Better late

THE taxi’s from Thornaby railway station, the driver has no idea where he’s going. “God will show me,” he says and appears on the point of underlining that miracles may take a little longer when he asks if I know the postcode.

Luckily, some would say miraculously, I do. He produces a satnav, that other mysterious voice from above. It sorts it, no problem. There’s a parable there somewhere, if only I could work out what it is.

It’s Tuesday evening, a golden jubilee service for the church of St Margaret of Scotland, in Brookfield, east Middlesbrough, 50 years to the day since the foundation stone was laid by Philip Wheeldon, the Bishop of Whitby. Celebrations are to be led by Martin Warner, consecrated earlier this year as Whitby’s latest bishop.

At the appointed hour, however, there’s no sign of Bishop Martin. Has he, too, become a lost soul? The organist continues valiantly, doubtless accustomed to fashionably late brides. Wisely, he refrains from playing Get Me To The Church.

The churchwardens at the back fidget from one foot to the other.

They know what’s happened. The service was originally to be at 7.30pm – it even says 7.30 in the July parish magazine – but has been brought forward to 7pm. Everyone’s been told bar the bishop.

When finally it starts at 7.25pm, Fr Ron Smith – the affable vicar – is apologetic. “It’s my fault as you would guess,” he says.

BROOKFIELD’S next to Acklam, a largely post-war suburb of 7,000 people. The church has a history of what might be called breakdowns in communication.

Bishop Wheeldon, it’s recorded, had made a substantial contribution to the building fund and was invited to choose the new church’s patronage.

Since his wife, mother and sister were all called Margaret, Margaret of Scotland it was, the stone laid on July 20, 1960.

The Echo the following morning reported that the land was a gift from the Duncanson family, Brookfield’s builders, in memory of their father.

The church would cost £13,000, excluding fixtures and fittings; until it was finished, they met in one of Duncansons’ huts.

We also noted that work on Billingham’s £500,000 shopping precinct – “that striking feature of the town centre development plan” – was about to start, that world 220 yards record holder Peter Radford and many other top names had appeared at an athletics meeting organised by Bishop Auckland Round Table at Kingsway and that three men had been fined for running illegal tombolas – we meant bingo – in a cinema at Willington.

The prizes had, after all, exceeded the lawful maximum of five shillings.

Maybe no one had told them, either.

The communication problem at Brookfield was that July 20 was the feast of St Margaret of Antioch, not St Margaret of Scotland. That’s on November 16, though whether they were eight months late or four months early it’s not possible to say.

It seemed quite difficult to have confused them – for one thing, Antioch probably had a better football team – but someone’s number may have been up.

CATHERINE Stainthorpe, now 94, recalls a survey among Brookfield newcomers which identified need of a church. “We used to give threepence a week,” she recalls.

She was a Scottish Presbyterian, became Church of England.

“Nothing really to do with Margaret of Scotland. I just loved it here, still come every week,” she says.

Former churchwarden Vic Spencer, 75, remembers that the diocesan architect had based his design on Swedish principles, following a visit there. “It took no account of heating or acoustics,” he says.

Brookfield’s changed. Back then, it mainly offered homes to families with young children – “aspiring”

families, someone says – two-year waiting list for a house. Now the children are long gone; their parents, if they’re lucky, remain. “I doubt if you’ll see a child around here,” says the vicar.

A former teacher, he’d been curate from 1976 to 1980, when Brookfield was a daughter church of Staintonin- Cleveland, came back as its first vicar eight years later. When he retires in November, they’ll probably have to share a priest with a neighbouring parish.

The parish mag has a cartoon of a bloke with a placard reading “Chaos cometh! Ye shall be tested and found wanting!” He must have heard that Fr Ron’s retiring, says the caption.

When he came, he recalls, there were 14 altar boys, a thriving Sunday School, a youth club, scouts, guides, cubs and brownies and a Young Wives group that was exactly what it said. All have gone.

The church hall’s still busy but with tai chi, bridge and wine clubs, over-60s keep fit.

“I’ve had a wonderful time here but it’s incredibly difficult to attract young people to church,” says Fr Smith. “You only hope to have touched them in some way, in a way that will bring them closer to God.”

THE church looks lovely, high and handsome, a new stained glass window of St Margaret and better yet – “spectacular”, says Bishop Martin – because there’s been a flower festival at the weekend.

About 100 are present, none under 21. The usual profile, most are quite elderly, most female. As these days is also the norm, they’re also warmly welcoming.

Almost inevitably on these occasions, the first hymn’s Christ is made the Sure Foundation. Bishop Martin says he’d like to claim that he wasn’t born when the stone was laid but that, in truth, he was in Pampers.

His sermon, diplomatically, talks of both Margarets. “In some ways we are celebrating them both. I’d like to think that, in heaven, they’re having a gentle conversation about the things they have in common.”

The service ends after 65 minutes and is followed in the church hall by a quite magnificent spread. The photographer, who’d warned that he’d be half an hour late because of a football match, suddenly – perhaps uniquely – finds himself on time.

Kept from his supper, Vic Spencer’s upbeat. “We’ve grown old together, but there are so many tremendous people here, I’m sure that this church has a future, that the tide can turn,” he says.

Fr Smith’s convinced that there’s been a compilation volume – The Best of At Your Service – positive he’s read it. He hasn’t. “There still should be,” he says.

“Better late”, indeed, could be the evening’s theme. There may be a parable in that, too.