yet be a step too far. It’s daring enough as it is.

THE principal personal reason why Brian Thornton suddenly found himself in the delightful Deerness Valley may be that, two years ago, his beloved wife Brenda died just two weeks after being diagnosed with cancer.

“It was a pretty traumatic time and left a big hole,” he says. “I wondered what I was going to do with the rest of my life.”

Then he saw the post, officially 20 hours a week on a three-year contract, advertised in the Methodist Recorder. “I remember thinking that it could be a special job for someone and that if I were 20 years younger I’d love to have done it.

“It wouldn’t go away. The only way was to express an interest. It was for them to judge if I was running away, or looking for a support group.”

Still he tried to avoid it. Still fate, or something, steered him towards west Durham. “Finally, they rang and asked if I’d take it. It would have been a bit hypocritical to turn it down. Obviously it was in the scheme of things.

“I knew almost nothing about the area, though I bought a book which told me a little bit. There’s a residual spirituality here; I’ve been made very welcome. I don’t think I realised what a privilege ministry was.”

Twenty hours is timed out, of course – “in one week I had three funerals alone, ministry can’t be done like that” –- while he’s also enthusiastic about visiting and the pastoral work the job title implies. People are extraordinarily grateful for it, says Mr Thornton.

Keith Kirby, a lifelong church member and for 55 years a gent’s hairdresser in the village, says the new man has been well accepted. “I think we’re all wondering what’s going to happen next.”

THE usual numbers are more than doubled by young Jake’s extended family. Mr Thornton – articulate, energetic, bearing something of a resemblance to the departing Bishop of Durham – tells them all that he’d love to see them regularly, but fancies that it’s wishful thinking. The week previously he’d been in Antigua, helping to celebrate the 250th anniversary of Methodism on the island. The service attracted 2,500 people and lasted four-and-a-quarter hours.

This one’s a good Methodist hour, the familiar passage about suffering the little children translated in a more modern version into “See that you do not despise the little ones.”

The final’s hymn Bind us Together, Lord – “with cords that cannot be broken” – interrupted before the final verse when Mr Thornton suggests that the way to do it is for everyone to hold hands. They might sway a bit, too, he says.

“I make no apology if you’re embarrassed,”

he adds. “I just want to say that God is never embarrassed about you.”

At least two people tell him afterwards that they’ve not been to a better church service for years. The baby may be growing up fast.