Divine intervention?

It never ceases to amaze me just how fickle the human memory can be! These days, it can be a gargantuan struggle to recall the name of a recently discovered perfume or restaurant, whilst certain events (dating back to the previous decade!) remain perfectly preserved, as if they have undergone a sort of mental embalming process.

Some 13 or 14 years ago, I had all but completed a full week’s examining work in the South East of England. I was still relatively new to the whole process, but I was beginning to feel reasonably confident about the various procedures, and I was gradually developing a style of my own. I had looked at the candidate list the previous evening, and there was seemingly nothing out of the ordinary. Friday, (I felt certain) would be a relatively straightforward end to a busy, but rewarding, week.

Always one to err on the side of caution I rose early, ate quickly, and checked out of my accommodation. I set off down the road (at the behest of my ageing Sat Nav) for what was purported to be a 15-minute journey to the exam venue. However, it quite rapidly became the proverbial ‘journey from Hell’…

No sooner had I pulled away, than the heavens opened, and the windscreen wipers of my Renault Clio battled heroically against the deluge of water that was waging war upon them. Meanwhile, I was fighting a battle of my own; I was desperately trying to maintain some degree of visibility whilst every conceivable viewpoint promptly misted up. Heavy traffic (and strategically placed roadworks) all conspired against me, and the minutes ticked stubbornly away. Having missed my turning a couple of times (to the extreme displeasure of countless unforgiving local drivers) I finally pulled into the car park of the exam venue.

I could hear the wind whipping around the corner of the building (in near apocalyptic fashion) so I decided to wait in the car for a while. As I surveyed the outside of the building, I wondered if I would be spending the day inside the church itself, or in the rather gloomy looking hall to the side. I later discovered that the exams would be taking place in the church hall, and began making my way towards a (frankly quite intimidating) steel security door.

Just a bit further along the path I spied a billboard. It sported a rather garish looking poster, that was curling up at the edges:

 ‘Jesus Lives Here!’ it claimed (rather optimistically).

“Really?” I thought. And then (having briefly considered the many other options that must have been available) I muttered, “I’m quite sure that He doesn’t!”

Determined not to ‘judge a book by its cover’, however, I strode confidently inside and called out a greeting. A few moments later, a man that could quite easily have been Mr. Filch’s doppelganger (from the Harry Potter movies) emerged, looking mildly irritated that I had arrived before he had finished ‘setting up’. I apologised for any inconvenience caused and followed him dutifully down a series of gloomy passageways, to a remote room at the far end of the building. Once inside, I noted that there was a piano, a narrow desk, a wooden chair, and a somewhat rickety music stand. At the edges of the room were stacks upon stacks of chairs and various other pieces of discarded furniture. The only light cast was from a single bare bulb that hung from the ceiling. Not exactly welcoming!

Not to be deterred I unpacked all my materials, affixed my warmest smile, and braced myself for the morning’s exams… The door opened and the steward introduced the first candidate; a young girl of about 7 or 8, immaculately dressed, and wearing the most beautiful smile. My spirits rose.

The rest of the working day passed without incident. A large percentage of the candidates were extremely well prepared and even those who were not, managed (by and large) to meet the requirements. I swiftly packed everything away (keen to get home) and I began retracing my steps along the myriad of passageways, towards the exit.

About three quarters of the way there, the lights suddenly went out and I was plunged into darkness. I called out to the caretaker, and he obligingly responded that there was “a switch on the right-hand side – just in front of the door”. All very well, but this was total darkness that I was dealing with…

Anyway, after some increasingly frantic searching, I eventually located the light switch (on the left-hand side, incidentally!) and I flicked it on gratefully. I was immediately confronted by another poster, attached to the back of the steel security door that I had been trying so hard to locate. It was a striking gold colour with the words:

‘I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness but will have the light of life’ emblazoned upon it.

As I left the building, the irony was not lost on me!