A Job with Glamour...?

Alan was one person I always admired. Although I have changed his name to protect his identity, his real name had made it into our local newspaper. And not for any negative reasons, but for good reasons. For Alan was one of the lifeguards at Coral Reef Waterworld. Yes, the same venue which was the main subject of my last blog, Down the Tube. But Alan's time at Coral Reef, long before the renovation, was probably around the years 2007-2010 or thereabouts, according to memory. It does not really matter precisely what years Alan worked as a poolside lifeguard. What matters to me more was his achievements.

Coral Reef Leisure Pool

Alan was exceptionally good-looking with a slim but superb physique, to which I was called to attention by Alan himself as he was taking a shower following further training and prior to going on duty. I said to him that I looked just like that during bygone days, as I made my way to Sauna World, housed in a building of its own reserved for the over-18's, but still fully attached and accessible to and from the main pool. But despite our huge age difference, I could not help myself going weak at the knees in reverence. As I had always perceived, there is an element of glamour in being a lifeguard.

Alan was friends with a colleague named Scott, a fellow lifeguard whose employment at Coral Reef Waterworld began some time after Alan's, but by overlapping, enabled him to be on duty at the same time as Alan, at least for a short while. It was after the end of another Saturday sauna session during one mid-afternoon that I had the opportunity to talk to this person whilst he was sitting on a lookout tower overlooking the pool. The height and location of the tower was right next to the upstairs restaurant balcony, thus making conversation not only possible but without any difficulty. After sharing with Scott of my own experience as a poolside lifeguard in 1973, he explained that lifesaving techniques has evolved since then, to the point of being near to the level of a paramedic, and therefore leaving my former life-saving techniques obsolete. In fact, according to his testimony, if a vehicle accident occurred on the main road just outside, the lifeguards were duty-bound to attend to the victim's injuries until the paramedics arrived. They were that qualified.

With such updated information, it was no surprise that Alan's personal achievement caused me to look to him with a degree of reverence - something I cannot bring myself to do to an employee dressed in a suit and tie and sitting at an office desk. Because Alan became Lifeguard of the Year, the highest award and the top rung of the ladder attained by vigorous training and testing, both in and out of the water. And the announcement of this was published in our local newspaper, The Bracknell News, complete with pictures.

However, although Alan does have a Facebook profile, he had never allowed me to be "friends", or to have our profiles linked, which reason might have something to do with our age difference. But he has made enough of his posts set to Public, for me to build a picture - sketchy as it might be - even if he had not posted publicly for the past twelve months. He left Coral Reef Waterworld a few months after gaining his award to take a sabbatical, before beginning to drive a van for a living. Not long after this, he took on a post at Waitrose, a superstore favouring towards the upper-middle class side of the market. Since I cannot imagine such a well-trained lifeguard swapping his profession for a job in shelf-stacking, nor for that matter, for sitting at the checkouts, I can only imagine his role in management or departmental supervision.

It was this sabbatical he took which, I will admit, turned my admiration into envy. Because on that cold Monday morning in January 2010, while I had to take a break from window cleaning in the blowing cold wind, Alan with his mate, also a lifeguard at Coral Reef, along with their girlfriends, were heading to Heathrow Airport to board a flight to Singapore. From Singapore, they would proceed to Australia, then to New Zealand, and then to California, to cover a duration of between five to six months. Damn it! I felt the cold wind eat into me as I sat on a low wall, my ladder lying on the sidewalk waiting to be used. And I envisioned the joy and excitement those four must have felt as they took their seats in the Boeing 747, still parked at the loading bay. But at least I was able to comfort myself with memories of my own Round-the-World backpacking trip in 1997, covering Singapore, Australia, and California. Yet Alan has still beaten me by including New Zealand into his itinerary, as well as a longer duration out of the UK.

Never mind that news came in that whilst Alan was speeding in his hired camper van, he was stopped by the Police Down Under for speeding, and he was obliged to pay his penalty. Never mind that their visit to the Great Barrier Reef did not seem to hold a candle to my own visit some thirty months earlier. Never mind that their photos sent to Facebook were predominately about dancing and skylarking about on the Pacific beach, rather than the more "serious" sightseeing of the corals and tropical marine life, the beauty of nature, the mangrove trees and other exotic vegetation, and of human history. Their Round-the-World sabbatical was still an envy for someone stuck in a mundane outdoor job on a cold January Monday morning.

Then as I thought of my long-lost friend, I began to look through his profile timeline. And as I did so, I begun to feel my emotions sink. I began to feel very sad for him - and that despite his apparent present success in raising a family of his own and looking to be doing well for himself. Because of the casual use of foul language in his posts depicting the vanity of life without a real purpose for living. That alone tells me a lot. A lot more about himself than he could possibly imagine. Because, as one author wrote many years ago:

I told her to get lost. She replied, "You're the one who is lost." She was right, I was lost. The word screamed in my head. LOST! LOST! LOST!*

And that is exactly I can perceive this magnificently-trained lifeguard. Lost. His Facebook posts can be so revealing. Little wonder I felt sad. Very sad for him. And it was a similar set of circumstances which caused me to cry out one night, Lord God, why, oh why did you create us?

It is the sort of question I do ask: How can someone like Alan, who has been trained up to save other people's lives, be in the same fold as Adolf Hitler, who is guilty of the murder of six million Jews? And again, where is the reality of God reconciling the world to himself in Jesus Christ without counting their trespasses against them, according to 2 Corinthians 5:19 - if all I can see around me is a lost world unable to find itself?

At least I can say that there is no record of Alan ever disliking me. I do recall him having a level of respect for me as a customer at Coral Reef Waterworld, and maybe even as a kind of father-figure, but definitely no dislike. But as I read down his timeline column on his profile page, and see how he sees his own life as so futile, I can't help feeling that my heart goes out to him. I would very much like to see his life perfectly fulfilled in Jesus Christ, and for him to know that he has eternal life.

This is distressing. Because it all boils down to this: We as true believers in Jesus Christ, are the living letters from God to the rest of the world, along with the beauty of Creation, and of the Bible itself. I suppose there are three witnesses - the Church/Israel, Nature, and the Word. How the incorrigible human heart rejects Creation for Evolution, turn the Bible into a myth, insist that Israel shouldn't have a place in the Arab land of Palestine, sees the Church as something of a standing joke, and perceives salvation, if it exists, as something to be worked for and earned. As for the churches, what went wrong?

So horribly,

Horribly

Wrong?  

Could it be l lack of love for each other? Already I have said, not everyone in my church loves me as a person and a brother in Christ. This grieves me, it grieves me badly. I'm disliked - not because I deny Christ. I don't deny Christ. That is something I will never do. I doubt whether this is something I'm able to do. Neither am I an imp of Satan, although I'm seen as wicked. Instead, I'm disliked because I don't present myself as an ideal Englishman - well educated, stoic, self-reserved, refusing to hug, holding a profession, a Conservative voter and a Royalist, a lover of the Queen and her family members. Oh yes, I can add: Good at team sports and ready to go to war for his country. As a result, I tend to be shut out from social circles. Like the time in 1978, when I asked a group of my own age if I could join them on a week-long boating trip. I was told flatly, No. Or the occasions I was told with quite an angry tone, Someone is sitting here! - which might not have been necessarily true. Or the viscous snide, You're not sitting at this table! Or more recently, at the start of the church Men's Curry Club one evening a couple of years ago when I was told to move in a threatening manner. And this comes from an Arminian who insists that a believer, after Christ has cleansed him from all his past sins, can only hold on his salvation by hard work and keeping of all the Commandments.

Just a minute! As I'm reading through the book of Acts of the Apostles, and I can hear the leaves of the trees rustling. After Paul the Apostle returns to Jerusalem, he is fervently persecuted by his own fellow Jews. His own brothers, all sons of the same Abraham, are baying for his blood. And the reason is simple. It's not that complicated. Paul believed in salvation through faith in the risen Christ alone. The Jews believed that salvation can only come through obedience to the Law of Moses, including the need for circumcision. I can see a parallel, a chilling parallel in the unholy attitude among the Jews towards Paul and among those who has taken a dislike to me. In the case of the latter, it is my failure to think, feel, say, and act like a proper Englishman. Or at least that's how it looks. Instead, I hold diverse opinions, rebellious opinions, and I guess I get a thrill in lowering my head and pushing hard whilst kicking against the goads of national and cultural hypocrisy. 

What does Alan sees in the church? After all, he was brought up in a country which Constitution was borne out of the Christian faith. So he is most likely Church of England, or possibly a Roman Catholic. But without the revelation that God loves him unconditionally, he will forever have that veil across his eyes. The deceptive veil of a truculent God who always quick to judge everything he does, right down to his innermost thoughts. A divine being who is never satisfied, but insists on works, impossible works, in a failed attempt to bribe for his love, whatever love that is supposed to be. The very same problem I still suffer myself to this day, due to Roman Catholic upbringing. The difficulty in accepting God for whom he really is. A God of Love, who loves us unconditionally. The love God had for Barabbas to the extent that he allowed his own Son to take his place in Pilate's execution. At Pilate's Court of Justice, God loved Barabbas. He loved him so much that he was set free instead of executed. No, it wasn't the baying for his life by the crowds below which had released him. Rather it was God's LOVE which released him!

God is love. It was his love which satisfied his justice which demanded an accounting of every sin committed. Jesus Christ, nailed to a cross, has fulfilled that justice. In his love, God wants to give us eternal life. Eternal life through his Son. To believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead. That is all. It's about time every church drops it's national heritage and advocate God's love a lot more. Preach it, act upon it, live it! There is absolutely nothing wrong in a man giving a tight, prolong hug to another man! It will make him feel loved, accepted, one in the family. It lifts the spirits, it also enhances health. And furthermore, there is no work required to earn it. It cannot be earned. God's love is higher than the highest mountain, deeper than the deepest ocean, wider than East is from West. And it's free, unconditional, and has no national or cultural limitations.

Oh, how I wish I took advantage of the opportunity I had during Alan's employment at Coral Reef. My failed attempt to be pleasing to all men, an ethic which can only lead to death. My heart goes out to him. My greatest hope is that someone else will open his eyes to what tremendous love God has for him.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*Doreen Irvine, From Witchcraft to Christ, 1973. 

Sweeping around a Corner.

Retirement. It is so hard to believe that such a turning point would happen to me. Sure, I have seen it happen many, many times. Always to others of course. As for myself, how I could I have ever thought it would happen to me? Indeed, retirement gives me the opportunity to look back on my entire life.

Such as, I could recall in the most sharp memory images, when I was a young boy growing up in Pimlico, close to the north bank of the River Thames in London. Rollerskating up and down the quiet street, with far fewer cars parked along the kerbside than at present, this was one of two parallel streets forming an elongated rectangle, with both streets bearing the name of St. Georges Square. In between the two streets was a strip of public garden, fenced and gated. It was here where dog walkers brought their pooches while I kicked a ball across the long-disused area of hard tennis courts, which had their heyday before the War, and the adjoining area of lawn was ideal for picnics during the summer. And every year on November 5th, a giant bonfire dominated over thousands of fireworks let off by older children, many unsupervised by adults, yet according to my knowledge, there was no record of any accidents caused by misuse. Such was the 1950's and early sixties style of discipline.

Pimlico apartments where I grew up

One end of the street joined Grosvenor Road at a T-junction, where I only have to cross the main road to walk alongside the river. On the other side of the river, heavy industry hums away on its daily business, many of its buildings blackened with soot. The industrial estate was dominated by the four classical chimneys of Battersea Power Station, resembling the legs of an upturned table. Across the other side of Chelsea Bridge, the heavy industry on the south bank of the Thames gave way to Battersea Park, famous for its permanent Fun Fair, dominated by the Big Dipper, the largest wooden roller coaster on the site. Close by was the Water Chute, where a passing car speeding down a long incline threw water with powerful force onto a glass screen shielding us from a soaking.

How I loved standing by that screen as the water hits it just a few inches from where I stood. Outside the fairground but within the park, there was the Tree Walk, a long boardwalk suspended high in the trees, passing a building where inside, a room moved - throwing us from one side to the other, while near its roof a giant figure of Popeye stood, flexing his muscles, and next to him was his oppressor Brutus, who continually swayed to and fro in permanent laughter. The street where these amenities were located was lined with all manner of stalls, giving a permanent carnival feel. I also recall the miniature train, and a magnificent fountain display just outside the Fun Fair. Not to mention a couple of swing parks as well - Battersea Park really was a fun paradise! And the four chimneys of the nearby power station looked across the whole park as if silently supervising the area.

At present, Battersea Park is only a shadow of its former glory. Thanks to a fatal accident on the Big Dipper roller-coaster in May 1972, where five children were killed, the fair closed down and everything demolished and removed, including the boardwalk and all other facilities. Also all the stalls disappeared, and nothing would ever be the same again. Oh the highlights of childhood, devoid of responsibility, that early phase of life when owning a train set or Meccano was far more important to me than my parents earning enough to sustain a family. As Battersea Park metamorphosed from a fun paradise with a carnival atmosphere to an area of quiet greenery occupying a square hemmed in between Chelsea and Albert Bridges, so reaching teenage years involved the loss of that sense of innocence that comes only in the early years as more responsibilities takes over - especially after leaving school.

Battersea Fun Fair before 1972

Water Chute, Battersea Fun Fair

And here such a big change of life came in April 1968, at age fifteen years, when I left school with no qualifications, and landed a job at a family-owned business in manufacturing period furniture. And my very first task on that initial Monday morning? Picking up the broom leaning at a corner and sweeping the floor. Than having swept the floor of one department, I had to repeat the process at an adjoining shop floor. Every weekday morning began with the sweeping. I did not feel bad about that, as back then it was the accepted routine carried out by every school leaver who had failed to achieve any educational levels, let alone a university degree. Although pushing a broom was very humbling among a workforce of skilled craftsmen, I believe it was the broom which transformed the boy into a man, rather than at school.

But I was always perceived as different. Everyone at work made sure that I knew my place, at the bottom rung of the ladder, and they made sure I stayed there. And somehow I was made aware that I as an Italian was seen as inferior to the British, even if I was actually born in England myself. The War was often mentioned, with their boasting that it was won by the British, with the Italian forces relegated to uselessness in military conflicts. The truth - which they made sure remained quiet - was that the War was won by the Allies, with the U.S. fighter 'plane Elona Gay dropping the first atom bomb on the Japanese island of Hiroshima, thus ending the conflict when Japan surrendered. By heck, I wish that I knew all this as an adolescent while sweeping the floor! Such knowledge would have been a weapon in its own right to shut the mouths of everyone in the factory.

Do I want to write a self-pitying dirge? No way! Rather as an opportunity to glorify God, along with the liberating power of the Gospel. And how comforting to know that there is a Strong Tower into which the righteous run into, and they are safe. Now as one retiring, I can look back at my working life, and calculate that, of the 47 years since leaving school, only less than six years of production didn't involve time spent cleaning. This was when I worked in a precision engineering firm between October 1973 to June 1979. All other times involved cleaning, even as a pool lifeguard earlier in 1973, when I had to mop down the pool edge walkway, and even jumped in to scrub off the scum from the safety rail within the pool's edge. This was done early in the morning before the amenity opened to the public. Then from August 1980, after trying out various other jobs including a few months in a warehouse, I eventually became self-employed in domestic window cleaning, which kept me going for the next 35 years.

Living in a country where social class is such an obsession can really be disheartening. As I watched one former Prime Minister shout Education! Education! during Parliament, I have seen the obsession among young people of both genders become enthralled with the possibility of achieving their A* Level which would open the door to University. Their obsession is as if their lives depended on it. Let's face it; imagining themselves sitting at an office desk in front of a computer, and maybe with a telephone as well, is far, far more appealing to these young students than the thought of pushing a broom in a noisy factory shop floor.

Only today (Saturday) an article appeared in a national newspaper, which was written by a Psychiatrist, criticising the appalling bureaucracy which has such a hold on the National Health Service. He relates a story out of personal experience about an elderly female patient who had fallen from her bed, and as she lay on the floor, she called for help while wedged between the bed and the bedside cabinet. Her cries was heard by a nurse who sat at her desk, taking her coffee break and ignoring the patient's calls. When the doctor summoned her to help in lifting her back to her bed, the nurse refused. The situation was resolved when a visitor entered the ward and assisted the elderly woman back to her bed.

The Psychiatrist explained that the nurse was a victim of a system where a university degree is now essential to enter the profession. This has developed a culture of "Too posh to wipe" - a bad attitude - confirmed by one of my clients who works as a nurse herself - where such graduates believe that wiping a patient's bottom is far too menial to merit their degree. The writer then explained about the ambition of many a young nurse to climb the career ladder into Management, where she enters the office staffed with men in suits and who had never handled a stethoscope, and yet were responsible for meeting financial targets and destroying the compassion towards patients, which was the whole object for having the N.H.S. in the first place.

Swimming pool where I was lifeguard in 1973

The man in a suit who has never pushed a broom in his entire working life. How much I wanted to be one myself so many years ago, perhaps because that was what my parents would have liked me to have become. The suit, a symbol of high education levels and career success. Held in reverence by society as a whole, even by some manual workers. Instead, I was shown my place and kept there. Despite my knowledge of the Bible, accumulated over the years, I was never permitted to teach or exhort. I recall one of the Elders, who is not with us anymore, who answered my request to teach a class by saying that someone else was better qualified for that role. Better qualified? Because he worked in an office? Then this blog page. When this was typed, my total score of hits topped 51,000. At first this looks healthy. But I was tempted to change my blogger name to Dr. F. E. Blasi. If I had, chances that the total score of hits might have been closer to 100,000. But I would be deceiving my readers. Lying is not exactly godly. Then again, the general flow of all my blogs does not reflect those written by a doctor. I believe that many readers would have seen through the ruse.

So I look back at 47 years as a manual labourer, with the last 35 years as self-employed. Now I'm entering retirement. Unfulfilled ambitions? Rather, I believe that pushing a broom across the floor was very beneficial psychologically. The feeling of humility, I believe, was the key in converting to faith in Jesus Christ. It was the driving force to grasp knowledge of the Bible, and to plead with my Maker for the Big Picture of God's entire revelation. Faith in Jesus and Bible reading has inspired me to visit Israel as early as 1976, which opened the door to world travel. Faith in Jesus had always been the backbone of feeling content about living in rented accommodation instead of home ownership, and riding a bicycle instead of driving a fast car. Faith in Jesus as Saviour has put life in its proper perspective, not to chase riches here on Earth, but to store them in Heaven. It has helped me from envying other people's good fortune or higher social position, knowing that the same fate awaits us all.

Battersea Park was indeed a fun paradise for families. In a way, the whole park was a reflection of Heaven - a place of joy, happiness, a cessation from worry, anxieties. It was a place of rest, to refresh the soul. True Heaven will have all this and much more. It will be eternal, a place of everlasting joy.

But to get there, I had to trust in Jesus Christ - his death, burial, and resurrection.

To help me towards faith in Jesus as Lord and Saviour, it was necessary to stoop low and push a broom in full view of all my betters. 

In Need To Be Rescued

It was Summer of 1966. I, as a thirteen year old schoolboy, went every day to the local swimming pool while both my parents were at work, and my younger brother was looked after by a neighbour. The pool was outdoor, therefore subject to the British weather. However, 1966 brought quite a warm Summer, if I recall, allowing me to attend every weekday.

 

The attraction was more than just a pool. There was also a children's pool, and between it and the main one was a fountain, where kids of my age often sat on the ledge as if designed for the purpose and allowed the water to cascade over our heads. The flat roof of the changing room building served as a sun deck, which one had to be sixteen or over to sunbathe there, but younger kids, like myself often went up and played a game of chase. At times the grumpy site manager, whose permanent residence was also within the grounds and next to the cafeteria, threw out kids who were most disruptive and ordering them to go home. Fortunately I was not one of them. On the other side of the main pool from the changing room there was a large lawn where bathers had their picnics under the warm sunshine, and sunbathed in between swims.

 

Being outdoor, the pool was closed to the public from September or October through to April. When it opened in the Spring, our school P.E. lessons were held at the pool. However, it was when I was already thirteen years of age that for the first time I began to swim tentatively, quite late for an individual, as other children as young as eight years were already able to swim at the primary school I attended previously.

It was during the school holidays of 1966 when a lifeguard by the name of Tony was temporarily employed by the manager. Being such a short term contract, even back then I guessed that he was an undergraduate on a break from his studies. Day after day he kept on pacing around the busy pool wearing a white tracksuit top with the logo LIFEGUARD emblazoned across his back in three-inch high blue lettering. He had a calm, introverted temperament which made him not only approachable, but subject to teasing by a few of the boys, including myself. I guess there was something of high quality about this man who wore spectacles: enviable, an instinctive feeling that he was very intelligent, well educated, yet when it comes to the water, a slim, fit and superb rescuing machine whose swimming and first aid abilities were well above what we could imagine.

It was one afternoon that I was in the pool, and struggling to finish the length I had tried to complete. I have completed laps in the pool already, but normally right next to the edge where I can grab hold of, if I experienced difficulty. But on this occasion I was right in the middle, and I had arrived at the deep end when something happened, possibly hit by an unexpected wave, and unable to feel the bottom with my feet, began to go under.

How fortunate it was that Tony had suspected my weakness in the water and decided to keep watch over my progress. While I was struggling, he stooped down, and while still on land, attempted to reach me with his outstretched arm. But I was out of his reach by up to a metre, leaving him with no other option but to leap in, wrap his arm around my chest and tow me to the edge. Once back on land, a small crowd of admirers gathered around him as he stripped off his wet tracksuit top. Also, surprisingly, a crowd of inquirers gathered around me too. As Tony afterwards re-appeared in a plain tee-shirt, I felt it was time for me to go home - early.

I did not return to the pool until a full week afterwards, as I stayed at home in full shame and embarrassment. My shame was heightened by the teasing remarks I threw at him, out of jealousy, before the incident. I dreaded going back to the pool, but at the end I drew up enough courage to go. I was very much relieved to find that Tony was absent - in fact it wasn't long before two other lifeguards were employed to replace him. To this day - over 47 years - I had never found out whether his disappearance was due to his contract expiring, or whether he had a hunch about my embarrassment in his presence, so decided to leave early. I never ever saw Tony again. His apparent mid-holiday leaving is a curiosity that will never be solved.

But the rescue had a big impact in the years to follow. During my spare time I practised swimming to strengthen my stroke action. By 1972, I joined a Life-Saving Club which was held at an indoor pool in Reading - possibly the same venue Tony trained so many years earlier, as speaking to other lifeguards, all testifying to the same venue.

Arthur Hill Baths in Reading, where I qualified as a lifeguard in 1972

I was successful in achieving the Bronze Medallion by Christmas 1972. Back then this was the qualifying award which enabled me to be a lifeguard at any poolside in the country. I took advantage of the qualification. I became a pool lifeguard in Reading for the Summer months of 1973, just a short while after becoming a Christian in that same year. Literally speaking, I was on the same par as Tony previously - except that I had to wear a plain but distinctive tee-shirt without the coveted logo across the back, at the time it was something I really wanted!

It took me 47 years for me to come out with this story. Why such shame and embarrassment arising over getting into trouble in a swimming pool? Or can this sort of thing be seen from a different perspective - the acknowledging that anyone can get into a serious situation and in need to be rescued by another? What is the difference between a weak swimmer unintentionally getting into difficulties and that of a hiker, or a group of hikers, becoming marooned on a mountain due to a sudden change of weather? In my case the lifeguard had the correct perspective of my condition in the water, therefore he kept a close watch. It did not come as a surprise to him when I got unstuck - it was as though he was half expecting it to happen. Yet when a group of hikers becomes marooned on a mountain trail, they have to wait there until a helicopter arrives - a rescue which is much more dramatic - and costly too! -than a distressed swimmer in a supervised pool.

But being rescued by a lifeguard had dramatically changed everything - from a mocking schoolboy to a stronger swimmer and eventually a lifeguard myself. And guess what? As a lifeguard, I too became a target of teasing boys during public swimming sessions. History repeating itself.

Then there is the case of Simon Peter in the New Testament. An experienced fisherman, the nightly hauling of the nets heavy with fish had developed his upper arms into bulging muscles. He knew much about life on the open water. He knew what to do during a storm when his boat was tossed about out on the turbulent lake. Totally opposite to Tony, Simon's temperament was fully extrovert, and he had his way in keeping his tongue wagging even at times when it was not called for. For example, his excitable but thoughtless talk landed the strongest rebuke Jesus could deliver, even calling him "Satan!" His constant need to say something called for God the Father to rebuke him on top of a mountain. And his non-stop chatter in his Galilean accent betrayed him as he warmed his hands at the enemy's fire. Yet despite his wagging tongue, Peter was a strong swimmer, something his profession most likely demanded. One morning, after the Resurrection of Christ, while out in the boat, he impulsively dived into the lake to swim to Jesus, who had breakfast prepared for him and his fellow fishermen.

Dawn at the Sea of Galilee - where Peter swam to his Divine Lifeguard

But Peter's failure as a swimmer and falling into a panic - and of Jesus as a divine lifeguard, has to be on an earlier occasion when they were out at sea. It was a stormy night, and as the boat tossed about in the rough waters, they see Jesus walking towards them, his clothing blowing in the wind. All the disciples, fishermen and all, were terrified that they were seeing a ghost. When Jesus assured them that it was he, and not a ghost, Peter stepped out of the boat towards Jesus, after the Lord encouraged him to also walk on the water. He walked a little way when a wave most likely struck his legs. Immediately he panicked, and he began to sink. "Lord, save me!" He yelled, and Jesus took hold of his hand and pulled him up. Still holding tight to Jesus, Peter made his way back to the boat, relieved but most likely ashamed and embarrassed in front of the other eleven - a strong, experienced fisherman at that (Matthew 14:22-33.)

As with me, Peter's panic and rescue had a big impact on his life. As I too became a lifeguard several years later, after his distress, Peter himself began to pluck other men from their sins through the power of the Holy Spirit within him. Jesus Christ is our Saviour, and also our lifeguard. I recall several incidents throughout life, particularly as a young child on the road, where I came through an accident and survived, even if I spent several weeks at a children's hospital.

But the issue is this: we all need to be rescued from our sins, and that includes Tony, as well as Simon Peter and myself. I hope that Tony, the 1966 lifeguard, had himself grasped the hand of the risen Lord and allowed himself to be rescued from his troubled state. Tony is one I'll never forget, neither will I ever forget the outdoor swimming pool, which closed in the 1970s and was demolished to make way for a new residential estate. But back then, for Tony to save me was an act of duty; for Christ to save me was an act of love.

****************************************************************

Addendum

While this blog was being prepared, it was my intention to include a vintage photo of the outdoor pool where I swam as a schoolboy in the 1960s. The Archives has a rare photo of the location in the public library, but a fault in the scanning has delayed obtaining a copy until later in the week. If successful, this blog will be re-posted with the pic included, as well as a keepsake for my own albums. Look out for the updated title in Facebook or Twitter. Or just return to this blog later in the week.