What would you like to know about Shadowy Husband? I’d better start at the beginning. (Apologies for a lengthy post.)
Husband and I met at a place called Lee Abbey, a Christian conference and holiday centre on the north coast of Devon. Lovely place, does good cream teas if you’re ever passing. He was on the staff there, and I went down for 8 weeks as a summer volunteer, when I was what is politely called “between jobs”. I’d walked out of one bad (very bad) job situation before sorting out the next, and was feeling on the one hand that at 29 I was too old to do that kind of irresponsible thing, and on the other, very liberated and rather proud of myself for being so brave. Husband thought to himself “here’s a woman who gives up a perfectly civilized life and heads West to a future of uncertainty - that’s something that might come in useful later on”, and married me.
At that point in his life, he had been ordained in the Church of England, going pretty much straight from university to theological college (seminary). He’d done one curacy, a miserable period of his life since it coincided with the beginning of a 6-year period of severe depression, and also included a 1-year interregnum between vicars, when he was in total charge of running a large parish (usually a 2-person parish), doing all weekly services, weddings, funerals, baptisms, meetings, you name it, on the basis of very little experience. Depression was looked on very differently in the late 80s. It was just about OK for women, but not for a man, a young man, and certainly not a man of the cloth. If people didn’t actually say “snap out of it”, he was frequently left in no doubt that that’s what they thought. He was out of the worst of it by the time we met, but kept telling me, in our early days, how he wasn’t sure he was ready for a relationship, and felt incapable of relating normally to people. I saw how very popular and respected he was by the rest of the large lay community that runs Lee Abbey, and how guests seemed drawn to him too, and decided to make my own judgment. The depression has never returned since those 6 years, and although I’m writing about it here, neither of us thinks about it much at all these days. It made for an unusual start to our journey together, though.
After Lee Abbey, Husband worked as a university chaplain (he had joined me in London), and again in parish ministry. Then he went back to being a full-time student, and did a PhD in Theology, as you do, and that was when he found his vocation. He loves studying theology, and he loves teaching. He is a man in his element. His job here has taken him off at a bit of a tangent: he’s a Professor of Philosophy and Ethics (I know, I know, doesn’t sound very different to Theology, but it is to him). If you want to know why we came to the Midwest for him to pursue his dream career, you could perform this exercise: count the number of universities in the UK that offer Theology, count the number of people who want to teach Theology, divide the first by the second. I try not to do it too often. Bit depressing.
Anyway, all this tells you what he does, but it doesn’t really tell you what he’s like. I’m coming to that.
Husband is a patient man. Sometimes he comes in from work, and I will witter on at him about the trivia of my day for ages (I think I’ve mentioned before my capacity to witter). If he is inwardly thinking “who is this unstoppable maniac, and what has she done with that nice woman I married who was capable of intelligent conversation?” his face doesn’t betray it for a split second. I see the same thing when he is talking to other people. He is genuinely interested in them, and gives them time and space in a way that I think is unusual. He enjoyed taking communion to elderly housebound people in the parish, and spent twice as much time on the job as his predecessor. He has had to learn to temper this quality a little with his students, who would otherwise happily gobble up all his spare office time with the desire to spout tales of their own adolescent musings, thinly disguised as a thirst for knowledge.
I wouldn’t be giving you an accurate picture of Husband if I didn’t talk about his books. We have lots of them in our house (and those are the ones that don’t fit on the bookshelves in his office). Lots and lots. That’s all I’ll say on the subject.
Husband loves children and babies. When I was first getting to know him, I noticed how he would talk about friends of his, but start off by telling me about their children. There were photos around of him tossing toddlers in the air, chasing older kids, cuddling babies. I remember once at that time telling him he was good with kids and asking him what his secret was. I confessed that I felt awkward around them.
“You just have to talk to them” he said.
“I try to, but I never know what to talk about, and they just go silent.”
“You just have to ask them questions about what they’re interested in, until you get to know them. Like talking to anyone.”
“Well, what ARE 3 year olds interested in?”
“All kinds of things…”
He seemed to think it was easy. Before I had my own first baby, I’d never changed a nappy. He’d done lots, including the old terry squares that you had to fold into a kite shape. He was way ahead of me.
I have a clear memory of him, holding our first newborn while I was in the bath after delivery. He was sitting on a cramped stool in the tiny hospital bathroom, with a 7lb 9oz bundle tucked into the crook of one elbow, chatting to me (hm, on reflection, it was probably me doing the chatting…), and looking for all the world as if this was his day job.
Husband is one of a rare breed. He is genuine. If you cut him down the middle with a knife, at his core you would find an intense nugget of what you see on the outside, and the space between would all be made of the same stuff too. I’m not sure most of us are like that. He holds to ideals, to the point where personal sacrifice is involved (he once lost a job, badly, for sticking to principles). History shows that if push comes to shove, most of us will potter down a slippery slope of morality, and end up reporting neighbours and friends to the secret police, if it means safeguarding ourselves and our family. Husband would be that man in prison, or worse, for having refused to cross a line somewhere along the way. It worries me sometimes, but I admire him hugely. It’s a quality that means he finds working in institutions a challenge. He continually expects the organization to function efficiently, and people to behave honestly and openly, and is continually disappointed.
As befits a philosophy Prof, Husband is touchingly disengaged from the worst excesses of modern day culture. He has no interest in designer goods, keeping up with the latest fashion in whatever it is, or big names. (I don’t either, actually, but I’m a less extreme example than he is.) This is partly a deliberate choice and partly because he is truly uninterested. He is hopelessly ignorant when it comes to celebrities, doesn’t know who they are, can’t identify them in pictures, cares not a jot what they’re wearing, seeing or doing, and is totally unembarrassed when this lack of knowledge is discovered. I have long given up covering for him in conversation. I now find it endearing, and honestly, I think he’s the one who’s got the right attitude, in the midst of our rather mad world.
Let me quote you a recent conversation. Husband had brought home from the mall several perfume samples, for me to choose between for a birthday present.
Husband: This one’s called “Kate Moss”. Don’t know why.
Me: Yes, you do. Come on. You’ve heard of Kate Moss.
H: Have I? Is she an actress?
Me: No. Try the other thing you know to guess.
H: A model?
Me: Well done. Look (click, click, google, click). Here’s a picture of her.
H: (peering with trademark myopic squint) Oh… yes… I think I might recognize her. [He probably doesn’t. Ed.] But why have they called a perfume after her?
Me: Well, I suppose it’s because women will buy it, because at some level they think that if they use it, it will make them a tiny bit more like her. (Seeing bemused look on H’s face) Silly, yes, obviously, but maybe I should try it.
H: Why would you want to look like her?
Me: Well, a lot of people think she’s very attractive. Would you like me to look like her?
H: Why would I like you to look like her? Then you’d never smile, you’d be far too skinny, like a skeleton, all angular, and you’d probably do that stupid slouchy walk too.
The thing is, he’s not just saying that to make me feel good. He really means it. Do you know how liberating it is to be married to such opinions?
What else? He’s patient, kind, thoughtful, incisive, funny, and oh, I have to tell you this. Every morning, he makes me a cup of tea and brings it to me in bed. Every morning. Eat your skinny slouchy-walk heart out, Kate Moss. I’ve never finally discerned whether he does it because he is a thoroughly nice man and an attentive husband, or because he prefers getting through the first half hour of the day with a functioning woman as company, rather than a grunting mono-syllabic zombie. Let’s assume the former.
And hills. I forgot to mention hills (we’re neither of us really Great Plains people…) He loves being outdoors, camping, biking and hiking. As a teenager, he walked 84 miles in one day. He’d done the 42 mile Lyke Wake Walk, across the North York Moors from west to east, for years running, so one year decided with a friend to do it there and back again, in 24 hours. They succeeded on the second attempt. He loves the mountains of Scotland, and has a favourite one: Stac Pollaidh. I’ve never been there (even though we lived in Scotland for 6 years) – it’s on our joint list of things to do.
One last thing (and not many people know about this). He is remarkably good at hopping. He can hop faster over a short distance than an average 5 year old can run (we've tried it). It’s such a shame sprint-hopping was never an Olympic sport. If they do introduce it, it’ll be too late for him now – I’m afraid he’s past his hopping prime. What can you do with an ability to hop? It’s such an under-valued talent.
Husband’s perfect day would include a long walk in the hills, a dam-building project in a stream with the children, preferably with a smooth expanse of water nearby to show off his prodigious stone-skimming skills, a steak, a full-bodied red wine, sticky toffee pudding, the cricket highlights on tv (England winning), an episode of Blackadder, and an early night with a weighty theological tome. Oh, and me.
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