Travel Biography - Week 54.

Mountains and Valleys.

The photos are from the 2000 Album.

When it comes to writing a Travel Biography, it isn't meant to be about sunning on the beach all day or a life of constant pleasantries. Or else, I wouldn't bother writing a biography, and besides, I'm sure that some, if not most of my readers, would get fed up over someone on a constant high and lapping up life as if he was a spoilt rich celebrity or even a royal. After all, imagine a landscape. Which would be of greater interest: a topography of flat fields stretching to the horizon, or that of high mountains and deep valleys? As the lyrics of one sixties pop song went, the mountain stream is more pleasing than the sea.

Jaffa Gate as seen from the Citadel Turret.

And for mountains to exist, there have to be steep valleys in between, separating them. And so with my travel experiences. Along with the high points, there were disasters too. And here, I'm not talking about the theft of my Traveller's Cheques whilst on the train from Pisa to Florence during the 1981 trip to Italy. That was just a temporary blip which was resolved on the next working day. Rather, this is about day-to-day personal relationships while I was volunteering at Stella Carmel Guesthouse and Christian Conference Centre in Isfya, a village on the crest of Mt Carmel, near the port city of Haifa, northern Israel, in the summer of 1994.

Just to note here, ITAC had a rule that applied to all offenders. He was booked on the next flight out of Israel and then escorted direct to the airport from the guesthouse. Then the escort ensured that the wrongdoer was thoroughly checked in and ready to board his flight before returning, alone, to the centre.

And so, not long before my own arrival, a volunteer named Pete became friendly with a female volunteer, and the two were caught kissing. They were brought to the Director's office, and both were immediately expelled. A booking for a flight back to England was made, and the pair was escorted direct to the airport. I believe that I was meant to replace Pete, as I arrived soon after their departure.

There was one female volunteer, Joy, who was from South Africa, but she was rather fond of Sloane Square in London, one of the city's most elitist locations, renowned for its gentility. She spoke about Sloane Square many times. It was her way of telling us that any prospective boyfriend must have an aristocratic background. And then there was Josephine, a radical feminist from New Zealand, who insist on the rise of the New Man, a male who is domestically minded and less of a macho culture. She was a natural-born leader and the other women followed her, admiring her fun-loving extrovert temperament. All the other volunteers and full-time staff were British.

Every week, all the volunteers and staff members gather in the lounge for a discussion with the manager on how the centre should be run. Remembering the lecture I had in North London a few weeks before arriving, I dropped what was to be an awful clanger! I suggested that the females should be assigned more house duties whilst the men should be given heavier maintenance tasks. Jo reacted verbally with hostility. But what made things worse for her and her mates was that the Director agreed to my proposal, seeing that I made sense as well as keeping with ITAC's recommendations.

Living as a Pariah.

Thus, I was looked on as a pariah, mainly by Josephine, throughout the rest of my stay. From that day, I was treated as if I was an Italian Neanderthal, so backwards in culture and uncivilised, that she insisted that I should be forced to become a New Man - less masculine, more feminised and domesticated, as well as having submission and respect for female leadership. Several times she kept mentioning me cleaning the wide corridor floor with my tongue! She hated all Italians for their male-dominated "cultural backwardness" and deeply criticised their country and even its national airline (Alitalia) with the intent to spite me. As for the other females, a couple of others joined Jo in their hatred for me, but not all of them. Joy, by contrast, had a degree of pity for me, and showed no hostility. None of the men appeared hostile either.

I had the bedroom to myself for several weeks before Richard, a graduate of Loughborough University, arrived to join the team and share my bedroom. As a graduate, he too regarded an occasional snore as a nuisance and looked down on me with the idea that I was too beneath him to share a bedroom. That was proved true sometime later when he sent a request to the Director to move me out and relocate, leaving Richard as the sole occupant of the room that was once mine. I was moved into an in-house bedroom as the sole occupant.

Richard graduated in Sport Physiology, and hence not even he escaped the attention of Jo and her friends. Jo teased him in front of the others, on the ridiculousness of spending valuable time at University just to study sports. If only Josephine had been aware that a sports physiologist isn't far from a paramedic.

The darling of all the girls at Stella Carmel was Scott, from Inverness. Tall, slim, and also a graduate, Jo teased him too for being thrifty with his money. And also for apparent cowardice.

On one occasion, Peter and his wife took all of us out for the day. This included a swim in the Sea of Galilee before supper at a restaurant in Tiberias. The beach we arrived at was on the east side of the lake, not far from En Gev. The sea was rough, with large waves lapping the beach.

Only Peter swam out into the rough lake, with me following. As everyone else stood on the beach, Peter and I swam out. However, the Director was a stronger swimmer than I was, as I was more cautious. But at least, I wasn't on the receiving end of Jo's teasing as poor Scott was, as he refused to enter the water, despite Jo egging him on.

The Sea of Galilee, 2000. The Mt of Beatitudes is behind me.

Treachery was never far beneath the surface, even among the men. Trevor never showed any hostility, therefore, I felt confident enough to confide in him. One afternoon, I was in his bedroom whilst Scott, his roommate, was in the shower. I made a passing statement, saying that Joy was a nice-looking young woman. That was all. There were just the two of us. Nobody else was present or, as far as I was aware, within earshot. The statement was quickly forgotten as I moved on.

The next day, Peter called me up to his office. He then asked whether it was true that I took a fancy to Joy. He then warned me of imminent dismissal if anything of the kind reoccurred.

Day by day my spirit fell to lower levels as Josephine's hatred of me intensified. I began to feel very unhappy as a volunteer. With nothing to accuse me of, Jo thought of a plan to rid of me once and for all. So, in agreement with her closest friends, she made a complaint to Peter that I was making animal noises. Well, that was a new one! True, from time to time, I muttered to myself. But howling like a wolf across the valley? No, at least not quite there yet!

Fed up with the torrents of accusations against me, Peter reached the end of his tether. He called Andrew (who always liked me) and together I was given my marching orders. I was crushed beyond repair. I took a walk into the nearby forest and yelled at the top of my voice, alone, out of earshot, angry, miserable, and even frightened. The night that followed was like a vigil. A twisted cord of negative emotions tortured my soul and kept me from sleeping.

However, the following morning, David, one of the older volunteers who was always fond of me, offered his shoulder, and I cracked, weeping like a baby in his arms in front of Peter, his wife, Andrew, Scott, Joy, and Rami, one of the Druze teenagers. Josephine and her closest friends weren't there, having remained in their rooms. I remember the exact date - August 8th, 1994.

Broken Beyond Repair?

I was innocent, and ITAC knew that. Therefore, I was not escorted to the airport. Instead, I was paid a sum of money and taken to Haifa Bus Station. At the station, I was dropped off along with my rucksack, and for the first time since arrival, I was totally alone. It was up to me to arrange my own flight back home when I was ready. In the meantime, I was free to remain in Israel.

Later that day I arrived in Jerusalem and approached the New Swedish Hostel in Souk David. I checked in and paid for nearly a month's stay with the money I was paid at Stella Carmel. I then lived off my own funds.

As I lay on the bed feeling utterly miserable, I was pondering on my faith. This two-month experience at the guesthouse was an utter disaster - caused by one other person. I was convinced that had Josephine not been there, I would have had a better outcome and quite likely lasted the full year, as originally intended. Any hatred thrown at me in Isfya was solely due to Jo's attitude, one of deep insecurity and possibly resentment of her own gender and role in life.

Being in the middle of the afternoon, there was no one else in the dormitory. I was alone as I lay fully clothed on the bed, staring at the vaulted ceiling. There and then I decided to renounce my faith. If Christianity was represented by the daily life at Stella Carmel, with its sham worship, insincere Bible reading and studying, a total absence of fellowship, and an endless contest for personal and gender supremacy, treachery and betrayal, along with the evaluation of a person's worth according to wealth, culture and level of education, and not by faith in Christ - then damn it all! Forget God and his ways. If this means Hell, damn it, so be it. Never again will I ever entangle myself with the church! I had enough!

As I lay on the bed in the heart of Jerusalem Old City, I felt angry, miserable and fearful, knowing that soon I would appear among family and friends with the news that I had failed. My father's already existing suspicion of such Christian organisations will be confirmed and enforced. It was left to me to walk the walk of shame and embarrassment. Indeed, I was in a valley, a very deep valley, perhaps a little like a slot canyon where the wall on each side rose vertically, thus with no way up, but to trundle on along the stream bed, hoping that I would not be swept away by an onrushing flood - a phenomenon set off by heavy rain nearby.

I began to wonder - this thing called Religion. Does it really make one a better person? These people up near Haifa, there was no real love among them. Rather, what I sensed, especially in Josephine, was a strong sense of insecurity, as if she was trying hard to achieve some form of status, and not doing too well at it. Where is this alternate society? A place anyone can run to and find solace, comfort, love, and the start of faith in God. As for the Bible, sure, it's read regularly, and sermons are preached from it, we say we believe in its truthfulness, but does anyone obey it?

Jerusalem 2000

Ah, Jerusalem. Maybe I'll come back here more often. Every year? That seems far-fetched, but who knows, maybe visiting this wonderfully historic and spiritual centre could bring healing to my damaged soul. I need to wait and see.  

Presently, I began to feel strange, as if a voice was calling me, very, very gently. It was as if saying:

Frank, Frank, would you still follow me?

Without further thinking, I responded with,

Yes Lord I will follow you.

And so, I arose and left the dormitory and went out into the street. However, despite that incident in the hostel, my bad feelings hadn't changed. I still felt gutted and wrenched. But I also knew that this was the beginning of the way up. If I likened that to a trail, then the gradience of the path was so slight, that I would walk a long way without climbing very high. It would take a long hike towards recovery.

It was a day before I flew home. I stood on the crest of the Mt of Olives, looking down at the Old City with its glistening gold dome on Temple Mount, and the modern buildings of the New City in the far background. I then had a kind of vision, very much like the one I experienced in October 1992 whilst at work. This time, I was to prepare myself for a flight to the USA exactly a year afterwards, in late summer 1995. I knew straight away that this was a divine revelation, yet without any supernatural phenomena. It was an idea, but a very strong and convincing thought.

But before I move on to 1995, there are still some amazing things to write about during the month I stayed in Jerusalem on recovery therapy after dismissal from Stella Carmel.

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Next Week: A month of Therapy in Jerusalem - and a witness to some outstanding events.

Travel Biography - Week 17.

Psychology for World Travel.

In 1972, whilst still 19 years of age, I thought this was the end of the road for me when my girlfriend said goodbye. At that time, which was the spring of that year, I still had the tickets for a holiday together in Spain - on the Costa Brava to be more precise. So I contacted the Cosmos Booking Office to ask for an amendment. The result was that a male college friend accompanied me on this package instead of my ex.

At my peak. How I looked in New York 1978.

By the end of 1977, I had come a long way. Perhaps ironic in a sense, my desire for travel was borne out of that broken relationship experience. Here I was, as a teenager, already thinking about courtship, marriage and having children. To be the "average guy" like a couple of ex-classmates I had seen pushing a pram in the street, and the very thought of being left on the shelf seemed foreboding.

Just this week, a couple of evenings before this week's blog was written and published, the BBC documentary Ambulance highlighted a case of a man in his early thirties who was recently dumped by his girlfriend. This left him feeling suicidal, and he called 999 after an overdose of drugs that had left him in a hysterical state, even lashing out at the vehicle furniture around him. He had to be gently calmed before admission into the hospital.

Therefore, Christian devotionals such as Enjoying Being Single by Elspeth Stephenson are unlikely to wash with him. With a female author, this book was probably geared more toward women than toward men and therefore, unlikely to have impressed the male patient in the ambulance. However, what she had written struck a cord in me. For example, on the cover is a photo of a young muscular man controlling a sailboat at speed. Although I had never sailed in my life, I can still see a connection between this marine activity and international backpacking.

Although, I refer to my travels as backpacking, during those early years, if I say that the luggage I was carrying throughout the 1970s was a suitcase rather than a rucksack, then how the term is defined, I leave it to the reader. But to me, backpacking is defined as a constant move from one destination to the next, rather than staying at just one hotel throughout the entire vacation, as was the 1972 Spanish getaway, which is defined as a package holiday.

With the breakup of our relationship in 1972, a bid to explore the world was the answer to such feelings of foreboding. This is where the difference lies between the ambulance patient and me. Rather than escape into a world of oblivion, the desire to travel demanded determination and hard work. Literally.

The factory making ball-bearing races (the two rings in between the tiny balls roll) closed during the Autumn of 1977 to transfer over to Plymouth in Devon, making us all redundant except for the few machinists with the greatest skills. After working there for over four years and putting in weekend overtime to save up for the first trip across the Atlantic, I was advised to apply for a post at British Aircraft Corporation in Weybridge, Surrey. These works covered a much larger area than the former works and had a larger number of employees. And the wages were good, despite a daily commute from Bracknell to Weybridge by train.

As such, I was able to work hard and save up hard for my next trip, this time wholly within the USA, in the following year, 1978. This trip, built on the experience of the last trip, was to be a life-changer.

But first, the renewal of the entry visa after the first one had expired after a year. With experience behind me, it wasn't difficult for the personnel officer of BAC to write an official letter endorsing my employment with them. So, off to the Embassy in London once again. This time, it was straightforward. I was already on their records. With no further ado, I walked out of the building with a multiple-entry visa lasting the life of the passport, stamped inside. With quite a few years of validity left on the document, plus an agreement made in the 1980s between our PM Margaret Thatcher and the current US President Ronald Reagan for the Visa Waiver Scheme to be put in place, this meant no more visa applications ever, despite three more trips to the USA after 1978. They were in 1995, 1997, and 1998.

Both in 1978 and 1995, I stood here, Colorado River.

Summary of the 1978 Trip to the USA.

Having given a day-to-day running commentary of both Israel 1976 and North America 1977, this time I wish to centre this and future trips on the highlights. This is due to both 1976 and 1977 being first-time experiences, yet each so different from the other. By contrast, all five trips to the USA are very similar, hence of no need for day-to-day repeats. Also, the 1997 journey on the Australian Pacific Coast from Cairns to Sydney had taken the same formula - a bus pass valid for unlimited travel for some time. The same applies to Israel in 1993, 1994 and 2000. Although each was slightly different in detail, each was also broadly the same as the initial 1976 experience.

Being the case, from now on, instead of concentrating on one particular trip, I will jump from one to another when it's called for. For example, the Grand Canyon. I hiked this natural wonder twice, the first in 1978 and the second time in 1995. They were the same hikes but each had some differences that are worth mentioning together.

When I arrived in Toronto, the first item I had to buy was a Kodak 110 Instamatic camera to replace the one given to me by Dad which broke down during the outbound flight. All the photos from the 1977 trip were taken with the Instamatic. But for the 1998 trip, I made a decision to try transparencies or slides shown on a projector and thrown onto a screen as a dramatic image fitting a slide show for family and friends. Therefore, the photos published here are mainly from the 1995 trip, as for example, the Grand Canyon does not change in appearance over seventeen years! Also, the Instamatic failed to take good photos at the most crucial part of the hike, mainly due to poor daylight, and this was the reason why I repeated the Grand Canyon visit in 1995 in the first place. I wanted a photo album of such an adventure and I was prepared to take risks in repeating the challenge.

However, the bus route taken in 1978 was very different from the 1977 route. On the second trip, not only had I landed in New York instead of in Canada, but the Greyhound Americruiser route was a much longer figure-of-eight course starting at Port Authority Bus Station and taking in St Louise Missouri, Amarillo Texas, Flagstaff Arizona, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Portland Oregon, Denver Colorado, St Antonio Texas, New Orleans Lousiana, Miami Beach Florida, and then back north to New York. Like on the previous trip, my arrival in New York from Miami Beach was on the morning of the same day I took off back to London a month after my arrival, with the day spent on the roof of one of the twin towers of the World Trade Center.

On the 1978 trip, I spent more nights on a bus than on the previous trip. There were two reasons for this. First, I should have brought more funds. Like in 1976, I made a miscalculation on how much to take in Traveller's Cheques. This was due to not taking into consideration the rate of inflation over the past year. But rather than panic, I used the experience to learn how to travel on a shoestring. And travel on a shoestring I did, and not only did I have an astonishing experience, but I took in a much wider scope of the USA than I could ever imagine.

How a French Air Traffic Control strike brought hysteria.

The day finally arrived for me to depart. Excited but very nervous, this time I made my own way to the airport by train. After arrival, I checked in as normal, aware that there is a French Air Traffic Control strike affecting all flights into France and all routes passing over France, such as to Spain, Italy and much of the rest of Europe, and maybe some long-haul flights for Asian countries and beyond. Only the Americas were unaffected.

At the boarding gate, we waited there for the Jetsave agent to let us through. Opposite our gate was one for a flight to Spain. A crowd of people were standing there waiting to board. Apparently, they should have boarded the previous evening, but a night spent alternating between the gate and the departure lounge has worn their patience to razor-thin. And it showed.

Just then, the tannoy came to life with a request for all on this particular flight to Spain to return to the departure lounge, just as the Jetsave agent arrived to allow us to board our transatlantic flight.

Suddenly there was a scream, a loud masculine scream of demonic rage and frustration coming from a young man of about my age. As the crowd began to saunter back to the departure lounge, this man was lying on the floor, beating it with his fists and screaming out his rage. I pitied him as I walked down the steps to board a transfer bus to the waiting aeroplane. I couldn't take my mind off him as I settled in my assigned seat, looking out of the window and watching others alighting from the bus to climb the steps to board, including a tour group. I was relieved when the plane finally took off for New York Kennedy Airport.

I sat next to the window and the port side of the plane. As I looked down at the Irish Sea directly below, I gasped as if with astonishment. For a glancing moment, I thought I saw an outline of a submerged settlement just before the east coast of Eire came into view. Oh well, just put it behind and let's look ahead.

Arrival in New York.

Once having arrived at New York airport, I was preparing to board a shuttle bus to Manhattan, when a young man from the same flight took a liking to me. He told me that he was heading straight to San Francisco and asked me whether I would be willing to accompany him all the way. I refused, even though San Francisco is on my agenda. I was slightly bothered. If he wanted to go straight to California, then why didn't he fly direct to San Francisco? Jetsave does flights to all major cities in North America.

New York as I've known it - before 9/11. Taken 1998. 

The journey into Manhatten was trouble-free, and I managed to find what looks like a seedy hotel on 8th Avenue and West 44th Street in a district apparently inhabited by Afro-Caribbeans. Indeed, the receptionist of the hotel was a young Afro-Caribbean, but he welcomed me as he assigned me a room upstairs. I entered the room, only to find beetles running across the floor as if my entry had disturbed them. There seems to be a lot of commotion outside with the wailing of sirens. If only I was aware! At one of the city skyscrapers was a fire, and fire engines blocked the street from traffic as they attempted to put the fire out. But having jet lag. being six hours behind British Summer Time, the only energy I had was to crawl into the rather manky bed and get some sleep.

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Next Week: Travel has no time for nursing phobias.

God's Compassion for Women

Mrs Bumble the matron was one remarkable woman. Somewhat on the corpulent side to say the least, she found herself married to a bloke who was once the parish beadle of a workhouse, in grim 19th Century Victorian England. She had found herself married to whom was now the master of the workhouse, himself a domineering, choleric, self confident and a very pompous character who, a few months earlier, got himself acquainted with a Mrs Corney, whose former husband, a member of the governing committee to which the beadle was subjective, was unfortunate to buy the field so prematurely, leaving behind this widowed matron who caught the beadle's attention.

A lovely courtship began to grow between the two, whose generous waistline between the pair of them were a vivid contrast to the half-starved, emaciated paupers who resided in the establishment. As the paupers were fed on a small helping of gruel each day, this couple visually testified that the food resource in the workhouse was far from evenly or fairly distributed. But the beadle's motive for courting the widow was not from a developing sense of love spurred by physical attraction. Rather, he had nosed around her room at her absence, and on opening a drawer of her bedside cabinet, discovered a mystery wooden box with some items inside, which upon shaking, seemed to him as a hint to untold riches. So with this in mind, he married her, and the wife of the late Mr Corney became the present Mrs Bumble, a titled name he always used when both referring to her and calling her over. As far as I'm aware, her forename had never been revealed, neither in that case, her husband's.

So with such formal references to each other, little wonder that there was too little ground for marital love to take root and flourish. Rather, his curiosity over the contents of the wooden box in her bedside cupboard had got the better of him, and not long after their wedding, he pried open the lid to take a peek inside. He was devastated with disappointment. All in the box were twenty pounds, and some cheap trinkets. As all hopes of riches evaporated, his respect for his wife also faded, in response their marriage turned quickly sour when she found out his true motive for their nuptials. The atmosphere could not have been more icy. In those days when marriage vows were taken so seriously with no divorce options taken into consideration, only death of one of the partners could bring some hope to the living spouse. But with both being well fed and remarkably healthy in such a grim environment, they both knew they would be stuck with each other for a long time to come.

So one afternoon, he spent his time slumped in his armchair feeling very sorry for himself, when his wife walks into the cosy, well furnished room from the rest of the workhouse outside. With a piercing screech which would shatter a wine glass, she asks him whether he is going to spend the whole day lounging in the armchair doing nothing other than feel sorry for himself. His thunderous reply was that he could take any mood he wants, as being the master of the workhouse, this was his prerogative.

He felt victorious in himself as his wife first tried the tears. As she wept, his sense of triumph rose as he tells her to weep harder, as this washes out her lungs, relieve frustration, and brings benefits to her health. He then rises from the armchair, dons his hat and makes for the door as he leaves to go out, his heart totally waterproof from her emotions. But as he nears the door, he is stunned by the sudden knocking off of his hat as it flies across the room. She then performs a variety of blows and scratches across his face, then finally lands a blow which sends him sprawling over another chair which seemed to have been placed at that spot for the purpose. She then orders him to get up and get out before she does much worse damage to him, which she promises if he dared talked about his prerogative again. Terrified, he stumbles into the workhouse in total defeat, only to be humiliated by her again in the washing room, right in front of a group of female paupers, who in turn all laughed in delight as they were indeed entertained by the fall of this great man's pride and dominance.*

The author, before relating this story, reminds the reader that this sort of thing is quite common in many marriages of his day, in opposition to the more common malaise of wife beating. But the tragedy is that here in the UK, according to media reports, each week a couple of fatalities occur as a result of domestic violence. In most cases, it is the man beating his wife or partner, but like the case with the Bumbles, men can be beaten by their spouses as well, although this is in the minority. It seems to me that why domestic violence occur is that one always tries to have dominion over the other. And this is certainly not new. Instead, it goes right back in history to the case of Adam and Eve, after the Fall, when God had increased Eve's pain in childbearing, yet she shall desire her husband while he has rule over her.

But I have also learnt in recent years that this "desire" Eve had for her husband can also be a desire to dominate. Whether the author or speaker is right on this account, I cannot be definite, but the case of the Bumbles certainly makes that clear. But in many cases, and particularly within Islam, men had always dominated over women. Even in the Christian church, leadership has always been male, and although the Anglican Church has allowed women into the priesthood, and now proposals have been made for female bishops; in the Roman Catholic Church, female leadership is a definite no-no. This may have been taken from 1 Timothy 2:11-14:

A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or have authority over a man; she must be silent. For Adam was created first, then Eve. And Adam was not the one deceived; it was the woman, and became a sinner.

Paul the apostle says the same to the church in Corinth:

As in all the congregation of the saints, women should remain silent in the churches. They are not allowed to speak, but must be in submission, as the Law says. If they want to enquire about something, they should ask their own husbands at home; for it is disgraceful for a woman to speak in the church.
1 Corinthians 14:34-35.

According to my reference Bible, the "Law" refers back to Genesis 3:16, where God instructed Eve to be in submission to her husband. And as I see it, a law was established in the dawn of history, and since it was to the head of the entire human race, it looks to be universal rather than confined to the Jews. The Bible itself was written entirely by men. In the Old Testament, just about every leader was male, with the possible exception of Deborah, who told the Israeli army commander Barak to defeat the Canaanite armies, whose forces was led by Sisera. When Sisera's forces were defeated by Israel, he fled to a tent owned by a Kenite woman Jael. It was she who killed Sisera while he was asleep with exhaustion (Judges 4.)

Then there was the case of Rahab the pagan prostitute. After hiding a couple of Joshua's men from the threat of the Canaanite residents of Jericho, she was instructed that she must keep her entire household at home at the time of the invasion by Israel. For this to have happened, all the male members of her household, her father, her brothers, possibly her uncles or her cousins, had to submit to her leadership in order to be spared from destruction which came upon the entire city.

Other than these two examples, the Bible looks to be entirely male, including every author. All the Prophets were male, as were all the kings of Judah. Jesus was a male Jew, all twelve of his apostles were men. Paul was a bloke, a Pharisee and a son of a Pharisee. The Jewish Sanhedrin were all men. And according to his two letters to Timothy, Paul wanted all church leaders to be men, each of them having control over his own household. So, did Paul instruct the leaders of the church to be all men according to the culture of the day? Or to pacify the Jews, so they could not point a finger of blame at the church? Or his Paul's edict universal for all time, including the present?

I believe that the third option is the correct one, as the Bible is the eternal Word of God. Rather than to be confined to the culture of the day, it transcends all time, nations, and cultures. Yet on the other hand, I can't see anything wrong with a women's group within a church fellowship being led by a female. I do believe that with a female leading such a group, issues can be discussed more openly, without any degree of reservation had a male been in their presence.

But having said all that, there is good evidence that the Bible has much compassion for the fairer gender. One good example was Hagar, a maidservant to Abraham's wife Sarah, and mother to her master's firstborn Ishmael. Sarah herself was very much like Mrs Bumble - dominant and a bully towards Hagar - to the point when she ran away from her tent and found herself marooned out in the desert. An angel of God told her to return and submit to her mistress. She did, and probably avoided any punishment meted out to a runaway slave. But soon after Sarah's son Isaac was born, Ishmael, realising that he was no longer the top dog and heir to his father's estate, teased the child. Sarah then ordered her husband to get rid of Hagar and her son, as they were not to share the estate with her son Isaac. Echoes of Mrs Bumble. Not long after, Hagar, having hidden her adolescent son in the bushes, went a short distance and wept aloud, without reserve, for the life of her son. It was then that the tender, compassionate hand of God touched her, and opened her eyes to see a well of water nearby. As a result of that moment of compassion, Ishmael married an Egyptian woman to be the founding parents of the Ishmaelite nation.

Leah was another worthy of mention. She was the elder daughter of Laban, the brother of Jacob's mother Rebekah. We are told that she had weak eyes, and therefore ignored by the one she loved, her own cousin and husband Jacob. Instead Jacob loved her younger sister Rachel, who was startlingly beautiful. Throughout her married life, Leah felt rejected as her husband poured all his affection on Rachel. But God's compassion showed when she bore six sons, half of the entire nation of Israel, including Judah, her fourth son, who carried the Messianic Line and was the ancestor of King David. But that was not all. Jacob was renamed Israel by God himself, a name which was an acronym of initials including Isaac, Sarah, Rebekah, Abraham, Elohim and Leah. Elohim being the name of God himself, symbolising his presence in the midst of his people, incorporated Leah's initial within his own Name, thus demonstrating such compassion. But not to be too unfair on Rachel, she later became the mother of Joseph, who ended up Prime Minister of Egypt, second only to Pharaoh himself, and to whom all of his eleven brothers bowed the knee.

There are several more acts of compassion in the Old Testament, including that shown to Ruth, and to her mother-in-law Naomi. Then there was the widow whose dead son was raised to life by Elijah. In the New Testament, we read about Jesus walking all the way up to Tyre in Sidon to heal the daughter of one Canaanite woman. And other acts of compassion shown to various females throughout his ministry. Such as to the woman who touched the border of the Lord's cloak, and was healed of an issue lasting for twelve years. Or the raising of the widow's son, a repeat of Elijah's miracle. Then his relationship with Martha and Mary, the two sisters of Lazarus, who rose from the tomb under the command of Jesus. Interestingly enough, Martha was similar to Mrs Bumble, who complained that her sister was not sharing with the housework. Yet the Lord still loved her as much as her sister. Then who can forget his discourse with the un-named woman at the well, who was offered living water rather than faced condemnation for five failed marriages. And how he rescued an adulteress caught in the act from being stoned alive. Last but not least, while hanging on the cross, he commissioned his mother to be taken care of in John's house.

Paul the apostle did not recommend women to be leaders of the church, but he did insist that all husbands should love their wives, as Christ loves the church. The resurrected Lord sees his Church as a bride, full of glory and splendour. So, no doubt, God would want us as husbands to see our wives in the same way, for that's how God loves them.

Poor Mrs Bumble! If only her husband really loved her for who she was instead of deceiving her and throwing his prerogative around. Both might have enjoyed a far happier marriage, especially if she knew of God's love in her life.
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*From Charles Dickens' novel Oliver Twist, of which the above was my own analysis of the author's far more classical narration.