REMEMBERING JOHN RENWICK...

John Renwick in his church office in the mid '80s

On my answerphone is a message which I haven't yet erased - and I'm not sure I ever will. As long as it's there, I can listen to it every so often and it's almost like he's still alive and left it only mere moments ago.

Sadly, however, he isn't, having died from cancer at the far too young
age of sixty or thereabouts, leaving a widow - Irene, and two grown-up children - John Anthony and Deborah. The knowledge that I'll never get to speak with him again is a sad and sobering thought.

Gordon Shields (another minister), me, and John in 1979

You're no doubt wondering who I'm talking about, so I'll tell you. JOHN RENWICK is he to whom I refer, a church minister I met back in around April or May of 1978 when I was only a callow youth of about nineteen. (That means John would have been in his late twenties at the time, which is far younger than I am now.) I attended a meeting at his church one night because I was at a loose end and free tea and biscuits had been advertised for after the service. Free scoffs? Lead on, McDuff.

John, originally from the Edinburgh area, had relocated to my home
town sometime in the '70s (I think) and didn't stay too far away from me. Subsequently, I would often drop in on him for a game of darts or chess (and sometimes even both), and we would sit and discuss the merits of the JAMES BOND movies and whether anyone ever had a smoother singing voice than country crooner JIM REEVES.

John and me playing darts around '81/'82 - rather campily it appears, in my case



Sometime in the late '80s or early '90s, John and his family moved to Stirling. I spoke to him on the 'phone every so often, and on occasion met with him and Irene when they were back to visit various other friends they had in the area. He often invited me over to his new home, and equally as often I promised to visit - but somehow the years raced away without me ever doing so, despite my best intentions.

Then one day a mutual friend told me that John had been receiving treatment for bowel cancer. I 'phoned him when I heard the news, to express my concern and to ask after him. Somehow I got the impression

that he was over the worst of it, and would make a full recovery, and if John knew or suspected otherwise he never let on to me. (Unless, of course, I was just too obtuse to pick up on it.)

Poor quality photocopy of pencil sketch of
John, circa 1980/'81

One day, in 2010, John
'phoned - I missed the call
by seconds, but once I'd ascertained who it was by listening to the answerphone message - I 'phoned him right back and we nattered away for about twenty minutes or so, with John once again inviting me to visit him and me once more promising to do so at the earliest opportunity.

Well, I'm sure you know where this is going. Sadly, John died not too long after, without me ever getting the chance to keep my word. It's only now, with hindsight, that I wonder if John knew his days were numbered and his 'phone call was his way of saying goodbye in case we never got to meet again.

What can I say? Time flies by so quickly that it seemed John had only moved two or three years before, rather than the twenty or so it actually was. I wish I'd made more of an effort now - had managed to get on a train and journeyed to Stirling to visit John and his family, instead of sitting
feeling guilty over ignoring an opportunity which is now forever lost to me.

Maybe one day I'll eventually get to make that journey and visit Irene. And if so, I'm sure John will be there too, in spirit at least, to welcome me as I finally fulfill the promise I made to him all those years ago.

John and me in his office in the mid-'80s