A sporting moment?

For many of us interested in sport, our thoughts this past month have been focused on the men’s football World Cup. I hesitate to add to the comment online and in the ‘papers except to say that I was shocked by some members of the Argentine team mocking their crestfallen opponents, the Netherlands, on the pitch after their quarter-final match. I was also perturbed to see Ronaldo leave the field quickly after the Portugal semi against Morocco without, it seems, shaking hands with his opponents or consoling team mates. Perhaps this came later? In contrast, the sportsmanship of the French in the ways they approached the English team after full time, and also the genuine support offered to the distraught by the coaching team and other players, were heart warming. Images, too, of the Japanese tourists helping pick up litter in the stadia and the bravery of the Iranian team speaking out about the treatment of women in their country, brings much uplift to the human condition.

The ‘professional’ foul

In thinking about sporting behaviour, I don’t suppose I am alone in hoping that one day in the so-called ‘Beautiful Game’, there will be a move to be more honest on the pitch. The ‘professional foul’ is clearly a misnomer, a euphemism for cheating, and it always baffles me when a ball goes out of play and inevitably players from both sides claim the throw-in or the corner kick when in most cases it must be very obvious to the players immediately involved who it was who last touched the ball. What a moment it would be when a professional footballer actually ‘owns up’ to having touched the ball last and asks the referee to change the decision that initially went in his or her favour! And don’t let me start on the way referees themselves are abused, hassled and intimidated by so-called ‘sportsmen’.

True sportsmanship

Whilst of a very different era, and no doubt our minds are impacted by images in the film ‘Chariots of fire’, it is abundantly evident that Scottish athlete Eric Liddell was the consummate sportsman in all senses of the word. At church two weeks ago, I met a 90-year-old lady who had been interred with Liddell in China in the 1940s, a prisoner of the Japanese. Two things stood out in our conversation: Liddell could have been released (after Churchill’s intervention) in a prisoner exchange. He chose instead to have a pregnant woman take his place. The other incident especially referred to by the lady I met was Liddell’s willingness to put aside long-held beliefs about Sunday sport and to organise games on the Sabbath for other internment camp children. As we go through the week ahead and endure the Press ‘noise’ over the victors in the World Cup final, let’s consider afresh the legacy, compassion and sportsmanship of athletes like Eric Liddell and be thankful for positive role models.

A child of the Commonwealth

I was born high up on the Jos plateau in Nigeria, raised in Ghana until I was 19 years of age, schooled in Scotland, the land of my father, and occasionally holidayed in London, from where my English mother hailed. As an adult I have worked both sides of the Border and also taught for nine years in India – and thus have five Commonwealth countries close to my heart. (And this doesn’t account for visits to Canada, Malta, Gibraltar, Cyprus, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, South Africa…)

Trackside at the Games

As a volunteer at the 2022 Games in Birmingham, I was part of the Photo Team, a component of the media group. This gave me privileged access at both the marathon and the athletics (in the Alexander Stadium) not only to ‘trackside’ views, but also to the photographers and other journalists. It was a joy talking with people from around the Commonwealth, most of whom seemed delighted to have someone to talk with about their work and their countries.

Three encounters

Three encounters among many stick with me. There was the young lady photographer from Nigeria who was anxious about reaching the right spot to photograph a medal ceremony. I chatted to her and mentioned that I was born in Jos. Her eyes widened as she said, ‘Jos? But, you’re…’ – and I finished off the sentence for her: ‘Yes, I’m white!’ There was no racial undertone in any of this but simple, almost childlike, incredulity which then gave way to warmth and excitement. Next was the conversation with the single media representative from Gibraltar. ‘What are your medal hopes?’ I asked. He laughed. ‘No medal hopes but lots of opportunities for personal bests. For us in Gibraltar, this is the pinnacle of sport as we won’t otherwise be singularly represented in a global event. We simply enjoy the taking part’. And then thirdly, there was the chit-chat with the photographer from Botswana who was positioned at the ‘head on platform’ overlooking the finish line. As the men’s 4 x 400 metre relay final unwound, he became more and more excited. The Botswanan athletes moved up into the lead at one point before having to settle for silver. His excitement was such that I expect all his photos of the finish were actually a blur!

The Friendly Games

I could go on to tell of the Australian gentleman who bounced up to me as I made my way down to trackside with a photographer to say, ‘That’s my son in the decathlon high jump’ – he just had to tell someone! (His son won bronze overall.) And then there was the visitor in the queue for the shuttle bus who spoke with me and another volunteer to ask how we were feeling about the Games and to thank us both profusely. I know it’s almost trite to say that these are The Friendly Games, but I have found them to be so. It has been a privilege to witness genuine, childlike, joy over the past ten days and to acknowledge that for the vast majority of the athletes from the Commonwealth nations this has been their one moment in the spotlight – and they have revelled in it whilst embracing everything and everyone around them. As a ‘child of the Commonwealth’, it has brought to me a lot of satisfaction, too, and just a few pin badges!

The foolishness of this world?

How many April Fools’ Day jokes did you spot last week? ‘Walkers’ offered sliced bread-sized crisps, for example, and a soap manufacturer in Scotland called ‘Arran’ urged customers to order their newly bottled product which would hold its tartan pattern as you squeezed out the soap. The best of all time was probably the 1957 Panorama special about spaghetti trees but the 1980 BBC joke that the Big Ben clock tower was to go digital (sight and sound) went badly when eager first caller customers called in to claim a prize – one of the clock hands – only to be disappointed. Angry complaints went on for weeks!

School foolishness

I do remember the Upper Sixth (Y13) pupils in my boarding house in the 1970s replacing our Housemaster’s new red sports car with a Dinky version. Somehow they rolled the real version off the drive and hid it around the corner. They then hid behind their study windows and watched the incredulity and frustration of our Housemaster as he stepped out of his house! The sixth formers only escaped censure because the Housemaster’s wife had played a part! And then there was the occasion when, as a Deputy Head at a school in Cheltenham, I was ‘arrested’ and handcuffed by the Police as I left Chapel. Part of an April Fool and a charity stunt, I was only released after funds were raised that day for a local charity. (Fortunately I spent the day in comfortable surroundings drinking tea – and, more importantly, the school thought enough of me to want me back and so paid the charity ‘fine’!)

Laugh in Church? You must be joking!

I agree with James Cary, a BBC sitcom writer (‘Miranda’, ‘Hut 33’, ‘Bluestone 42’, etc.) who spoke this year at a TISCA (The Independent Schools Christian Alliance) regional meeting, who argues in his book, ‘The sacred art of joking’, that there’s plenty of humour in the Bible – and should be in church – but all too often we miss it. What, for example, do we make of Jesus’ comic exaggeration in Matthew 7 when He calls on us to remove the ‘logs’ from our eyes’? Moreover, for centuries the church practised ‘Risus Paschalis’, the ‘Easter laugh’, where priests regularly told jokes in Easter sermons. Whilst not seeking to make light of the seriousness of the cross and Jesus’ suffering, there is surely underlying humour in the religious authorities (and the devil) seeking to get rid of Someone who has proved he can raise the dead (Lazarus).

Let’s enjoy some laughter this Easter amongst all the seriousness.

Heart Beat

This week sees the inauspicious anniversary of the death of William Harvey in 1578. He was a London doctor, credited with being the first to discover that blood circulates around the body, pumped by the beat of the heart. The heart as our life-source, sends oxygen and nutrients through veins and arteries, so that, physically, we as humans can operate as we do. The pump of the heart has, however, become the symbol of what we are emotionally and psychologically. We talk of the ‘heart racing’ when there is physical attraction towards someone; we speak of the ‘heart being full’, may be of praise and admiration of others’ accomplishments; and we articulate the words ‘our hearts are heavy’ when referring to tragedy or crisis in our lives.

Heavy hearts

It is certainly the case that the lattermost ‘heart expression’ is all too true for large swathes of the globe at this moment, as we are facing what is a second world crisis – first pandemic and now the fall-out of the war in Ukraine. As we sit in front of our screens and are confronted daily with heinous atrocities perpetrated against the most innocent and defenceless, such as in Mariupole, our hearts are, indeed, heavy as we stand and watch what was a normal, thriving, Western city suffer such decimation, and its inhabitants reduced to starvation, homelessness and loss of all semblance of life as they knew it.

Broken hearts

In the Psalms, King David writes: ‘the Lord is near to the broken-hearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.’ Jesus echoes this sentiment in Matthew’s gospel: ‘Come to me all you who are heavy laden and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart.’ The incarnation of God in Christ is a message from the heart of the Creator and Sustainer that he forever identifies with pain and trauma – with those who are suffering and with those who feel for the pain of others, and it is the responsibility of all those who claim to follow him, to be those who carry burdens and share in the heaviness of heart that others experience. But emphasis should be on the ‘sharing,’ for none of us is expected to bear the weight of the world upon one’s shoulders and heart. On reflecting upon the import of Lent, it is that we who may be ‘heavy in heart’ are driven to prayer and to share with, and inquire of, God what he may be asking any of us to do in response. It is then to understand that it is His task for us, and not the task of the lone stoic with the sense of ‘ought’ around his or her neck. It comes back to the Christian’s understanding of service, which we can do with purpose, but also with joy, even in the midst of pain: holding both these things in tension is to reflect the very nature of the passion and triumph of the cross and resurrection.

Heart restored

So let us go where the heart says but be directed by the one whose heart beats for each one of us, whatever state we find ourselves in.

(With thanks to Revd Alex Aldous, Chaplain of Prestfelde Prep School)

Weird stories – and opportunities

Towards the end of January, and I set out on what, in recent times, was a ‘weird’ opportunity: to visit some TISCA (The Independent Schools Christian Alliance) schools in person and to hold regional meetings without depending on Zoom and a screen. And what a joy it was!

The strongest shot in tennis?

Revd Martin Poole, a governor at Ballard School, spoke at the South regional gathering at Castle Court Prep School. His enthusiastic accounts of sharing stories at school assemblies ranged from showing us how to ‘tell the Bible’ using the fingers of one hand (a thumbs up for encouragement, an index finger to point to things needing attention, the middle finger – taller than the others – to be Jesus, a fourth – the ring finger – for commitment, and then the little finger for prayer), how to divide 19 camels fairly between a sheikh’s three sons (my maths was mightily challenged) and also how to use sport to tell the gospel. The latter illustration was very effective: what’s the strongest and often the winning shot played in tennis? This is, of course, the serve. Our service as Christians is often what draws others to Jesus.

The meeting at Castle Court was also remarkable for the overflowing excitement shared by staff from several schools, but especially Castle Court, of being able to have fellowship together (over a very fine meal I should add). Some schools have been unable to have in-person staff meetings until very recently and whilst we remain in awe of what technology can do to bring us together, there is nothing to replace seeing others face-to-face.

Weird stories

On our tour we took in two other schools before going to King’s Bruton for the South West regional meeting. We were treated to BBC sitcom writer James Cary’s musings on weird stories in the Bible. Here’s what Revd George Beverly, chaplain at King’s, wrote after the event:

Have you ever considered how the Bible is jam-packed with weird accounts: Baalam’s donkey talking! The transfiguration! Absalom’s long hair getting tangled in a tree, leaving him stuck hanging until he was captured! The physical resurrection of many bodies from tombs in Jerusalem when Jesus Christ rose back to life – and they walked around Jerusalem talking to people – a bit like zombies!

What do we do with such accounts? Shy away from them? Focus on the more “rational” sections of Scripture? Try and explain them away as deceptions that tricked supposedly gullible people thousands of years ago? No – none of those are wise or responsible approaches to make. We believe in a God who made the very laws of science, who is all-powerful and created everything. Thus, He is not constrained by such laws. The very fact He brings about miracles, shows he is God. And on Thursday evening, it was lovely to welcome James Cary, Christian writer, speaker and comedian to speak at TISCA (The Independent Schools’ Christian Alliance) regional meeting hosted at King’s. James sits on the Church of England’s Archbishops’ Council, hosts numerous podcasts and writes comedy for the BBC (e.g. Miranda, Hut 33, Bluestone 42, Think the Unthinkable) often alongside Milton Jones. James commended us to not shy away from the weird and controversial aspects of Scripture. God has given us these passages and they richly overflow with the message of His gospel love. Moreover, as teachers/chaplains/staff in schools, we are surrounded by children and teenagers whose world is immersed and full of an obsession with the weird and wonderful. Consider: Star Wars, Marvel, Narnia, Harry Potter and so much more. Best of all, as we engage with Scripture’s stranger segments, it often prompts genuine discussion and enquiry between pupils and staff – and isn’t that wonderful! What could be more important and fascinating than debating and discussing the message of the One who claims to hold the answers to life’s biggest questions?!?!

So, our challenge to all is to seize opportunities to engage in the weird and wonderful in the Bible – and to do the ‘weird thing’ of meeting up again in person! (COVID secure, of course…)

(Lead article in the Spring 2022 edition of ‘TISCA News and Views’)

Where there’s no vision…

As we enter a new year, some of us will have taken on resolutions and some, perhaps, embraced a vision for 2022. Can I encourage us to hold tight to the latter – the vision on our hearts and in our minds for a better tomorrow for ourselves and those with whom we have been called to serve and to live and work alongside?

Interview challenge

I remember, as part of my interview for a Headship post, being asked: ‘Mr Reid, what three things would you change if you were appointed as Head here?’ It flashed through my mind that this was a key moment in the appointment process: I sent a quick ‘arrow prayer’, took a deep breath and said: ‘Firstly, building on the work of my successor, I will do all I can to make this a more family-focused school.’ (Safe ground, I felt: there was a general desire to slow down the pupil expansion and consolidate.) ‘Secondly, I’d like to put in an Astro-Turf field hockey pitch.’ (Also safe ground: my love of hockey was well known and this much needed facility would benefit boys and girls as well as have wider community use – and there was money in the school ‘kitty’ for it.) Then, taking an even deeper breath and realising that what I said next was ‘make or break’, I looked round the interview room (actually the small school chapel which had been turned into a multi-faith classroom) and said: ‘Thirdly, I’d remove much of what’s on the walls in this room and return it, sensitively, to being a school chapel at the heart of the school.’ My first point had been greeted with knowing looks, my second by encouraging laughter and my third…by a dramatic pause, almost a gasp, and then a collective sigh of agreement. I got the job!

I mention all this because I know that ‘vision’ can be contentious and unsettling at times. It can also be life-changing and energizing – so long as we have the courage to embrace it.

Don Quixote

Many will be familiar with ‘The Adventures of Don Quixote’ by Miguel de Cervantes y Saavedra. There is a musical based on his story, too, called ‘Man of La Mancha’. In this there is a scene where Don Quixote and his servant stand gazing at a dilapidated inn. When Quixote describes his vision of turrets and magnificent gates, his servant tries hard to see the same picture but all he can see are ruins. When he attempts to describe them, Quixote say, ‘Stop! I will not allow your facts to interfere with my vision!’

All too often great visions are undermined by those who can’t see beyond the hurdles, difficulties and ruins of the present. Look up and look out – embrace your God-given vision for 2022 and be blessed!

A journey justified

As the Omicron virus variant begins to bite, again the question lurks in our minds in this merry month of December: ‘Will journeys be curtailed to keep Christmas alive?’ As travel cancellations escalate and holidays are again delayed, there’s a growing fear that visiting relations and friends may be reduced to avoid the ‘Déjà voodoo’ of a hapless lockdown.

Journeys, however, feature strongly in that first Christmas story, and risks were taken – well beyond the realm of the sensible, sanitised, modern mind-set of the West. Firstly, through the demands of a Roman census, a heavily pregnant mother was forced to travel seventy miles by donkey through the dangerous Samarian countryside which would have taken four days at its smoothest – not quite the 1 hour 50 minutes that it takes today by car from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Joseph, who would naturally have wanted to protect his wife, might therefore have opted for a safer route, but this could have extended the journey to a week, despite knowing that she was ‘great with child.’

Then there was the epic journey of the Parthian magi from the borders of Afghanistan and Syria guided not by sat-nav but by the stars, or rather, one in particular. It had been their conviction after much soul and sky searching that a regal birth had been ushered in, and a sense of mystery and divine curiosity goaded them on to cover the 500 miles, taking them eighteen months or more.

For the shepherds out on the Judean hills, the journey was not nearly so long – but they were ‘under the influence’ of angels and bright lights, and this caused them irrationally to abandon their flocks, potentially to the ravages of wild animals.

For all the central figures that first Christmas journey was fraught with risk and danger, but they were put aside for greater purposes: the celebration of a new-born king who would ‘reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom, establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness from that time on and for ever,’ as the prophet, Isaiah puts it.

It is a similar sense of daring and abandonment that the Christian message calls us all to make: to go with haste and inquire into what this story could mean for us in our hearts. Of course, it might mean disposing some of the excess baggage that we’re so tempted to carry at this festive time – an over-emphasis on self-indulgence, a preoccupation with consumerism and ‘stuff,’ and a scant regard for how the poor and marginalised might be coping as they languish in Yuletide shadows. Our travelling to meet the Saviour face to face, like the crib figures, is down to will power and a heart-felt conviction. Do we want to make that journey? For those who are making it now and have done for centuries it needs no justification. As Ralph Washington Sockman once said: ‘The hinge of history is on the door of a Bethlehem stable.’ History was changed by that journey, and ‘his-story’ for each one of us can begin there too… and transform us.

May each of us consider making that personal journey this year and keep Christmas alive– a very happy and joy-filled season to you all!

(With thanks to Revd Alex Aldous, chaplain of Prestfelde Prep School, Shrewsbury)

A life well lived

In Easter week, the UK nation and our world mourned the passing of His Royal Highness, Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh. This is a man who has stood head and shoulders above so many, in countless different ways, and yet has served the country and his Queen with grace and humility, seeking never to extol his own successes or virtues. Only now has the general populous been privy to the vast array of his credentials and achievements but we have also had illuminating insight into the enormous influence he has held in so many areas of our national and international life.

I also want to add, by way of personal context, that Easter week was also one of mourning for the Reid family as my 96 year old father, Johnnie Reid, passed on, too. Whilst not well known, unlike Prince Philip, he also led a rich, varied and valuable life. Like the Prince he was a Naval man (Merchant Navy), and my Dad found himself working from Scotland to the Caribbean, Asia to Africa. He was a marine engineer and later came to work for twenty years in west Africa (where I was born) before returning to the UK and a multitude of roles and jobs including being a steward in a golf course, a security guard, a maintenance man and a gardener. Like Prince Philip, he was a man of loyalty (married, for example, for 66 years), someone of duty and integrity.

In reflecting on Prince Philip as a family man, he was in Her Majesty’s words ‘a constant strength and stay,’ ‘a rock’ and a source of counsel and refuge. My own father was all this, too, and not least to my mother. These are descriptions, as Christians, which we attribute to God, but it was through the Prince’s own faith and theological wrestling (qualities which I can’t claim for my father), as well as an openness and sympathy for the most ordinary of people that produced in him a spiritual and social roundedness which themselves are legacies for us to emulate. Forthright he undoubtedly was, and unafraid to speak his mind, but we are reminded that it was just before that first Easter when Christ himself, who did not stand on ceremony, overturned the tables in the temple and was open to misunderstanding by the reigning authorities.

In this past week, we have contemplated upon the agony of the cross as well as the triumph of the resurrection, and in our grief for someone so dear who has passed on, we reach out with the deepest sympathy to our beloved Queen and her family (and also to my mother and wider family in our own loss). However, we are also invigorated with Easter rising by so much of what we should all aspire to be in our own calling in life. Prince Philip’s name means ‘lover of horses,’ and ne’er was a name so apt. From expert polo player to dogged carriage driver, the picture of resurrection perhaps cannot be captured more poignantly than by the Old Testament picture of Elijah’s translation to heaven in a chariot of fire. This is one which indeed ‘spurs’ us on not to languish in grief but to set our faces towards the eternal, for as St Paul says in his triumphant declaration of Christ’s resurrection: ‘what is sown is perishable, what is raised is imperishable.’ In the crucible of death all our deeds, words, motives and intentions are tried by fire and what for each one of us is left that stands that is of lasting worth and has indelibly left its mark upon others for God’s kingdom?

We would like to think that over these past few days, the Duke will have received the heartening words from the True Giver of Rewards– ‘Well done, thou good and faithful servant, receive the gold award which awaits for you.’ As we have heard, it will not have been just for those things which are noticeable and public, but for the small, personal and unwitting acts of kindness for which he will be remembered – and here again I reflect on my father’s desire to do right by everyone. Prince Philip’s life and influence itself lays down the gantlet to us all and begs the question: what we will make of our lives, whether it be nine or ninety-nine for family, our friends, our nation and for the Kingdom of the Almighty? My Dad’s 96 years also challenges me to consider what being loyal, honest and loving really means – and to sustain these qualities over such a rich, varied and adventurous life.

(Blog with thanks to Revd. Alex Aldous, school chaplain)

Drops of grace as life stutters

As we approach the inauguration of the 46th President of the USA, we are being reminded that Joe Bidden is one among 3% of the world’s population who stutters – or stammers. Ed Balls, former MP, ‘Strictly star’ and Shadow Secretary of State for Education was once mocked in the House of Commons for stumbling over his words – someone else who stutters through life. I, too, count myself as part of this select 3%!

Not long ago I read in the Press about author Chris Young, who was trying to get in touch with his English teacher, a Miss Ward, from the late 1970s. Mr Young, who commended his teacher for supporting him after his mother died and his alcoholic father could not cope, tweeted: ‘I’d dropped into the bottom quarter for English at school. My English Teacher, Miss Ward, pulled me out of that ditch’. At the age of 13 years, Miss Ward ‘treated me like a rock star, loved what I wrote and got me to talk in front of the class’. He has now launched his first book!

I imagine (and I hope) that we all have memories of someone who has stood by us, encouraged us and ‘been there for us’ when the going got tough. Whilst my early life was very different from that of the gentleman above, I can also remember a teacher who impacted me positively and immeasurably – and who also gave me confidence to speak in front of others. Her name was Miss Margaret Maclaurin and she was my elocution teacher at Prep School in Scotland in the 1960s.

My parents lived and worked in West Africa and were in a remote area of Ghana when the time came for me to go to school aged five. There was nowhere suitable for me locally and so I came to board, aged five, at Drumley House Prep School near Ayr. Whilst I have only fond memories of my eight years at Drumley, at some point in my early years there I developed a stammer. This was possibly a result of the separation from my parents (although I usually spent my holidays with them in Ghana or, when home on leave, in Paisley). Miss Maclaurin came to my rescue! She saw me once a week for elocution lessons and during this time not only did I learn a few ‘tricks’ (such as how to avoid using words beginning in ‘p’ when feeling tired and stressed), I also learnt about speaking in public. Where this was once the most disarming place for me as a stutterer, it came to be a challenge which I relished. Miss M taught me to learn poetry off by heart so that when I declaimed I could concentrate on expression, modulation and emphasis and not have to worry about the words themselves.

As a Head I had to speak in public almost daily and owe a huge debt of gratitude towards Miss Maclaurin. It was a delight to visit her in her home when she had retired and I was newly married and to introduce her to my wife, Rosalyn. So engrossed were we in conversation that we quite forgot that Rosalyn had gone off to the bathroom (and somehow locked herself in) – but that’s another story!

So, a challenge for us all during a time when life is stuttering in another way: think of someone who has had a positive impact on our lives in years gone by and why not surprise them with a letter, a card, a call or even a visit – just to show appreciation. It might prove to be a ‘drop of grace’ in their life at this very moment. You’ll never know if you don’t try it – and who knows, someone may do it for you, too!

Where are you from?

How often in conversation, especially with those we have recently met, do we hear the question: ‘Where are you from?‘ Whilst travelling in India, especially on the trains, I would often be asked ‘Where is your native place?‘ Then the question might be, ‘What is your good name?‘ and even, ‘What is your salary?’

As a TCK (Third Culture Kid), I find this question difficult to answer. I will often pause momentarily to try and gauge the questioner’s actual interest in my answer – and then respond accordingly. I might mention where I am living currently (Redditch, UK) or simply say that I’m British. If I’m being a little mischievous I may say I am Scottish (and note the reaction). If pressed on the latter statement I will be forced to say that I have a Scottish father (and English mother) but went to school in Scotland and worked there for twelve years – where my three children were born. Usually by this point in an initial conversation the topic will move on – the questioner was probably not that interested in my origins and was simply being polite.

And yet for me, the question of where I’m from resonates deeply. I was born in Nigeria, lived in Ghana for 15 years and (as already indicated) attended boarding school in Scotland. I married at university and then worked in Bedford, England, for three years before moving to near Perth (Scotland – not Australia) for twelve and then crossed the Wall again to live in Cheltenham for five years. Thereafter, we all moved as a family to India for nine years before returning for a further nine years to the south coast of England and, more recently, to the English Midlands. That’s over 15 different houses in my married life of over forty years. So, which one is home?

As with most TCKs, it’s not what it says in my passport that identifies where home is for me. I don’t look typically Nigerian (nor Ghanaian) – nor do I appear to be from Asia – and yet there is something very homelike when I go to West Africa, even to India. It has something to do with the colours, the smells, the childhood memories and, especially, the warmth of the people. Each time I have moved on to a new location, there has been a wrench but the transition has become easier simply because I have done it several times before. It is less to do with place and more to do with people. Less to do with roots and more to do with rhythm in my life.

I have just finished reading Jo Swinney’s book, ‘Home: the quest to belong‘, and this has helped a great deal in making mores sense of the question, ‘Where are you from?’ Jo is also a TCK (she spent much of her early life in Portugal) and, interestingly, attended Dean Close in Cheltenham as a boarder at much the same time I was there in the late 1990s. As a Christian, Jo Swinney weaves her faith into the book but she is also very down to earth, frank and realistic. Like me, she is still on a journey to our eventual home – heaven (listen to Jesus’ words to His disciples about His Father’s house having many rooms) – but in the meantime concludes as follows, and this is good enough for me, too, for the present: ‘Home is the place where we live (now)…is among the people who love us…is our culture, the language we speak, the food we eat, the books we read and the jokes we find funny. Home is our country, the landscapes and weather systems and the architecture. Home is within ourselves. Home is where we belong, the place we come back to. Home is the end of our quest‘.