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I had worked hard all Saturday afternoon on my computer - such a change from the recent past when Saturdays in summer were reserved exclusively for cricket! I thought it would do me good to have a little stroll in the fading light of evening. It is very pleasant to walk around Bury St Edmunds on a summer's evening with the swifts screaming overhead.
As I was ambling through the old cemetery beside the cathedral I heard a feeble voice plead weakly, "Help me, help me up." It was very gloomy under the fine avenue of lime trees and this faint cry issued from the shadows. I could see no one and the temptation was to leave the scene at speed. A cemetery is no place to hear disembodied voices. Instead I looked carefully about me and saw a little old lady sitting on a bench. She was as grey as the shadows. I went over to her. "Help me up - I'm frozen," she said. She extended her arms. "After three," she said. "One, two, three - heave." I pulled her up. "Have you Parkinson's disease?" I asked. "Yes," she replied. I wasn't allowed to leave the lady because she asked if I would accompany her. So she held my arm and I held her handbag and together we made our way out of the cemetery and towards the Angel Hill. Now I have to say that I wondered where we were walking to. So I asked her, "Where do you live?" She replied, "I think I live in St Margaret's Court. That's where my husband lived before he died." The lady thought a moment before continuing vaguely, "Perhaps, I live at the hospital." This was not very encouraging. I asked again, "Is St Margaret's Court this way?" The lady reassured me, saying, "Don't worry. They'll be out looking for me. My husband will come to find me." This scarcely set my mind at rest seeing as her husband was dead! My companion was not just suffering from Parkinson's disease! Nonetheless the little old lady was not afraid. She said, "You're a kind man. Will you marry me." Not used to being proposed to I spluttered, "I'm a bit beyond that now." So it wasn't a complete refusal! I was beginning to worry that our walk would never end when my companion cried out, "Look there he is! My husband." A young man approached. He certainly wasn't her husband. My hopes were dashed. But the young man was her carer and he was out looking for his charge. He said, "I see that you have found yourself a new boyfriend." I gave the poor woman a kiss and left. How little I helped her - for just a few minutes in her tragic life. I did not even know the way home and was glad to hand her over to another. I couldn't help contrasting my inadequate effort with that of the one of whom it is written: "Wherefore, he is able also to save them to the uttermost that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for them." Heb7v25. Only Jesus, help of the helpless, can see us safely home.
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