I didn’t really care for Anthony very much. At the time of this story he was 13 or 14 years old, a clever and precocious kid down the Hall. He was extremely zealous about The Truth and took it, and himself, very seriously. To be honest , I thought he was a bit of a prick.
I was in my early twenties, just recently married. I think now (even if I couldn’t see it then) one of the reasons I so disliked him was that I had been so very like him, so very recently. Four or five years of pioneering had cured me of all that nonsense, and I was pretty disenchanted with the Truth, and would be entirely out of it in just a couple of more years.
But this story isn’t about me, but about him. So, our cast of characters are: Anthony, Pat (a leading congregational Elder, and my new Father-in-law), and Anthony’s mother – a woman whose name I’ve forgotten, and about whom I know almost nothing – except for this one heart-breaking memory.
Anthony, then: Like I said, very studious and serious. He answered up at the meetings all the time; unfailingly he would conspicuously study up for every meeting, with all his highlights and underlinings highly visible on his Watchtower. He was very correct, very smug, holier-than-thou and superior. He had a lot of platform parts.
He cared very much about “correct grammar” - although he really wasn’t as smart as he thought he was. It used to drive me crazy the way he would always pronounce any phrase involving the word Jesus when used as a possessive noun ( i.e. phrases like “Jesus’ disciples” “Jesus’ teachings” etc) as :
“Jesu’s disciples” “Jesu’s teachings”. That’s what he said - Jee-zyooze
I would try and tell him that there was really no need to contort the language like that. You just needed to say Jesus disciples, just as if there were no apostrophe.
(Skip this digression If you’re not interested in these finer details of English Grammar: but as a general rule English has no problem with adding an s to a name ending in s. It’s perfectly okay to say: James’s cat; or Mrs Jones’s hat; or even Keats’s odes. But, by convention, when the name is from antiquity, adding an s to a name ending in s is never done. We never say Achilles’s heel, King Midas’s touch or Jesus’s disciples. The correct thing to say is just: Jesus’ disciples.)
But Anthony would not have it. “Look, if I just say Jesus, that’s just not right – because it has an apostrophe there. But , you know, sometimes Jesus is referred to as Jesu. So, the best thing to do when there’s an apostrophe is to say Jesu’s. I’m sorry, but I do think that I am right, not you.”
He just wouldn’t be told. So, alongside all his other fine, theocratic qualities we might add a streak of prideful stubbornness. I suspected that I wasn’t the only one down the Hall who found him tiresome.
A word or two about Pat: an Elder from the very beginning of the Elder arrangement, Pat had been a leading light in his congregation for many years. His congregation (and Anthony’s) wasn’t mine or my new wife’s, we lived a way away. But we spent a lot of time there, and knew everyone pretty well. Pat was – in the classic Elder tradition – all sweetness and light down the Hall, but rather a different animal at home. Away from the congregation, his default setting was “irritable”, which could flare up at any time into “furious” - he had a very short fuse.
The one thing, though, that brought out the very worst in him was driving. He would curse and shout at the other drivers all the time. Driving was a deadly serious competition, and everyone else was cheating! He couldn’t get through the shortest journey without, at some point, point winding down his window and screaming “Learn to drive, you stupid scrubber!” (woman driver) or “Just watch where you’re going, you wanker!” (if it was a man).
I’m not saying he was all bad. Clearly, he loved his wife and family above all else, and he could be very funny company when you went for a drink. I quite liked him. He was just a normal bloke, I suppose, in lots of ways. The point I’m making is that the “good, meek Christian” and “mature Elder” personality is , so often, just a sham, a suit of clothes worn only at meetings.
Anyway, Pat was the book-study conductor at the local group, and that’s where this story is set. You should know something about Pat’s style of public speaking, and the way he conducted the book-study:
He had quite a. Staccato and punctuated. Way of speaking. And it was full of. Lots of filler questions. What about that then? How do we feel about that? [and, looking at someone in particular] so, what do you say?
For those of us who knew him, and were accustomed to his way, we knew the drill. We’d get to the end of the paragraph, or whatever, and he would start filling with “So, how about that then? What do we think?”
To which the correct response (if it was you he was looking at) was always “Marvellous!” “Wonderful!” “So upbuilding!” and so on. It was just his way, he was the study conductor, and felt the need to keep the meeting moving, and when he couldn’t think of anything else, it was always “So, what about this? How do we feel?”
And one particular Tuesday evening, we had Anthony and his family at our study group. He wasn’t part of our study group – perhaps the family had been visiting someone, or something, but that evening there was Anthony, his mum and dad and younger sister swelling our numbers.
Now, Anthony’s family , I guess, was not accustomed so much to Pat’s constant questioning style. But they quickly seemed to get the hang of it. A lot of nodding, a lot of “yes, wonderful, such good counsel” - they seemed to be doing fine.
Until about half way through. At this point, Pat turns his gaze upon Anthony and he says
“So, what do you think of it so far?”
Now, those readers who grew up in the UK will know exactly where this is going, but I had better explain for the benefit of everyone else...
Back in those days, back in the seventies, the most popular entertainers in the country were a comedy double-act called Morecambe and Wise. They were huge. Their TV shows got top ratings and their Christmas specials still hold records even today for the highest- ever viewing figures. Everyone loved them, they were a National Institution.
And everyone knew their catch-phrases.
One of their most popular and enduring catch-phrases was where Morecambe would interrupt proceedings, turn to the audience and shout: “What do you think of it so far?”
To which the audience heartily shouted back “RUBBISH!” * huge laughter *
... and we’re back in the book-study now, where Anthony is about to make his colossal miscalculation.
Who knows why Pat phrased his question to Anthony in that particular way? He could not have been unaware of the catch-phrase. Why did he do it?
But, Anthony, seemingly believing that Pat was just joshing him along, well, his face lights up and he pipes back:
“RUBBISH! ha-ha-ha-ha ...”
His laughter dies on his lips as Pat simply sits staring at him, completely deadpan. The room goes quiet, and Anthony turns scarlet.
Pat lets the moment linger.
“Oh.” And he leaves another pause.
“Oh. I see.”
“So. You think it’s rubbish, do you?”
The room was still very quiet, and round about now, I’m thinking – okay Pat, that’s enough. Now move on.
But Pat hadn’t finished. Not by a long sight.
“You think. Jehovah’s word. Is a load of rubbish. Do you?”
“You think. All this material. The brothers prepare for us. Is just a load of rubbish?”
Anthony is – by this point - beyond mortified. He can’t even speak. He can’t answer back to even apologise, or explain. He just wants to disappear.
And Pat still hasn’t finished. He has the taste of blood, he’s like a dog with a rat in its jaws - he ‘s not going to stop shaking it until it is absolutely dead.
“Well. Let me tell you. If it’s okay with you, Anthony. I will continue to take. A rather different view.”
“ I. Do not think. It is rubbish.”
And finally, it is over. Pat says “okay, on to paragraph twelve...”
The rest of the book-study continues without incident. Anthony says not a word. Nor his family. Nobody even mentions anything after it has finished. I think everyone is simply too embarrassed.
I lost a lot of respect for Pat that day. Anthony was a holier-than-thou prick, but what Pat did was just brutal. And I’m pretty sure he knew what he was doing with the catch-phrase thing.
Driving home in the car, later that evening, the first one to mention it at all, is Pat’s wife (my mother-in-law) Alice.
The ever-loyal Alice says “Well, I simply don’t know WHAT got into Anthony tonight! Why would ANYONE say that?”
And Pat said simply: “Well, he needed bringing down a peg or two. Has done for ages.”
And now I’m sure about the catch phrase.
I don’t know whatever became of Anthony, did he stay in the Truth? Did he get out? Did Pat do him a sort-of favour? I don’t know.
My abiding memory of the whole thing is Anthony’s mother, sat next to me.
Just as Pat was saying “on to paragraph twelve..” I could just hear her say, almost under her breath, in the most anguished, heart-breaking whisper: “ Oh, Anthony....”