My Story – Part 1 – Where Did It All Go Wrong?
Hi, my name is Paul and I’m an ex-Jehovah’s Witness. By the end of this sorry tale I hope to be an ex-ex-Jehovah’s Witness. But not yet. I’m 40 years old later this year and happily married for 11 years now to Samantha. We have two boys – aged 4 and 2. We’re from the UK but currently find ourselves at the edge of the world and all of Western civilization about 50 yards from the Pacific Ocean in Hermosa Beach, LA. My story begins in Glasgow, Scotland - naturally my parents figured in this so let’s start with them.
My father Hugh was born in 1934 in Glasgow – the industrial heartbeat of the British Empire - the 3 rd and last child with two older sisters. Both his parents were to some degree alcoholic. His military father was a disciplinarian who brooked no argument and was one of the first British prisoners of war, captured in 1939. I don’t think he argued with his captors! So between the ages of 5 and 11 my Dad was brought up in a single parent household during wartime, enduring regular bombing raids by the German Luftwaffe. At the age of 8 he suffered a near fatal motor vehicle knockdown which left him unconscious for 2 weeks, and as later discovered, medically observable brain injury. Dad was a talented soccer player and a dedicated supporter of his team, Glasgow Celtic. He was born into a Roman Catholic household and so went to a Catholic school where he was subject to some humiliation by the priests but nothing too serious, given more recent revelations. Religion, education and soccer were all linked together and giving up Chapel also meant giving up playing for the school soccer team. Tough choice. Leaving school with a basic education meant finding work, which was in plentiful supply in those days but ultimately Dad ended up doing 2 years conscripted National Service - he qualified with 100% pass mark for the RAF but his poor eyesight let him down so he had a decent desk job with the British Army. Shortly after leaving the Army and returning to Glasgow in 1956 he met a lovely island girl – Ann.
My mother Ann was born in 1938 in the Outer Hebrides, an island chain 20 miles of the north west coast of Scotland. The 3 rd child of eight and the oldest girl she was born into a Protestant family with a high regard for the work ethic, the Bible and the frugal lifestyle required in a wartime island existence. Although her father was an alcoholic he provided well and had plenty status in the local community. Her mother was much loved and well respected by all, mainly for putting up with her sometimes physically abusive husband. Leaving home at aged 11 for a high school education Mum maintained her love of the Bible and the outdoor lifestyle. She ended up in Glasgow – the big city – doing domestic work – where she had a chance encounter with a handsome young soldier just back from overseas.
Protestant Mum and Catholic Dad were married in a simple Protestant service attended by a best man and a bridesmaid. Dad was 22 and Mum was celebrating her 18 th birthday –it was September 11 th 1956. My Dad’s father said he wouldn’t attend any wedding involving a Protestant girl and Mum’s parents were simply too far away. Shortly after the wedding they emigrated to New York to seek a better life together. Fatefully they ended up in Brooklyn, where they found their feet and where a new religion knocked their door.
The reasons why my parents became Jehovah’s Witnesses has interested me recently. I never gave that particular question any thought until a year or so ago. Now it seems crystal clear to me they were ripe for recruitment into a high control group – it could have been Moonies, Mormons or Church of God, but it just so happens it was a friendly lady who worked at the world headquarters of Jehovah’s Witnesses in Brooklyn that answered their questions and left them hungry for more. I’m convinced that they decided to join on that first visit as the following six reasons make it inevitable they would join something.
I – they had abusive or otherwise difficult childhoods
II -they were young, naïve, unworldly and impressionable
II – they had dissatisfactory religious experiences up to that point
IV – they had a spiritual side to their character which hadn’t found an outlet
V – they were vulnerable - 3000 miles from home and no family infrastructure nearby
VI – they were intelligent but undereducated for their capacity to learn
Now given all that, when someone knocks your door and answers the big perplexing questions in a cohesive and competent manner who wouldn’t be attracted? You have no frame of reference or worldview, no alternative paradigm. Oh - and you will live forever in a paradise earth before the 1914 generation dies off. The prospect of being part of a worldwide movement for change (that your parents don't know about and wouldn’t approve of if they did) is highly enticing to intelligent young people, and so I was born and raised a Jehovah’s Witness – but could equally have been a Moonie or similar. Just chance, that’s all.
And sure enough fast forward to 1969 I was born into a little family of faithful Witnesses in Glasgow– the 2 nd son with one older brother Andrew. Mum and Dad had returned to Scotland from Brooklyn in 1958 and continued their Bible Study with local JW's. On getting baptised they did some regular pioneer work in Glasgow, Dundee and Oban. They then returned to the US - California this time - where they worked domestically for a part of the Hershey family. I believe they lived in Pasadena and went to the Altadena Kingdom Hall between 1965 and 1967. Andrew was born in UCLA Hospital about 6 months before they returned to Glasgow in late 1967. My early memories are back in the Hebridean Islands – we moved there in 1972 ostensibly to serve where the need was greater – but I’m sure Mum and Dad had one eye on 1975 and a remote island offered a safer place to bring in the end of the world with 2 young sons to think about. Those were happy days with unlimited space to run about and explore the countryside – an ever present danger was drowning – salt and freshwater hazards abounded – so we were well-warned not to drown! We had a great start to our education with high quality schooling and a stay at home Mum who drilled us in our lessons when we got home. Time well spent though as both Andrew and I would go on to successful careers in spite of the Watchtower injunction to become fulltime unpaid salesmen for their books and their promise of the end of the world.
Being a Jehovah’s Witness did figure heavily in our young lives. Being on a lightly populated remote island there was no Kingdom Hall – in fact I don’t think London Bethel treated us as a proper congregation – we were classified as an ‘isolated group’. That didn’t temper Dad’s ambition to do things properly. We had 5 meetings a week in our humble home, replete with podium, songs and prayers. I think we had tape recorded public talks from wherever Mum and Dad could get hold of them. I seem to recall my Dad did most of the items and we answered up – a lot. Later on I would meet members of the Britain Branch Committee who could recall visiting our home (and staying with us) as CO or sometimes DO and our 4 man meeting deal. Getting off the island for the Circuit Assembly and District Convention was a huge adventure for us. Getting up at 4 in the morning for the 8 mile walk to the ferry - 8 hours on the ferry then a 4 hour bus trip to get to Glasgow or Edinburgh. Such excitement that we couldn't sleep for days beforehand. There was another family of Jehovah’s Witnesses who are on the island to this day. They moved up from England in 1975 and had ideas of self-sufficiency with regard to livestock, garden produce etc. They didn’t choose the best of climates or soil types to facilitate growing stuff – even the goat struggled to get enough to eat - but hey – it was 1975. So as often as possible we would combine forces with the other family to have a joint meeting – maybe a dozen all in when a few hangers on would turn up. The only problem was they lived about 15 miles away and we didn’t have a car, so we would set off to walk to their house – no kidding. Age 5 and a 15 mile walk to the meeting. Could I be making this up? We would usually get picked up by someone so I don’t recall ever completing the entire trip on foot, but it’s the thought that counts. The real treat was getting a cup of coffee after the meeting – we never had coffee in our house. Talking of houses my Mum and Dad between them conspired to live in a lot of different houses. At the tender age of seven I can recall at least 4 houses and 2 different schools. When I say ‘house’ that’s a flexible term – it could be a trailer with a tarp on the roof or a house without electricity or without indoor plumbing – I’d ticked those boxes by that point. I don’t mean to demean what Mum and Dad provided for us – we were the proverbial church mice, but happy for all that – in my case I had freedom and fresh air – what more does a seven year old want?
What a seven year old boy doesn’t want is to be the new boy in a new school in a new town. And that’s where I found myself in Perth in 1977.
Part II Growing Up In A Big Town (to follow when I write it)...