Travel Biography - Week 41.

Turning a Disability on its Head.

In Week 1 of this Travel Biography, I opened with my admiration for the BBC Travel Presenter Simon Reeve. His extroverted, laid-back presentations without ever first attending a private school or a university have made me a fan. However, there is another presenter, Chris Packham, who specifies on natural history for the BBC and also deserves my attention.

Unlike Reeve, Packham shined well at Bittern Park Secondary School (a Comprehensive today) with his sixth form at Taunton College before progressing to Southampton University where he gained a Bachelor of Science degree in Zoology before entering the world of journalism. 

On the Spectrum - Chris Packham.

Packham's experience at his school was very similar to mine, especially in sports. Like me, he was a loner, he had very few friends, he was bullied, and he was not into team sports. Instead, he loved nature and furthered his studies in the route of his main interest. And as I refer to his condition, he's on the Spectrum, my preferred way of referring to high-ended autism, or Asperger's Syndrome.

Asperger's Syndrome, discovered by a German Dr Hans Asperger in the 1940s, is a combined mental and emotional condition which restricts social reactions, thus tending to be loners. Chris Packham, although he has a non-resident partner in Charlotte Corney who owns a wildlife sanctuary, is in his 60s, and remains unmarried. Just like two well-educated men whom I know personally. One has a PhD in Genetics, the other a degree in Mathematics, and both remain single to this day. Both are regular churchgoers, neither had ever played in a sports team (other than school games) and both are on the Spectrum. As for international travel, neither of them would go abroad without their Christian travel agent, Oak Hall, with their escorted group tours.

And rather late in my life, it took a psychologist to reveal the answer to my lingering set of questions - why was I lacking in school team sports, especially in football (soccer) and rugby? And during those dreadful pre-game team captain selections, why was I always the last to leave the shelf? And in restaurants or pubs to this day, why was I always the quiet one in a group? According to her, the psychologist eventually diagnosed my condition - I too was on the Spectrum.

And this explains just about everything, from negative schooldays experience, very similar to Chris Packham's schooldays, to the positive take on international travel, which is on parallel terms with his love for wildlife. Therefore, I can say that, rather than allowing myself to be defeated by the syndrome, instead, I unknowingly used the condition to fulfil my dreams, meet my aspirations and experience adventure as a solo traveller. And so, a bug found its home in me in 1973, when I ascended the slopes of Mt Vesuvius and walked the streets of Pompeii. Or was the travel bug already residing in my soul right from birth? And was that demonstrated by the lone walks I did across London during my childhood, described in Week 1?

Therefore, to find myself as one of a group of five keen cyclists was a step outside my realm, a detour from the normal tracks of solo backpacking. Yet, as I mixed socially with both middle and working-class friends alike, without any barriers, this proved to be good for the soul, both theirs and mine.

The Take on Long-Distance Cycling and the Triathlon.

As documented in Week 30 of this Biography, my social life in the 1980s can be divided into two halves. From 1981 to 1985, I devoted my time to the studio of Hospital Radio, then known as Radio Heatherwood of NHS Heatherwood Hospital in Ascot, also the home of the famous Royal horse-racing venue. It was while I was serving as a presenter that I have gotten the idea of raising funds for the station through physical activity. At first, this took the form of a long-distance swim at the hospital nurse's pool next to the resident's grounds during a fund-raising fete. After that, I began to run the Bracknell Half-marathon for the same purpose of fund-raising through sponsorship from my window-cleaning clientele and friends at Bracknell Baptist.

I ran three half-marathons during the first half of the 1980s, which were also the years I visited France, especially Mont St Michel, Rouen, Rennes, Clermont Ferrand, and Paris. However, while I was swimming at Arthur Hill Pool in Reading in 1986, I became acquainted with one of the trainee lifesavers, Chris Treacher, a financial advisor who was also a member of Thames Valley Triathletes, or TVT, a triathlon club also based in Reading, and at that time, met on Monday and Wednesday evenings at South Reading Leisure, and at the Meadway School swimming pool in West Reading, on Fridays. It was after training on Fridays that some of the regulars made their way to the Pizza Hut in the town centre for a late evening social over dinner.

At the Newcastle to Reading Charity Ride, 1989.

Thus, during the late eighties and into the nineties, I was committed to the multi-discipline sport of the Triathlon, a combination of swimming, cycling and running within a single race. Open-water triathlons usually had a mass start, like in any other race, a crowd of lycra-clad athletes dashing straight into the sea or large lake. The Swanage Triathlon, the Open Water Triathlon at Stubbers, Upminster, and the Bananaman Championships at Fairlop Waters in Romford, Essex, had a mass-start swim where I competed in all three of these events. 

Staggered start triathlons were normally at swimming pools, and the event was more of a time trial than a race. Such events I completed were at Wokingham, Newbury, Farnham, Winchester, Eastbourne, and East Grinstead. 

Although I competed in triathlons around Southern England, for events held at Winchester, Eastbourne, East Grinstead, Romford, Swanage, and Upminster, train travel (all of them alone, and not with the club) was a necessity with a pre-event overnight stay at a hotel or hostel. This included Upminster, entailing the only Underground train journey completed by loading my bike on the District Line train at Embankment Station after alighting at London Waterloo. It looks to me that by loading a bicycle on an Underground train, I made history! At Swanage, Winchester, and Eastbourne, I stayed at a Youth Hostel, and at a hotel in Romford, Upminster, and East Grinstead. For Farnham, Wokingham and Newbury, the overnight stay at or near the venue wasn't necessary.

As for long-distant cycling, two venues where the 100-mile 162 km circuit was completed, the 1991 Salisbury Century in Wiltshire and the 1992 Norwich Century in Norfolk, and for each, there were only two of us in the crowd, Gareth Philips and me. We completed each circuit in good time, although there was a mandatory lunch break at the fifty-mile point. Indeed, the ride was more for charity fundraisers than fast, competitive cyclists. But what made the Norwich ride more interesting was that the city hostel was closed for a conference to be held on the same day as the ride. So I wrote to the hostel's warden, explaining about the ride organised by Bike Events. The response I received was that the conference was postponed to make way for the Century Ride. When we arrived at the Norwich Hostel, the dormitory was occupied not by men in suits but by riders in lycra.

The 1989 Newcastle-upon-Tyne to Reading Charity Ride.

But I'm jumping ahead of time here. As a member of Thames Valley Triathletes, in 1989, the father of one of the club Committee members, Don Rawson, and members of the Reading Lions teamed up on a fundraising project to buy a minibus to transport senior citizens and the disabled in the Reading area. And so, through sponsorship, a 300-mile 483 km three-day ride from Newcastle-upon-Tyne to Reading cycle ride was organised to cover the August Bank Holiday. This group, a mix of Reading Lions with TVT, consisted of eleven all-male cyclists and one female co-ordinator who drove the van that stored our bikes, accessories, and a crate of bananas during the three days and nights we were away from home. I was the last to join the group after they accepted my request a few weeks earlier.

After travelling in the van from Reading to Newcastle, we spent our first night squeezed together in the lounge of a private home, obviously known by Don Rawson, and possibly even related. By the next morning, in pretty miserable but mild weather and some light rain, we assembled on Tyne Bridge spanning the river of the same name, and we set off.

And yes, I became the centre of attention when first my rear tyre punctured. The whole team had to stop whilst my tire was changed by fitting a spare tube taken from the accompanying van. Then later on in the ride, it happened again, this time with the front tyre! I became the butt of jokes as the rest of the team expressed their frustration! But that was the risk when riding a bicycle with high-pressure tyres over wet ground. Any sharp particle would more likely cling to the tyre and the wheel roll over the sharp object when wet, rather than the shard flying off when the ground and tyre were dry.

Eventually, by early evening, we arrived at Thirsk, Yorkshire, after less than seventy miles of riding. And Don Rawson got to talk with the Mayor of Thirsk, who organised a banquet for all of us after we showered and changed. Then we each bedded down on the floor on an inflatable mat inside the town's Community Hall. 

The next day, after breakfast, we set off for the next leg of our journey. This was to be over 150 miles long, totalling 216 miles from Newcastle. This was of concern for some of the members who had milometers fitted on their bikes, and ensuring that they were all properly calibrated, so each gave the same reading independently. Their aim was to crack over 300 miles in three days.

Fortunately, a strong tailwind picked up, a northeasterly, and this drove us to ride fast along the A19 dual carriageway. The weather and the ground were dry and there were no more punctures. Imagine a line of cyclists, one behind the other, riding single file and feeling as if we were an express train at full speed. That's how I felt.

We arrived at Market Harborough in Leicestershire around tea time, earlier than scheduled. This gave me a chance to have a bit of a wander around to check out the market town. Unlike in Thirsk, there was no one to greet us personally, and again, after showering and changing at a particular venue, we had dinner at a local Pizza Hut restaurant. We then finished the evening with a bit of fun and games before we settled down for our final night away from home.

All of us at Market Harborough.

The next morning, Bank Holiday Monday, we once again set off for another day's riding. The weather was good, with warm sunshine. In contrast to the previous day's ride which was flat and fast, this leg, although just over ninety miles long, nevertheless, would be hilly, with the Chilterns to contend with. By the time we arrived at Reading, which was again around teatime and on schedule, we would have covered a total of 302 miles altogether. Our aim was fully met.

In Reading, another celebration banquet was laid on, after which we returned to Don Rawson's home in Woodley, a village east of Reading. It was here that my punctured tyres were repaired and refitted before eventually cycling home in good spirits.

Indeed, I might have Asperger's, according to the psychologist, but rather than it defeating me socially, this adventure proves that I was able to turn it on its head and benefit from it.

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Next Week: On yer bike - the Big One!

A Cry to God from the Boardwalk.

Something strange happened this week. A strange situation bringing on an odd feeling. For the first time in my life, and for the first time ever in the lives of everyone who was not old enough to fight in the last World War, the closing of all pubs, coffee bars, cafes, restaurants, as well as gyms, swimming pools, golf courses and leisure centres in general, has all brought a kind of either a fearful or a melancholic shroud across the whole nation.

As someone said online, to tell an average Briton not to go to the pub is like telling a dog not to bark. Indeed, the old tavern and its unique atmosphere have been around within our shores for centuries. Even the early nineteenth-century author Charles Dickens wrote about how the young parochial runaway Oliver Twist was escorted into a tavern by Jack Dawkins the pickpocket. This goes to show that even in 1837 when the book was first written and the railway was in its fledgeling stage of development, the tavern was already a long-established social hub.

A pub in London.

And thus, this morning, the shutters remained closed over the entrance into Starbucks Coffee from Sainsbury's superstore, the latter with some of the shelving already cleared of essential items by panic-buyers, whose huge trolleys are filled to brimming as if to feed a regiment for weeks on end or to face an imminent famine of Biblical proportions. All of a sudden the world has changed to resemble an apocalyptic age, the sort of science-fiction movie scenario where the whole of humanity is facing extinction, whether by an intergalactic invasion or warfare - or from an unknown viral pandemic.

And so, no Starbucks cappuccino this morning for the first time since 2015, and looking as if I won't be sitting at that particular table with the newspaper spread out "until further notice" which really means indefinitely. Then if I were to ride past our local leisure centre, its main entrance would be shut and inside, the swimming pool steeped in deep silence and without a ripple, all the recently-installed gym apparatus standing quietly still, and the squash courts silent from the all-familiar crack of a small rubber ball hitting the wall with full force, which was one of my main pastimes throughout the late 1970s, into the eighties.

Never in my lifetime had I witnessed such lockdown on a national scale. Really, I find it all quite scary. Indeed, may the very last person leaving our planet please turn off the lights. But with Winter packing his bags and preparing to leave for another year as Spring lays his hand on Winter's shoulder from behind, there is a look of hope in the environment. The sun is higher in the sky during midday, the grass looks greener, birds sing in the trees as the bare branches prepare to bud into leaf, daffodils and crocuses beautify the lawns. In and around our ponds, two of them within the vicinity where we live, ducks, swans and geese intermingle with hardly a dispute among them all.

Usually, I love this time of the year. The Easter eggs sold in colourful packages means to me to be far more than a pleasant taste in the mouth. Rather they symbolise a rebirth of a new season when the whole land begins to bloom with colour as the weather gets warmer, the days longer and the nights shorter. And of course, for us Christian believers, the holiday commemorates the death of our Lord Jesus Christ by crucifixion, his burial and his resurrection three days later, on that early Sunday morning. Without a doubt, the most important three-in-one event ever to have taken place throughout the whole of human history. Such an event no human endeavour was ever able to match to this day, no matter how advanced scientific knowledge have reached.

But now something happened, and it's not at all nice. Something like a shroud covering the whole land. And all caused by a tiny invader which travelled in an aeroplane without first buying an air ticket. And so this unwelcome immigrant has taken hold, killing thousands across Europe and infecting many more. And Britain is not exempt.

With English posh boys setting off to the Alps for a school skiing holiday and then returning home infected, I find it an easy temptation to feel angry towards them. Spoilt brats, bringing misery and death to our land! But I'm also quick to admit that none of this was their fault. If they had already known about the epidemic before take-off, no doubt they would have cancelled the trip or switch to another destination. Therefore, there's no point in being angry. Only I would suffer the consequence and nobody else benefit.

But throughout the past week, I was literally trembling with fear. I admit I was afraid to die, leaving my beloved behind as a grieving widow, unable to live on her own due to the poorness of her own physical health, even if otherwise she's quite capable. But equally terrifying, if not more so, is the thought of watching her fall ill with the virus and die. With more than twenty years in a deep, loving relationship, how could I revert to life as a singleton? Indeed, in both cases, heaven can wait.

Image of Coronavirus.

Therefore what a terrible shock it was last Friday when I arrived home from swimming. There she was, lying on the sofa, coughing endlessly. As cold, naked fear took hold of me, I dialled 111 (a UK non-emergency contact with the NHS) and asked for advice. Since she had not left the UK, there was no Covid-19 test. Instead, she was told to remain indoors for the next seven days, which she had now completed. That same evening, her cough had quickly stopped as suddenly as it started. I was so much relieved. Earlier, after I phoned 111, I posted her condition on Facebook. One of my friends wrote back, saying that he "commanded the illness to leave her in the name of Jesus" aloud in his own home. Shortly afterwards, her coughing stopped, her eyes glowed like jewels, and felt a lot better. Whether her recovery was a direct link to the command or coincidental, I can never be sure.

This is because I have always been sceptical with these "healing ministries" after having some unsound experiences with them in the past. But there is one issue I will never doubt, and that is, God is with us. And I say this when I feel that God is not with us for one reason or another, whether due to a faulty faith or participating in some sin.

And as the days pass, my emotion rose to elation and fell to despair. And this fall to despair can happen suddenly and unexpectedly, triggered by a passing thought. And it was one afternoon when taking a stroll through a park when such a plunge into distress came upon me. A section of the park consists of marshland inhabited by a forest of tall reeds. A boardwalk crosses it. It was here, that I first made sure that I was alone, and have had to wait for a couple of people to disperse, I began to pray aloud, admitting our transgressions and calling on God to forgive, and to keep the virus from coming anywhere near us.

Such a prayer also included a confession that we have as a nation has transgressed, and sinned against him by turning away from the truth to embrace a lie, the lie of Darwinian Evolution in place of the belief in Divine Creation. As such, the Gospel has become non-effective as we pursue Science. 

O God, forgive our sins and send the Holy Spirit into our hearts and allow him to turn our hearts back to you, O God, and be saved.

With the threat continuing to close in, with the number of confirmed cases of infection rising, along with the corresponding number of deaths also rising as a result of the disease, I feel totally helpless, fearing my wife catching an infection, and totally powerless to stop it. It is during such feelings of despair that I need to remind myself of this piece of Scripture:

For God was in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting men's sins against them.  

2 Corinthians 5:19.

Therefore when, from time to time, I come across articles written by Christians saying that this coronavirus is a punishment sent by God to a nation for the sin of national apostasy, I cringe. Maybe God has allowed the virus to spread so rapidly, but I believe there is a big difference between God allowing such to happen and actually the disease sent by God. God in Christ reconciling the world to himself, not counting the trespasses of mankind against them - can be hard to believe at times but it's still true nevertheless. Today is the day of grace, of salvation. This is the year of God's favour, with the day of God's wrath still in the future, and it will remain in the future as long as the Church (universal body of Christians) is still here.

In the book of Revelation, a specific incident takes place where Jesus Christ the Lamb of God is standing before his Father. He then gives the Son a sealed scroll which no other man is worthy to open the scroll and to look inside - chapter  5. The reason for this is simple. Every one of us, both the angels and all mankind, are all God's creation. Therefore only the Creator is worthy to open the scroll, and Jesus Christ, the second person of the Trinity and therefore God himself, is indeed the Creator. Therefore the Earth can only be punished directly by God after this scroll has been opened. 

At present, the scroll is not open. It's still sealed. Therefore, this present coronavirus outbreak is not from either of the four apocalyptical horsemen sent from heaven, as these Christian writers make out to be. The scroll is not yet open and it will not be opened whilst all the churches are still here with us.

Only yesterday I had cycled to a garden centre in Bagshot, another town several miles from home, to buy some cactus feed. As I strolled along the aisle between displays, I found a quiet spot where I can pray without disturbing anyone, and there and then I felt that indeed, I am a son of God, a born-again Christian believer. And so is Alex my beloved wife. It was a moment of peace I felt within as I stepped outside to look at the water features on display for sale.

I have Asperger's Syndrome or AS. That means, in a fallen world, from gestation onwards, my brain is not wired up properly. This involves difficulty in casual group communication such as in a pub or restaurant. It shouldn't be looked down upon. One prominent BBC naturalist presenter, Chris Packham, not only has AS but he used his condition in his favour to be both a successful author and a TV presenter he is today. I know two more friends, both with AS, one with a high enough IQ to be a member of Mensa, and another with a PhD. Yet with me, it could well be Asperger's Syndrome which causes me to physically tremble with fear at the slightest threat.

BBC TV presenter and author Chris Packham.

It could be Asperger's Syndrome that opens a way for doubt of salvation to creep in, making me afraid of death and of Hell. It could be AS which causes me to think that Alex too will perish. And lately, my fears of this coronavirus could be stirred by AS. Actually, I personally believe it is.

I do believe with all sincerity that AS can breach a chink in my spiritual armour, allowing the adversary to push his lies through it. Asperger's Syndrome affects each patient differently. With me, it engenders fear but not necessarily in others with the same condition.

Although I have been a Christian believer for the last 47 years, I still yet to be freed from this malady.

A Deafening Silence in Reading...

One of the joys of retirement is that I can just jump on a train during the middle of the week instead of burdening myself down on my daily work routine, whether it's to satisfy my employer or to ensure that the fees from every client I serve are keeping my bank account topped up. Both forms of employment - working for a boss (12 years) and working for myself (35 years) adds up to 47 years of useful employment and, I hope, a worthwhile contribution to society. 

According to the conversations I had with a number of former clientele, I have found that the 47 years of my working life is generally longer than those who work in the professions, the latter which begins after leaving University at around 22 years of age and retiring at sixty on a private or work pension, making the pro's working lifespan of 38 years. And as for me to retire at 63 instead of the compulsory 65 years of age for State Pension eligibility was mainly due to health. My cardiac procedure has made carrying heavy equipment by hand difficult enough to reduce the five-day working week to three-day for the last three months before retiring in early Autumn of 2015.

And now I'm free to board a train to Reading or even to London midweek, which I find more fulfilling than at weekends, which was the norm before retirement. Watching office workers out on their lunch break, dressed in a suit yet, in this present day, minus a tie, which is something unnoticeable at weekends. And also find myself mingling among schoolchildren of both genders in their uniform and all having to wear a tie. A reminisce of my own school days more than half a century earlier, when I had to wear full uniform and tie under the threat of punishment from our P.E. master.

Suit minus tie - Prince William.

By means of a snap decision, I began to stroll casually west towards an attraction which meant so much to me, spanning right back to the late sixties. It was Reading's Central Pool, and after work during the early seventies, I use to go there for an evening's swim, as well as visiting at weekends, which usually get crowded, mainly with out-of-school adolescents, but some adults also turn up, who were mainly parents of younger children, along with a few pensioners. Therefore, serious swimming can be hard done by during the weekend, hence preferring a weekday visit.

However, I wanted more than just lane swimming, and after making inquiries and speaking to lifeguards on duty, in 1972, I joined Reading Life-Saving club, back then the only club throughout Berkshire which specialises in Water Safety. This involves improvement in existing swimming skills as well as learning new skills, both in and out of the water, and an accumulation of knowledge in human anatomy - in my mind, an area of Science which should have been dealt with at school.

As I dwelt into memory, I recalled passing the qualification exam, both practical and theory, just before Christmas of 1972, and about the same time I was converted to Christ. This meant that in 1973, I was able to land a job at Central Pool in Reading as Pool Attendant, joining a team of four people (men, actually) patrolling the poolside. Although spiritually I was a babe in Christ, and maybe that was why I was a proud cock-of-the-walk at the poolside, as being a qualified lifesaver has always been a requirement for the job, with intermittent tests carried out throughout our time there, along with further in-job coaching or brushing up if necessary.

And so this week as I stood there, outside a two-metre high hoarding encircling the site where the pool building once stood. Painted brilliant white and completely free from ad posters and with hardly any graffiti, I sauntered around the outside of the enclosed area, looking for a way to satisfy my burning curiosity of what lies within such an impenetrable barrier. It was when I passed a lampost that I noticed a small peephole directly behind it, but enough to look into a flat, rubble-strewn ground resembling somewhat to a pebble beach. On one side a pile of rubble rising from the site where the changing cubicles and cloakroom use to be.

Oh, it was so sad. Being just outside of the town centre, the pre-war residences of terraced housing predating the 1960s pool building now overlooks the enclosed rubble. With the demolition contractors having already moved out, the area was quiet, deserted, an air of stillness hanging over the site where it once echoed with children splashing and shouting, the raised voice of the swimming instructor booming across the cavernous chamber, the cheering of spectators during a swimming gala, the amplified calls through the tannoy for all with a certain colour wristband to please leave the pool, the slamming and lock-clicking of cubicle doors, the hustle and bustle of people entering and leaving, an occasional child crying along with some adolescent bickering, the constant sound of splash, splash, splash, both from the main pool and also from the adjoining diving pool, above which the ten-metre high platform held a challenge to the nerves of any would-be diver.

Now all was still, all was quiet, a miniature and inaccessible semi-desert on the edge of town, and here am I, wondering what will be built there. I think it will be a block of apartments. Well, I hope so. Because a shining new office block would never hold a candle to the joviality of a year-round indoor leisure facility.

Central Swimming Pool, Reading. Opened in 1967.

Being a day of reminiscence was enforced by the fact that just the day before I boarded the train to Reading, it was my eldest daughter's 18th birthday, the day she comes of age. And that had quite a repercussion for both my wife and myself. Because she, along with her younger sister, was taken from us against our will for eventual adoption, knowing that she had just come of age without us raising her up. She had just turned four when she was taken, and her younger sister was approaching her first birthday. Yet Alex and I will never forget that fateful night of February 2005 when a knock on the door at three in the morning was answered with two Police officers and a social worker barging into our house and running upstairs, then back down with our two sleepy daughters in their arms and my wife left screaming hysterically upstairs.

The next morning we found the silence unbearable. Therefore we kept our hi-fi constantly playing. I was unable to work that day. It was a Friday anyway when most of the week's work was already done. Unable to tolerate the silence at home, I booked a hotel for an overnight stay for both of us in London. It was that evening, at the Trocadero bowling alley near Picadilly Circus, that I burst into tears in public and allowed myself to cry without restraint. Indeed, just as a heavy silence hangs over the site where once was jovialty and bustling life, so an awful silence hangs over our lounge where just the day before was a hive of family activity.

What was it that caused our beloved daughters to be taken away for adoption, against our will? It took months for us to find out. And a friendly Psychologist revealed that which we were totally unaware of, although I have heard of it before. Two friends of mine, both with very high IQs, have it. Asperger's Syndrome.

I was too embarrassed to look at the world with open eyes. My hatred of our original social worker, Wendy, remained intense for months to come. How my pent-up rage and desire for revenge remained unfulfilled! Her arrogance, her atheism and her sense of personal, social and ethnic superiority were beyond a joke. She was even astonished that I owned a mobile phone and rendered us as far too stupid to understand what it means to be online on an Internet website. Too bad that in those days we did not have the Internet, even though she still expressed surprise that we owned a desktop computer.

Fortunately, she was given a month's notice to clear her desk soon after our daughters were taken, having been refused to renew her contract. But even long after she had gone, both my rage was thunderingly loud and the silence in the house was equally deafening. It took quite an effort to sit down before God and ask for the ability to forgive Wendy for everything she had done to us. This was made more difficult by the fact that she wasn't around anymore, and therefore unable to sit down and talk it all out. But forgiveness for her did come. It was later that I learned that by forgiving Wendy in her absence is doing myself great favour. The day I forgave Wendy was the day I was set free from the anger for my own sake, and not for her sake.

But knowing that I have Asperger's Syndrome has answered some mysteries in my life which had always puzzled me. For example, at school, why wasn't I good at team sports, especially in football and rugby? Why had I never felt a sense of team belonging? And at any social meeting, such as in a restaurant or bar, why am I usually the quiet one?

And in a church environment, I do find "fellowshipping" difficult. And I don't mean coffee and doughnuts. Such refreshment is the easy bit. What I do find difficult is interrelationships, especially in a small group.

And I can relate a good example just over a week ago. At a local church, there is a monthly informal group meeting for all those in the fellowship who have an Apple computer or those who are interested in such a brand of technology. First of all, I don't own an Apple computer, the laptop I own runs on Microsoft (did I get that right?) But even if I did own an Apple, the meeting would still be outside my realm.

But in recent weeks, Google had decided to close the Google+ account, which was connected to this Blogger page. Therefore this group decided to centre this month's meeting to the loss of Google+ as I will also be personally affected by it. So, for a one-off, I decided to attend.

There were nine of us, most were around my age, but I sat next to Dr Andrew Milnthorpe, a good friend of mine and a regular attendee of the group. He was the only one who helped me feel a slither of a welcome. Otherwise, I felt lost there. And I think that it was not that I wasn't welcome. Instead, they did not know how I should feel welcomed. Their knowledge of computers and its software is well above my realm of understanding.

But I am convinced that the bottom line cause of this isolationism is not that I'm too stupid to understand technology. Rather, it's down to having Asperger's syndrome. The inability to communicate.

10-metre high Diving Platform, Central Pool.

Asperger's Syndrome is a result of the Fall and the inherent sinful nature as a result. But it's not earned by wilful sinning. Rather it is a genetic defect which occurred at conception. It is not even inherited by either of my parents. I have a younger brother, a good businessman, and he does not have Asperger's Syndrome. Neither has any of his three daughters. I was the unlucky one.

The loss of our children brought great distress to us, but there are three positive outcomes. First, instead of running away from God, we ran towards him, calling out for help and to be filled with his Holy Spirit. Secondly, we relied on each other's strength to support each other and by making our marriage strong and robust. I'm happy to say, with all honesty, that disagreements between us are extremely rare. We enjoy a strong, loving marriage, especially since my beloved had lost her full mobility caused by the stress brought by the loss of our daughters.

And thirdly and no less important, we chose to forgive. Especially forgiving Wendy and setting us free from the emotional perils that would otherwise eat us up.

In Reading, there was life and bustle at the Central Swimming Pool. Now there is silence. At home, there was once life and bustle among our two daughters. Now also silence, but like in Reading, the bustle of daily living can only be revived by rebuilding on the firm foundations after the removal of all the rubble which occupied our lives.

A Genetic Defect...

A typical evening social. It could be a group of Christian men sitting at an extended table at an Indian restaurant. This particular group being of the Ascot Life Men's Curry Club, which is part of our church social agenda. Or I could be one of a smaller group of secular friends enjoying a drink at a pub. Or it could be a group of lifeguards sitting around a bar table over a drink, following a pool training session on how to save a swimmer in trouble, together with resuscitation techniques. Never mind that a time gap of more than forty years separate the Reading Life Saving Club (no longer in existence) from the Ascot Life Men's Curry Club. The circumstance has always been the same. While all the others are engaged in conversation, I sit quietly by, taking it all in - unless the subject under discussion is one I'm particular interested in. 

The subject in discussion could be about football (soccer, England's national sport) along with type of car ownership, political issues, computer technology, project details or problems at work (office), money matters, or just general chit-chat - for example, some odd or amusing incidents which had added some colour to the otherwise mundane daily grind. Most of these had never aroused much interest. This could be because I know too little about the topic to make a worthy contribution into the conversation. Yet if there were just two of us - just one other person with me sitting at the bar table - then even for me, the most boring subject - football, car ownership, insurance, or intricate computer technology - these could still stir a healthy and lengthy conversation between the two of us. But never so well in a group.

Unless it's a topic that would stir my spirit. Such as Jesus Christ and the Bible, religion in general, travel, individual sports such as running and cycling, together with the triathlon, along with anything which can ignite a conversational spark whilst in company. So in a social group, Christian or secular, I tend to be the quiet one. Something I had noticed for decades and could not understand why. Neither could I cope with any notion of recording my voice on tape, like I did when I was a youth. This was because my accent is, and always have been, unusual. It has nothing to do with Italian origin as some had suggested. Listening to any Italian speak, sure enough, he may gesticulate wildly as a typical stereotype, but his tone of voice will not be unlike any other "normal" masculine accent. Then I wonder whether my social impediment and accent could have been linked with a prolonged bachelorhood. After all, I did not marry until I was 47 years old.

But having this accent has put me at a disadvantage. That is, what ever I say seems to have not been taken seriously by others. I even wonder whether, even in the subconscious, there may be a connection between disregard of both my vocal and written contribution and remaining quiet during a social. I eventually became aware there was something wrong when after our daughters were born, the health visitor made a reference about us to social services. To cut a long story short, our beloved girls were eventually taken for adoption. It was a shock which shook the very foundations of the Earth. And it was during the parental assessments prior to the adoption when a long session with a psychologist that a diagnosis was made. I discovered that I was on the mild end of the Autism Spectrum, with Asperger's Syndrome, or A.S.

Although I have already heard of A.S, I never suspected that I had it. Yet I could see straight away that this is the answer why I am who I am. But it could have been much worse. The other end of the spectrum, which is in the realm of severe autism, this often goes hand-in-hand with mental retardation, or slow-learning. If I had been there, then I wouldn't have been allowed out of the house (or institution) without constant supervision - let alone backpacking the world on my own! Instead, the psychologist also revealed a positive side of the assessment - that my intelligence quotient was high average - a trait common among men with Asperger's Syndrome.

This brings to mind a Christian friend of mine (not in my church). The psychologist, most likely the same person who assessed me, has revealed to him that he too has Asperger's Syndrome. A few years younger than me, his voice tone is rather high pitched and authoritative, which tend to stand out in a group conversation. And he remains single to this day, which might have been the reason for consulting a psychologist in the first place. But when it comes to intelligence, this man is way above me. Not only had he graduated at university with a maths degree and also being fluent in French, but his learning abilities has qualified him for Mensa membership. It is this high intelligent quotient and dual language that has enabled him to fit in a group social better than I could, because of his rich knowledge and impressive talk. His liking of sport tends to be towards badminton and squash rackets, the latter he regularly competed with me during the 1980's, around thirty years ago. But when it came to overseas trips, unlike me, he preferred the comfort and security of group travel, usually with the Christian holiday company Oak Hall.

But what I find rather remarkable is that although he is a Christian, he favours Evolution over Divine Creation. Of all his cleverness, I find this to be an anomaly. What is the actual cause of A.S. even experts cannot be certain. But it's most likely a genetic defect, either handed down at conception or maybe occurring during gestation (Mum lived in London whilst carrying me throughout 1952 - a city known for its thick smog before the Air Pollution Act of 1955 and the Clean Air Act of 1963 were passed). As a young boy, I recall the outside of nearby Victoria Station literally black with soot before 1963, when a massive clean-up programme got underway. If either the London smog played a role in the development of A.S. whilst in the womb, or whether it's a genetic defect handed down from either side of the family, then this must be more to having been a victim of Natural Selection rather than a beneficiary. In other words, the law of entropy at work with the downward trend from high-ordered complexity of initial Creation, to a state of disorder and degeneration of the genome. This seems to fly in the face of Darwinism rather than support it. Yet despite such obvious evidence, my Christian friend still believes in the gradual upward trend of biological and genetic evolution.

Which brings to mind the Holy Scriptures. The psychologist has noted that people with A.S. has a greater tendency to lean towards spiritual matters, and likely to be more accepting of religion. And here is where I believe the Bible has played a major role in development of intelligence. When I wore the school tie during the sixties, not only did I suffer from A.S. - even if this was still unrecognised back then - but I was further down the spectrum. That is to say I was a slow learner, although not to the level of retardation, since I was still allowed to be out and about without supervision. During Spring of 1968, I left school without any qualifications, a status which "condemned" me to a life of unskilled manual labour.

It was less than five years after throwing out the school tie that something occurred towards the end of 1972. Some time afterwards, I voluntarily enrolled for evening classes at a local college. The first subject I took on was General Certificate of Education: Ordinary Level, or G.C.E. "O" Level English Language. I passed the exam which I should have left school with. Later I decided to give Geography a try. Again I walked away with another G.C.E. certificate under my arm. If only I kept up the motivation. I could have walked out of college with a biology certificate, and maybe a history or physics certificate as well, which either along with the other two, could have qualified me for a clerical occupation - a massive step in vocational progress. However, in both these cases I had already flown the nest to set up home in a bachelor's apartment, therefore there was nobody else at home with me to urge me on. Yet I still passed both exams. But I didn't believe that mere maturing of the mind as I grew older was the only groundwork, although this most likely have played a part as well. Instead, over the years I became convinced that in addition there was another factor which played an important role.

Constant reading of the Bible since conversion to Jesus Christ in December 1972 has without a doubt played a major role in the heightening of intelligence quotient. Perhaps I could be wrong in this, but according to years of observation, there seems to be a definite connection between Bible reading and higher I.Q. This applies to others as well as to myself. And this also applies to atheists alongside believers. For example, famous atheist and scientist Richard Dawkins knows his Bible well. By his own admission, he sat through Christian assemblies during his school days when he attended Oundle Public School in Northamptonshire, known for its affiliation with the Anglican Church. There he embraced Christianity until about age sixteen, when after reading Bertrand Russell's book Why I'm Not A Christian, he began to believe that the works of Charles Darwin to be far more to his liking than Holy Scripture. Although without a doubt, Dawkins was most likely to have been born with a high average I.Q. - I wouldn't put it past him that Bible knowledge gained throughout his school days had enhanced his quotient.

Christopher Hitchens is another example of an Independent School student. From thirteen years of age he attended the Methodist-affiliated Leys Boarding School in Cambridge, where Christianity was the central core of all education. Along with attending services held at the school chapel several times a week including Sundays, Hitchens must have accumulated much knowledge of Holy Scripture before attending Balliol College in Oxford. Unfortunately the raising of his I.Q. by studying the Bible resulted in setting against Holy Scripture from which later this author wrote books such as God Is Not Great, and The Portable Atheist, along with his other writings, including his critique over the British fetish with the Royal Family. Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, along with Sam Harris, and not to forget Bertrand Russell, all with brilliant intellects. All these academics have demonstrated a high familiarity with Holy Scripture and thorough knowledge of the Bible, as revealed in their books.

Among Christians, the vast majority of British Christian males of my age range and younger, according to my own observation across a time span of over forty years, have attended grammar school, followed by university graduation and then successfully holding down a profession. A large percentage of Christian men who held degrees were raised in Christian homes, although this does not rule out a minority of graduates with non-believing parents who made it into university and were converted there. But in general, I have found that children growing up in Christian homes and are fully familiar with the Bible are more likely to attend grammar schools followed by university graduation. This seems to be endorsed by the presence of the Christian Union, a student-run group found in all colleges and looks be be popular and well-attended. In turn, I have known men who were converted to Christ later in life but still retained their manual jobs. Two builders I once knew were in this group, along with myself who was converted at twenty years of age yet had never graduated. But apart from these, working-class men are very far and few-between within a typical English church.

If I'm right about what I have seen over the years, then although a vast majority of present-day undergraduates are unbelievers, far more Christians, along with those familiar with the Bible are likely to graduate than those who don't. And Christians who never made it into university are those more likely having met their Lord later in life. What I have observed over the years looks to have backed up my own assessment that reading the Bible and becoming familiar with it has the potential of raising the reader's Intelligence Quotient.

Nevertheless, I was never set free from Asperger's Syndrome. It's still there. But not only being familiar with Holy Scripture has raised my I.Q. but has provided spiritual strength for us as a couple to pass through the fires of Hell when our daughters were taken away from us, yet Hell was unable to break us. Our marriage remains strong and robust. Each day I want to love my wife as Christ loves the church and gave himself up for it. A sacrificial love for my wife emanating the love Christ has for his people. Today I attended a friend's wedding (yes, both bride and groom were Christian graduates - an inspiration for this blog). During the public prayer section of the ceremony, I exhorted them to read their Bibles every day. Read their Bibles every day and feast on the goodness of God's holy Word, and Hell will always remain powerless to break them or destroy their marriage. 

Our God Is Great!-How I Believed

Easter weekend 2012. This time of the year we remember the death of Jesus Christ by crucifixion, and his Resurrection three days later. What love! What joy! That Christ loves us enough to take upon himself every sin we have, and will commit, upon himself. So we can be with him, our maker, in Heaven for ever!

It had to think hard before writing this article, but I guess, being Easter, I decided to take the risk and do something I was reluctant to do in the past - but felt it was something I always wanted to do for a long time - to open up and to reveal that no matter how dark our lives has been in the past, God is in control. God is sovereign, therefore I have nothing to fear what other people may think. God loves me as I am.

I flown the nest in 1976, then aged 23. To me, I thought that was old, because I had friends attending our church fellowship who had graduated from their universities and colleges, having left home at 18 years of age. I guess I envied their independence, to be free from the restricting house rules imposed by my Italian parents. Rules such as not to stay up too late. Then the want of the freedom to go out in the evenings to paint the town red, and not be asked either one of those dreadful questions:
Where have you been last night? Or What did you get up to last night? Or even, What time did you get home last night?

To be asked such questions in my early twenties while knowing that students younger than myself were greeted by an empty apartment or college room co-occupied by one or two fellow students really got up my goat! This might have been the start of my feelings of inferior complex, that I was not trusted by my parents for the reason, as I believed then, that I was rubbish at school. In fact, I clearly remember my Dad back then telling me in so many words that these students have proven worthy of their greater independence at a younger age. Massive arguments broke out as a result. In 1976 I found it a joy that I was given a bedsit accommodation by the Council which was the necessary launch pad to start out on a life of my own.

It was after a long while after moving out that I began to feel closer to my parents with a greater warmth. But being single, I still kept them at a distance. At least our loud disagreements began to be the thing of the past.

Being single, even on my own, had mixed blessings. True, I was able to stay up until two in the morning and no one would bat an eyelid. Ditto if I suddenly decided to go away for a couple of days, and in the 1980s, this was a frequent occasion. As a competitive triathlete, many a Saturday night was spent at a hotel in the location where the event would be staged early the following morning, as the Sunday roads would be considerably free of traffic. Then not to mention my backpacking days, where I traveled solo across Western Europe, then to Israel, Canada, the USA, Singapore and Australia. The things I can do as a single person. This is testimony that God had his protective hand on me by pure grace. I did not have to work to receive it.

But being single also had its downsides. I found relationships with the opposite sex very difficult, if not impossible. I lacked confidence, I had a speech impediment, I was into a manual occupation - something our middle-class church girls, as it looked, wouldn't be seen dead with. I was also a loner, not good with team work, and enjoyed reading rather than play footie with the boys (as many of my church friends of my age did).

But that is precisely where God stepped in. After conversion to Christ, one of my greatest joys is studying the Bible. I also poured into books written by trustworthy authors to help me get a better grips with the Bible. The end result was my love for Israel, the nation and its people, and the prophetic plans God has for them.

Then in 1998 I found Alex, my future wife. I was already 47 at the time. We married ten months later during the Autumn of 1999. My first daughter was born in 2001, three years later, my second daughter was born in 2004.

But in the months to follow, we found parenting very difficult. The Health Visitor (who calls at the home of every parents of newborns here in the UK for the first couple of months) noticed this and she was very concerned, and called Social Services. To cut a long story short, after months of assessments, it was decided that our two daughters were to be adopted.

We were devastated, and I felt shame and embarrassment. I only told my family and those at church. During one service, I broke down and wept aloud publicly. But my faith in God never wavered. In fact, if there was a time I felt that I desperately need God in my life, it was then. Although I hang my head in shame, I knew that my two daughters would be in a better environment at their adoptive parent's home, and better provided for than we could have provided.

One morning, while pouring through the prophet Jeremiah, I came across these verses:

This is what the Lord says:
"A voice is heard in Ramah,
mourning and great weeping,
Rachel weeping for her children
and refusing to be comforted,
for her children are no more."
This is what the LORD says:
"Restrain your voice from weeping
and your eyes from tears,
for your work will be rewarded,"
declares the LORD.
"They will return from the land of the enemy.
For there is hope for your future,"
declares the LORD.
"Your children will return to their own land."
Jeremiah 31:15-17.

Of course, the literal meaning of this passage is that after all the Jews had been exiled from their homeland by the Assyrians and the Babylonians, God promises their safe return. But Matthew also quote part of this text as referral to the slaughter of the innocents by King Herod, after being let down by the Wise Men. Obviously, the grieving mothers in Bethlehem will never get their kids back - not in this life anyway.

But reading this myself, I strongly felt God speaking directly to me. I believed. One day, God will return my daughters "from the land of the enemy." The "enemy" are not the adoptive parents of my daughters - they are treating them well and they are well provided for. The "enemy" refers to the Social Worker who had them snatched out of their beds at three in the morning, with not a sliver of compassion or sympathy for my hysterical wife and grieving grandparents.

The loss of our children has been very grievous for both of us, but seven years on, I'm happy to tell you that Alex and I enjoy a strong, robust marriage. We are just two of us, living in the quietness of our home, while knowing that God is in full control. Knowledge of his sovereignty is the key to Eternal Security. Security in him in this life as well as the in the promise of the next.

But what was the basic cause of all this trauma? The assessments showed that we both have Asperger's Syndrome, or "assie." It is a form of Autism. Several mysteries are answered straight away. First the way my parents looked on and treated me while I was still at home (since married, my parents and I are now very close). Then why the girls at our church did not find me compatible. And the inability for team work, including footie with the boys. But what could be surprising result of the assessment is that I also have above-average IQ. Both my wife and I have "assie". This could be the truth behind our robust marriage, despite the loss of our daughters.

The key to this article is Romans 8:28, which reads:

And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.

Let us quote the rest of the chapter, for want of such brilliant words:

For those God foreknew he also predestined to be conformed to the likeness of his Son, that he might be the firstborn among many brothers.
And those he predestined, he also called; those he called, he also justified; those he justified, he also glorified.

What then, can we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all - how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring to any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is it that condemns? Christ Jesus, who died - more than that, who was raised to life - is at the right hand of God and is also interceding for us. Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? As it is written:

"For your sake we face death all day long;
we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered."

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels or demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

There you have it. How great is our God!

Wishing you all a very happy Easter.