Peter Ian Young

Does one ever get over the death of a loved one? someone close who has touched your life deeply – when you were vulnerable and needy and they did not exploit you nor dismiss you but cared and helped. How do you recover from such a loss? Well, perhaps we don’t and can’t realistically hope to do so. However death can give us perspective and enable us to distinguish between the real and the shallow, the lasting and the transient, the good and the bad. We should learn from life and death and we should learn from Peter.

Peter Young first came to Trinity, this church, one summer Sunday morning when he was working as a volunteer, under the Time for God scheme, at the Church Army Hostel in Acre Lane, perhaps 5 minutes’ walk or so from here. He was then perhaps 19 or 20 years old which means that he was here in all for about 45 years. He had by then made the momentous decision that he did not want to work for the family firm, the Rapid Results College, which had been founded by his grandfather and kept going by his father and uncle in this country and South Africa. Peter who often found it difficult to reach decisions had definitely opted out. The hostel catered for homeless men trying to stay off the streets and improve their lot in life. At that time Peter was living and sleeping at the hostel and he got on well with the residents and with other staff members there.

That first Sunday, Peter stayed to share in the refreshments after the church service and was skipping very fast and joining in the fun when he suddenly collapsed in ourl hall and fell flat out on the floor. We were not a little shocked at this and were mightily relieved when, after a few moments, he recovered full wakefulness and offered us an explanation. Peter’s health remained a consideration for some time to come. He was, as most of you may know, an asthmatic and for some years now he was being treated for sleep apnea which he may or may not have really suffered from.

Some time after we first met, Peter moved into one of the church’s properties and he formally became a member of our church in July 1982. He fitted in well and was always willing to take some responsibility. He told us that he could drive and on one occasion appeared to borrow his grandparents’ car. Where were we driving to? Was it south Wales? Probably not on that venture. By the time we got to Putney from Brixton he was by some distance the last in our three car caravan but, truth to tell, his driving did improve. He was willing to drive and did on our regular trips to the Yorkshire Dales (300 miles) and to Carmarthenshire (201 miles) among other destinations.

It wasn’t long before he became a church member here and, after a few years, he was chosen to be a deacon which means he had a leadership role without being a minister. In addition Peter was a lay preacher. He could be a mite stiff and narrow in his approach but he was willing and he was never wild nor heretical. When 20 years ago I gave up serving three churches and opted only to be the minister here, Peter had the choice to be a member at Wimbledon, rather than here; after all Wimbledon was his home turf which he always loved but he chose Brixton over Wimbledon.

He came on many holidays to north Yorkshire and he and I went on many walks together, some of them rather testing, like the Three Peaks and Wild Boar Fell in Mallerstang when our dog Jacob had more energy than both of us. We completed parts of the Coast to Coast and Pennine Way walks too. Of course, his first love remained railways and he loved the Settle to Carlisle line, with its various viaducts, especially Ribblehead and Denthead.

Several years ago, through the Congregational Federation, we had a developing relationship with the Congregational churches of Angola which were about to celebrate their anniversary. They wanted the English churches to send a representative to their festivities. With his father then in Durban, Mr Young agreed to pay half Peter’s fare if the Congregational Federation paid the other half. Consequently Peter set off on an adventure alone. He first flew to Moscow. Then to Luanda then inland to Huambo. A slight problem was that a civil war was raging in Angola and Huambo where the Congregationalists were based was close to the HQ of the rebels UNITA under Jonas Savimbi. In Luanda Peter was aware that he was being shadowed by Russians and possibly other security men. The Marxist government there had called on Cuban troops to support them. This was the stuff of detective fiction and film making which would make strong men and women hesitate. It didn’t phase Peter who somehow took all this in his stride.

He met the Angolan Congregationalists at their conference and described his talk. He did not speak Portuguese which was their colonial language nor did he speak any of their tribal tongues. He told them where he was from in English and that his church supported the Council for World Mission which gained only minimal response. He said that this council grew out of the London Missionary Society which awakened some interest. When he said that the LMS had sent out David Livingstone they clapped and cheered and some rose to their feet. How very strange that in a war-torn African country with a Marxist government (nominally at least) the people remembered this anti-slavery missionary hero from a century ago with unbridled admiration. In the west Livingstone was then being characterised by some revisionist historians as a tool of British imperialism. That was not how these Angolans saw him. Well done, Livingstone, and well done, Peter, for being willing to make this journey and meet these people as friends and equals.

After his time in Huambo, Peter set out on his journey to Durban which was an epic 1,532 miles by train. This entailed him finding at first hand more about the railways of Africa which excited him and may in part have prompted his willingness to go. He had to journey from Huambo to the Victoria Falls in Zambia and then on the bridge over the falls to Zimbabwe and thence to South Africa. Despite my attempts to get him to open up a little more about the journey, Peter stayed determinedly untalkative. He did mention the impressive statue of Livingstone at the falls. However it was just a spectacular journey but clearly not everyday and run of the mill.

You may feel that Peter was a career bachelor but when young he had his suitors. One Anglican priest would pursue him to his embarrassment and Peter successfully resisted his overtures. He caused a few female hearts to flutter at various times in his life but somehow these never led to more.

Peter was shy. He found it difficult to look people in the eye. He tended to walk with his head down and didn’t see people, even friends, as he would race past them on his way to the tube station. He often timed his visits to the last minute. He was happy to look after his friends, especially Mark and Andrew on their regular Wednesday evening meals at the very good local fish and chip shop. He was very good to my first wife, Yvonne, going with her to Wales on several occasions. He was good to me and all my published books bear thanks to Peter, as do most of the articles that I have written. I asked him if he would like his name to go on some as a joint author but he modestly declined. ln short Peter’s Christianity spilled over into his helping people which he did naturally and did a lot.

He took on lots of voluntary jobs – fabric officer and eco officer here, membership secretary of the Congregational History Society, sitting on Cong Fed committees etc. In recent years he embarked on rail trips across Europe – to Germany, Switzerland and Austria. He loved one visit to Norway and seeing there our former organist, Marcus Davidson. He was currently engaged in overseeing and helping with the repairs to this chapel organ which are ongoing.

So now surprisingly we have to let him go which means he can’t be present in the future as he was in the past -though his spirit may inform our meetings. We shall miss him and do already. Like many people, Peter was not quite so obvious to read as might seem at first sight – a well to do background but content not to shine at the Underground, a lowly chapel in Brixton not a glitzy church for posh people, a quiet contribution but happy with that. He did not ask for much but knew how to live happy and to give.

On that last day of his life on earth, Peter travelled by ambulance about 2 pm from our manse here in Brixton to Trinity Hospice in Clapham. He insisted on wearing his cap – as always. Jane and I went with him in the ambulance and were present in his room when two doctors questioned him gently for an hour or so at the hospice. When asked about his hope for the future, Peter said that he wanted to continue ‘bumbling along’. After that he only had 45 minutes of life remaining – not much bumbling left to a man who never wanted much. I am grateful that he died in Mark Dennis’s friendly company about 4.15 pm on 12 December.

Now we leave him to the God whose certainty was sure for Peter, to the welcoming friend and saviour who loved even the seemingly overlooked and discarded. Now he is safe and secure with his parents, and his friends who’ve gone before. Now his presence is for me an inspiration rather than an always reliable corrective. Peter was a humble man of modest attainments - or was he? He lived his life with quiet dignity and grace. He was totally honest and absolutely there for us all. As you here may testify, he made many friends, lasting attachments which reach back half a century and more. Once befriended, we stayed in his heart. May he stay in ours as we release him to the communion of saints, to realise the promise that he and we knew was always there.

Now, Peter, may you soar to the heights of heavenly freedom and love that you deserve and where you truly belong. May God bless us as he has truly blest you.