Never Let the Saucepan Boil Dry Chapter 5: Fighting on the Beaches, Part 2

I gained one very clear benefit from returning to Stirling for that third semester. I met Adeline, a clinical psychologist based on the campus. I had at least one meeting with her before I was due to leave. I knew she was something special from the first. She was modest, gentle and sincerely self-effacing. I was to become profoundly grateful to her as someone who helped me move goalposts and rebuild my life. My capacity to continue studying at Stirling crumbled daily. I could see no academic future there, and with less than a month to go to the exams and Christmas break, quit. I was disappointed my studies there had come to an end this way, but it could not be helped. The business of a full recovery was to be a full-time job. Based on Mr Booth’s letter which I showed her, Adeline gave me a diagnosis of an Autistic Spectrum Disorder or ASD, which she emphasised was milder still than Asperger’s. The effects it had had on my life were anything but mild.

     We had the family gathering at Christmas. My cousin Ian graduated and got engaged. I did not know how or if I would study again. I travelled back down on average once a month to see Adeline on the campus, sometimes staying with Keith, and with relatives in Perth, from August 1997. I gave up on medication. My relatives in Canada offered to have me over, and I went for much of October 1997. I got more exercise on the prairies, and enjoyed the experience of travel and learning about their country.

          On returning, I had the special treat of a second birthday, with the Doctor Who E-space trilogy out on video, the very first stories I had seen in 1980. I considered transferring to Aberdeen University while slowly recovering, but ultimately left it for 1997/8. At Easter 1998, we planned a holiday to Northumbria, to be curtailed by Dad’s developing severe back pain. He was ultimately returned to Aberdeen in a private ambulance, where I rode with him in the back. Readjusting after my diagnosis was a very slow process. Dad wrote an article about it and me in the church’s spring newsletter, when he had recovered.

     By summer 1998, I had decided to try studying with the Open University. I had wondered about transferring to Aberdeen University, but was now sceptical about full-time study. My first year at Stirling was acknowledged as credit transfer, and I felt excited to buy the set books for a Level 2 course in Literature while on a holiday weekend in St Andrews. Among several things that seemed unusual, the OU courses then ran from February to October. I would start in February 1999. In some respects it seemed the last throw of the dice, perhaps my last chance to get a degree, given all I had been through.

     22nd August was to be the date of my cousin Ian’s wedding in Dunfermline. He had often been a friend to me, and shone light into some of my dark places. Uncle Fraser was to sing a solo as part of the service. The evening before, with light spilling through the glass at the front of the house, Mum told us why he would not be there. He had cancer, at too advanced a stage for treatment. His best prospect was care in a hospice. I coped quite well with such sad news, and considered that perhaps having been so depressed before, death was not such a strange visitor to me. The wedding was a good occasion, but I still felt his absence very much. Two weeks later, he attended my Raasay cousin Elizabeth’s wedding, though I did not. I went to see him in Dingwall shortly after then. He was quite exhausted, and barely able to speak, but seemed to enjoy a drink I gave him. He seemed more his old self the next day, but he emphasised he was not, when I said so. He was very matter-of-fact, asked after my new forthcoming studies. I knew when I said goodbye I would not see him again. I wrote some poems contemplating themes of loss and comfort in faith, which were later self-published. He passed away at the start of November. Dad dissuaded me from attending the funeral. ‘You’ve made a lot of progress,’ he said, ‘and ‘you don’t want to lose it.’

     I had retained some contact with the APC church, having quiet social events at least once a month during my long absence. In October, I returned to evening services after two years without entering the building. I began a slow process of reconnecting.

     By January, the church started to subside. Not physically, but in terms of its population. A family of seven left, compromising the viability of the Sunday School. Others started to leave. I had heard of the debate as to the future of the APC held in 1997, but it seemed little had happened then. Now the effects of that unresolved matter began to be felt. There were clear implications as to what the APC was for, including worship, and whether it was a long-term or short-term measure before moving on and merging with other congregations. The APC congregation we had known began to decide these questions for themselves. That first family went to the Free Church, a larger denomination relatively similar to the APC in its outlook and practice. Some went to Gilcomston South, others further afield. Over the coming weeks and months, the viability of the congregation, which had always seemed stable, became in doubt. Letter after letter came addressed to Dad, announcing intentions to leave for one reason or another, and with that, effectively making him redundant. The church was slowly sinking. I knew very well our prospects were tied up with it, and was glad my health was better to cope with this.

     My work with the Open University was going well. I enjoyed the course materials and books perhaps more than ever before, and went over to Aberdeen University for my tutorials. It seemed possibly the best way to realise my potential. With the goalposts moved, I was playing more to my strengths. I certainly found the ‘lectures’ delivered by video and audiotape more interesting than many I had heard in person.

     The congregation continued to dissipate, and by Easter was clearly in trouble. Dad’s own depression had been rooted, he felt, in elements from his past training as an FP minister he was still dealing with. The current crisis in the church also related to this, to his wish to move towards music and hymns, not just the unaccompanied Psalms. There was a legal angle to this: should the APC change its policy on worship, they would risk their continued entitlement to the former FP church buildings. Dad held a meeting with some other ministers, to examine whether it was possible for the APC to adopt a broader approach to its worship. The verdict was ultimately no, and he began to move towards resigning. He did so formally in May, at a meeting held in the front room of the manse. It appeared to cause genuine sadness. He came to an arrangement whereby he would be paid for a further three months, and continue to live in the manse for that period. He and Mum then went to Gilcomston on Sundays. I continued to attend the APC. I liked what I knew, and did not change established patterns easily or lightly. He moved towards searching for a Church of Scotland vacancy. We debated the merits of Cromarty and Dufftown, near Banff. Cromarty, a village at the end of the peninsula known as the Black Isle, was certainly nearer Inverness. Granny had gone into Ballifeary Home in the spring, and it would be convenient to visit her from Cromarty.

     Dad went to preach as sole nominee in Cromarty in August, and was accepted. The end of our time in Aberdeen loomed. My sister Irene returned from London in June. She and I had written permission from the committee now overseeing the continued running of the APC to remain in the manse until the end of September. Accordingly, Mum and Dad’s things were moved out in August. Dad was to be inducted as the new minister for Cromarty on the last Friday in August. Whatever my reservations, I could have joined them, but elected to go and spend the weekend with Donald and Cathy in St Cyrus, near Montrose. Irene went north with our parents that weekend. She and I left our things in the manse: after all, we were coming back.