We met in a café at the west end of Union Street in Aberdeen in the late sixties. It was place often frequented by students for coffee in late evening, called The Pharaohs, decorated in Egyptian style with hieroglyphics. There were four us ending up together after a student meeting in the commercial college nearby. Two guys from the school of architecture and the girls from the college of education. My friend was a year my senior super confident and sophisticated, a great talker and natty dresser. I was in his train, just listening most of the time. One of the girls had caught my eye and I was intrigued by her taste, unusual at the time, for black coffee. My friend was not so impressed. As we left and made our way up Albyn Place, I asked who were they? What were their names? We hadn’t even asked! I don’t recall what he said, but he didn’t know and he wasn’t really bothered. It didn’t really matter to him, but it did to me and over the coming months, I not only found out her name but learned a lot about her, took every opportunity to spend time with her and as we walked past the rendezvous café on Cromwell Road one late Sunday afternoon, I found her hand.

A year and a bit later. I proposed. We had been out walking on a glorious spring day from Kilchoan to Kilkieran on the west coast of Islay. The sun was shimmering across the sea, seagulls gathering and gannets diving over a suspected shoal in the waters, lambs were bleating and a dog barking in the distance. We stopped on a little stone bridge over a burn and I asked her if she would marry me. I don’t remember her exact words but I took it as “yes” and for the next 50 plus years she was a constant in my life. I could fill the page with many justifiable superlatives and words of gratitude and admiration but that would simply be a parody of the reality of a relationship that simply could not be put into words. 

One of the unusual aspects of our bond was the she did not share any of my creative interests and passions.  Art, music, poetry and literature didn’t seem to touch or move her. That would be considered, by many, to be a severe handicap. Strangely it was our strength and perhaps was the singular thing that saved me from drowning in a pit of my own self-indulgence and self-importance. It sharpened my pencil and honed a self-critical tone to what I tried to do.  Her creativity was not with the ephemeral arts but with people and it was that interest in and interaction with other people from all sorts of backgrounds and cultures and languages and traditions which was the singular factor in drawing me out of what could have been a very insular and self-absorbed life.

We were married in the Baptist Church in Perth in 1971, by our minster William Still of Gilcomston South Church Aberdeen and he took us through our vows with his inimitable sonorous voice. The building was destroyed by fire some years later and most of the 80 guests who joined us, on that day, have since departed, but the details of that event are permanently imprinted on my mind. It was the experience of finally moving into a home of our own, however, that really got to me. We tried to rent a flat which was difficult at that time, till our solicitor suggested we might buy. It seemed completely out of the question to us, but with help from my father-in-law and a loan from a finance company we managed to gather the £850 to purchase a ground floor two roomed flat across the river Dee in Torry, just two weeks before our wedding day.  It had a toilet in the close and a single cold water tap and sink in the kitchen. We purchased a bed, a cooker, painted the floor boards kingfisher blue, laid down rugs and with generous wedding gifts, put together the semblance of a home. We were so happy. On the first Saturday back, I remember very clearly watching my young wife walk across the street and down the lane, with her crocheted top and short skirt and shopping bag going off into town. I was overcome with the indescribable feeling of warmth that she would be back soon and it would be to our home.   There was something about the drama of courtship, having spent each night apart, each evening having to say goodbye, each time going back to our separate accommodation and then, finally, to experience the completed joy of being together.

We did our best and felt it our duty to share that joy whenever we could. An older and wiser couple in the church explained to us how they believed that their home was not really theirs but a gift from God to be used for others, a haven in an otherwise hostile world.  We tried our best to emulate that principle. In the early 2000s this took on a new dimension when we were asked to host international students who came to our city’s universities. A friend in our church asked us if we wanted to be part of the hospitality scheme. The idea was that students, strangers to a foreign country could be linked up with local families.  It was a simple act and one of the main thrusts in the establishment of Friends International. Our first attempts to make contact were fraught with difficulties. This was, of course, in the age before emails, mobile phones and social media. We failed miserably at first and seemed unable to make any serious connection and wondered if we were cut out for this sort of thing.  We were on the point of giving up and telling our friend that it wasn’t going to work, when we were linked, first, with students from Greece and Turkey and the following year with two master students from Kosovo. They had come to study with a professor of forensic medicine after being directly involved in the identification of bodies following the Balcon genocides.

And so began an enormously privileged experience, over more than two decades with international students, some of whom have become life-long friends, some who invited us to their weddings, some whom we have visited in their own countries and many who we still communicate with regularly. They came from almost all parts of the world from: Nigeria, Ghana, Uganda, Cameroon, Zimbabwe, South Africa, Egypt,  and Algeria in the African continent, from Asia: China, Japan, Indonesia, Malaysia, the Philippines, South Korea, Hong Kong, Thailand, Singapore, Uzbekistan, Iran, Australia, India and Pakistan, from the Americas: Canada, the USA, Peru, Colombia, Bolivia, Chile, Brazil, and Haiti and from Europe: France, Germany, Italy, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, the Czech Republic , Slovakia, Austria, Spain, Romania, Hungary and the Netherlands.    This usually began with the offer of a simple meal in our home. It was such an easy thing to do and yet seemed to be so appreciated by the strangers we welcomed in. When our son and his wife left to work in Hungary and latterly Romania, we began to understand why this was so. Somehow the unnerving strangeness of life in an alien city, with the sounds, the colours the smells the cultural peculiarities and sometimes the threatening air, were instantly tamed when you were received into someone’s home and into the bosom of a family.

With the expansion of the work of Friends International we were asked to host a small group bible study in our own home. This was a simple meal together followed by a discussion bible study around a passage in the bible. The idea was that this would provide an opportunity for those who wanted to know more about Christianity, “seekers” as they were called. Quite quickly, however it was Christians who wanted to join us and a place where they could invite their friends from the library and lab. All we would do would pray and read the bible together and talk about what it said, what it meant and what it meant to us. While the majority of those who came were Christians, followers of Jesus from various backgrounds, Protestants, Catholics Orthodox and Pentecostals there were always one or two and maybe more of other faiths, Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims and Atheists. There was something wonderful about sitting round in that small group with the freedom to talk, discuss faith and share deep things. For me, It was the highlight of the week. I was energised and excited about what was happening; about what God was doing. Often, we would have people from four continents share in prayer. On one occasion we listened to  the Lord’s prayer in seven different languages. At other times we had students whose countries were literally at war with each other, sit side by side. To be involved in all of this had to be one of the great privileges of my life. And all of it would not have happened had I not met up with that young student in the café in Aberdeen with her shy dark smile and her black coffee.

But there was much more that would not have happened without her. Together we encountered the miracle of new life. At once it was an intimate and deeply personal experience yet filled with cosmic significance. The moment there holding that fragile little life, wholly dependent, its tiny face creased in a smile, eyes just opening and perfect fingers with finger nails already needing cutting. Knowing that we were strangely connected yet separate and the overpowering desire to protect the little creature that eclipsed all the other responsibilities. In that moment the world changed. I have observed, over the years many parents, fathers in particular, often when we shared a common interest in art, music, politics, theology and world affairs, suddenly discover that their enthusiasm and interest seemed to be blanked out over the period where they had very young children. Perhaps it is a natural coping mechanism. The world can go it’s own way, all I care about in this moment is my little family. And when I look back, I can see quite clearly the gaps in my own interest or even awareness of big things happening. These were curiously erased from my experience during these periods which were dominated by the interruption of a new life, one that demanded our full concentration.  It takes photographs to rekindle the memories, not so much about the events, but how we felt in those days and leafing through an old biscuit tin of photographs can leave you lost in a whirlwind of deep emotion and tears.

The babies grew into toddlers and children and adults finally disappeared out the door to find their own lives. In a short space of time, we had six grandchildren and it is a constant wonder how this all came about and how it some way we had a part in it. Recognising the familial characteristic and traits is at times comforting at other times scary but always humbling. The spread of gifts is astonishing, two are already talented musicians, one a writer, one an already decorated sportsman and another an unconscious actor and comedian. And the sixth? We have yet to see.

This all came rolling back to me when I met up with a good friend recently. I like him a lot, but he sometimes tires me out when he goes into a one of his nonsensical irrational tirades. I just listen and let him ramble on until he runs out of steam and then If there is anything to say by way of response, I will say it. It was like that this day. He was in rambling rant about his love life or lack of it, speaking just a bit too loud for my liking in the crowded café. It was not only irrational it was a mess of misogynistic misery. The girls were teases, devious, playing along and only after your money. At times it was quite comical like Bob Dylan’s dream:

“I got a woman, she’s so mean/Puts my boots in the washing machine/Fills me with buckshot when I’m nude/She puts chewing gum in my food/She is funny/Calls me honey/wants my money”

Finally he said calming down “Anyway, you can’t commit to loving someone all your life. No one can do it. It’s an impossible dream.”

I had to respond. “ Well, I don’t know, but I met her when I was still a teenager, we have been married for 50 plus years. I love her more now than I ever did and I don’t want to lose her.”

Marriage is about loving and learning to love in sickness and health, in riches and poverty, till death.

Crawford Mackenzie