I was born near Durban, South Africa, in 1946, the youngest of three children.  While I only have a few childhood memories of being in South Africa, its influence on me was thankfully happy and interesting.  We were used to our father speaking easily in Zulu (and our mother doing her best to keep up), and among our friends were the people who worked in our house and garden.  They felt so close to me that when we came to the UK to live when I was nearly five, I couldn’t understand why they were not coming with us.

My father was Eric King, and my mother Colleen Hofman, a sister of David Hofman who, in my early experience, was seen by the wider family as something of a peculiarity, although no reason was ever forthcoming as to why this was the case.  I only knew him then as a rare visitor to our home in Kent, but remember a few special days when he stayed with us as a base for carrying out his George Ronald publishing business in that area and I was allowed to accompany him on his journeys.  For me, anything to do with books was a priority.

The way my parents met had a touch of the romantic film about it.  My father worked in the family business in Durban and he travelled in and out by train every day.  Life for him was quite undisturbed by the arrival of an English girl who was working in a nursing home very close to his parents’ house.  He saw no need to try to get to know her, in spite of his friends’ encouragement.  One afternoon it happened that he was late leaving work and arrived at the station just as the train was pulling out.  Rather than have to hang about waiting for the next one, and ignoring the protests of the train guard, he ran down the platform, grabbed the handle to a carriage door which happily opened, flung himself in and landed safely at my mother’s feet.  Oh happy day!

My parents left South Africa in the early 1950s partly because my mother was missing her family but also because they could not accept the imposition of the discriminatory racial policies and the terrible results that this caused.

After a short stay with my grandparents in Northamptonshire, we settled in our new home in rural Kent, near to where my mother had first trained as a poultry farmer and had latterly worked in a nursing home from where she had found the opportunity to work in South Africa.

Both my parents were firm believers in the teachings of Christ although they differed in their acceptance of Church practices. My mother regularly attended the local village Anglican church but my father didn’t appreciate the rites of their services and he would occasionally go along to a Congregationalist or a Unitarian service in a nearby town.  He was quite a reserved person but it wasn’t unusual to find him at home in the midst of interesting discussions on the subject of religion with visiting family members or friends.  To me at the time these were often outside my experience, but given the opportunity I would quietly listen until somebody suggested that they ought to be getting on with other things, which was usually the signal for tea and cake.

Perhaps because the village church was easier to get to than either of the other two options that I was aware of, I went to Sunday School in the village, and as I grew older I would go to the Sunday morning services with my mother and sister.  I loved the hymns with their stirring words and tunes, and the stories about Jesus and His life, and remember once asking my mother if I’d be around when Jesus returned.  I’m not sure if she replied.  Undeterred, some time around then, on her telling me that my grandfather in Northampton had died and that he was with God, I asked my mother where God was and she replied that He was everywhere.  In my amazement, I said “Even on my nose?”

By the time I was about 12 or 13, a friend and I joined the village church choir.  Another activity I enjoyed, connected with the Church, was bell-ringing, which at that time had a growing number of young people taking part.

In my mid teens I began to wonder about being “confirmed”.  This had been mentioned by the minister and seemed to be an important part of being a Christian; plus it would mean that I’d be able to attend Holy Communion services, which had in my mind achieved a mystical significance.  Before one could be confirmed there were confirmation classes to attend, which were run by the minister’s wife, and two or three other girls and I dutifully went along to them.   I think that by the time these classes were over it began to dawn on me that there was something that wasn’t quite gelling in my heart about them.  I’m sure that the minister’s wife did her best, but nothing that was covered in those classes made any sense to me.  However, I felt sure that this was due to a lack of attention on my part, so I persevered.  Come the evening for the confirmation service, I felt hopeful that something very special was going to take place – after all, the bishop was going to be there, and it wasn’t often that I’d been allowed to choose new clothes and shoes unless there was a very good reason. I have to admit though that the most memorable part of the event was my sudden realisation, as I knelt down to receive a blessing from the bishop, that I’d forgotten to remove the price stickers from the soles of my shoes.

I did attend several Communion Services but sadly wasn’t able to get any spiritual upliftment from them.  Then came Easter Sunday. I had been up in the bell-ringing chamber, feeling very pleased to be doing such a wonderful announcement as that for the Easter Service.   Arriving back down in the vestry, I was met by the minister who very disapprovingly announced that he had not seen me at the Communion Service that morning.  I can’t remember how I answered that, but I suppose when I left and never went back, he got the message.

That departure didn’t mean that I had abandoned any interest in Christianity. Somehow I had managed to get enrolled on a regular reading list of Bible quotations and I carried on with those for a few months.  Even when that came to an end I still was interested, but probably not sufficiently to do anything about it.

My life went on without any major disturbances until the summer holidays before the school year for O-level exams started.  By this time my dear friend of earlier school days had moved to a different part of the country and my best companion was a bit of a rebel, mainly to the extent of dying her hair so often that it turned green and, with me as a willing partner, managing to skip the dreaded hockey lessons by hiding in the toilets. Somehow it seemed that we were never discovered and that our parents didn’t know, but perhaps they did because that August we were sent off as part of an evangelical holiday camp for two weeks in Dolgellau, North Wales.  We endured the long train journey in the company of people who knew each other but not us, and on arrival at Barmouth station were picked up and taken to our base (a girls’ school) for the next two weeks.  The next morning, having been surprised by the presence of a member of staff sharing some Bible passages with us before breakfast, and being informed that we would be going to the church service in the village after we had done our allotted chores, the two of us were plotting our escape the next night.

Happily for us, the emphasis on scriptural writings was tempered by choices of various outdoor activities to take part in, and we agreed that we would put up with the pre-breakfast readings and post-supper ‘sermons’, as really the food was not that bad and the activities were actually pretty good.

On the middle Sunday evening the sermon was given by the member of staff who had been our group leader and she had always seemed to be quite gentle and sweet.  How wrong we were!  I’d heard of ‘hell-fire and damnation’ but until then had never been subjected to such a terrifying tirade.  Around us, most of the girls were in tears.  Our group leader quickly reverted to her sweet, gentle self and invited anyone who would like to speak about what she had said to call in to see her in her room across the corridor.  I wondered if my friend had an inkling as to what I was thinking, because I realised that she was hanging on to my arm and begging me not to do any such thing.  Somewhat daunted, I went anyway.  The experience was akin to the confirmation classes, when I had not gained any enlightenment to help me in life.  The difference was that on a small table near the door there were a number of booklets about an assortment of other Christian denominations, some I had never heard of – for example, Christadelphian, Seventh Day Adventism – but none about any non-Christian beliefs.  On my way out I gathered up a handful of them with the intention of reading them when I got home, which I did, but the only enlightenment at that time that I thought might qualify for that description was from the Dennis Wheatley books that somebody had got out of the library.

Over the years, my father was occasionally required to attend King’s College Hospital in London for health check-ups connected with problems that had bothered him from his youth. Whatever these problems were, they were under control.  By the time I was 16 it had become necessary for my mother also to have visits to the same hospital, and it seemed normal that parents attended a London hospital occasionally.  They both always managed to bring back something special for my siblings and me. My father would have “exotic” fruit that we loved and which wasn’t available in our local shops. I don’t remember what my brother and sister were given, but my mother would perhaps bring me some sheet music for the piano, or on one occasion I had specifically requested “an ocarina, please”.  Whatever the reason for her hospital visits, and apart from the Dolgellau experience, life went on as usual.

Only of course it didn’t.  Some time in 1962 we were told that our mother had an inoperable brain tumour and she probably wouldn’t see the end of the year. But that Christmas and the following came and went and she had rallied sufficiently to be found one day having climbed a pear tree in our garden, just for the fun of it I think.

The year 1963 saw some major changes in my life.  The first was that I had heard of a course at a local college that sounded much more interesting than spending another year at school finishing off A-Level courses. One of the conditions for acceptance was having spent at least one year doing such courses.  To my delight my parents eventually agreed, I was accepted at the college and spent the last few months at school in a state of gleeful anticipation.

The real significance of the year 1963 remained hidden from my family, although we did notice a BBC News report on an event taking place at the Royal Albert Hall in London, attended by thousands of people from all over the world.  The word ‘Baha’i’ was mentioned and my brother remarked “Isn’t that the crowd that Uncle David’s involved with?” and then we forgot all about it.

Twelve months later my beloved mother could last no longer and she passed away at home.  She had suffered for years with the effects of the tumour, but I liked to think that she had been determined to hang on until she felt our family could manage without her.

Some time around then we received a rare letter from Uncle David, telling us that he had moved to Haifa, Israel. I’m sure that he would have mentioned something of what he would be doing there, but the only thing that made any sense to me at the time was his mention of “gardens”.  In my experience, many of the Hofman family were keen gardeners and it seemed logical to think that he would be putting his gardening experience to good use.

Another change came in the form of new neighbours.  The people who had lived across the road from us moved to another village a few miles away and their house had been bought by a couple who I considered to be eccentric. The husband worked in the City and travelled by train daily from our rural surroundings up to London dressed in a formal suit and bowler hat (although perhaps I imagined the bowler) and carrying a rolled-up umbrella and briefcase.  I used to picture him undergoing a character transformation the nearer he got to Charing Cross station.  We only saw his wife when she was looking for their little dachshund dog that gloried in the name George Frideric Handel.   Not long after they had moved in, they let us know that they were going to be away for a long period and had arranged to let the house to another couple who had lived in what was then Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe).   The lady of this couple (Joan) was very friendly and took particular notice of my sister and me.  She would often come across for morning coffee and a good natter.  One such occasion was not long after we had received Uncle David’s letter.  We were still wondering at the change in his life, and mentioned to her about our strange uncle who was a Bahá’í and how we were perplexed as to why he had taken this route in his life.   To our astonishment she said “Oh, I knew Bahá’ís in Kenya – they’re wonderful people!”, to which our response was an incredulous “Really?”  It was another three years before the subject was mentioned again.

Later, in 1964, I fulfilled a long-held desire to live and work in London. I had tried half-heartedly – and failed – to find a job locally, and suspect that my lack of enthusiasm hadn’t helped.  Eventually I got a tedious, poorly-paid office job in London and commuted daily for a month.  My father had kindly paid for a month’s season ticket but I couldn’t afford another. I had either to give in and stay at home or find somewhere to live that I could afford near to where I worked, which being South Kensington, didn’t bode well.  I had noticed a newsagent’s shop that had a display board outside, and there was a card seeking a room-mate for a single girl, the room being in a large house two streets away from where my job was.  I went along to have a look, and was met by a housekeeper who carried out a vetting procedure before I was allowed in.   I passed muster and moved in the following weekend.  The other girl was a few years older than me, but we mostly got on and hopefully I didn’t annoy her too much.  My weekly wage was precious little and the rent took most of it, leaving not much for buying food or feeding the gas meter.

Soon after the Christmas holiday I was fortunate in getting another job that was a bit further away but which paid a lot more and was more interesting.  It happened that on the first day in the job, another girl, the same age as me, started in the same section, and we became close friends.  She lived at home on the outskirts of London, and after a while we got into the habit of my staying every Wednesday night with her family. Her parents called themselves my “Wednesday Mum and Dad.”

Living in London was an eye-opener in many ways, but I still hankered after that elusive spiritual experience that many people seemed to have found in their particular mode of worship.  There was a church across the street from where I lived, and walking past on a Sunday morning I would hear the singing and see people coming out looking happy.  One day I decided to go in to see if their experience would rub off onto me.  It was disappointing to find that it didn’t.

After that I tried to read about other expressions of religion or spirituality but found it very confusing.  I had come to know a few students from Imperial College, which was just up the road, and I quizzed them as to whether or not they believed in God, and why.  Mostly they didn’t believe, but their reasoning either way was not very convincing. I began to spread my questioning around the office, with much the same result.  For some weekends or holidays I would go back home to Kent, hopeful that perhaps something would be waiting to be rediscovered, but without any result.

Actually that’s not quite true, but it took a while for that to become evident. We were a family of book lovers and I think that I had read most of the books that we had on our shelves but there was one that seemed to elude me.  It was rather unusual looking, with a light-coloured hardboard cover and a foreign-looking name in the title.  Several times I’d picked it up, but never succeeded in getting past the first paragraph. For some reason this book stayed unread by anyone in our house for many years.

One special thing happened in the summer of 1965. My family and I needed a holiday and we had hired what’s now called a camper van, with the idea of travelling to Scotland and stopping off at convenient camping sites.  My brother had been a keen member of the Scouts and we counted on him to keep us on track.  He did very well, but by the time we arrived in the Caithness town of Wick we were desperate for hot baths, so my father, bless him, booked us into a hotel for the night.  While we young ones wandered off somewhere, he got talking to a man whom he had met in the hotel bar.  It turned out that this man was the editor of the local newspaper, and was keen to know our story.  He then said “Well, you’ll be going to Orkney of course.”  That was awkward as my father had never heard of Orkney, but this person obliged by saying “Well, look out of that window.  You see those islands over there?  That’s Orkney.  You can get there and back in a day if you fly, or stay overnight if you take the ferry.”   When we were gathered together again my father told us about the islands over there, and said “Well, how about it – shall we go?”  So the next morning we found ourselves on the short flight from Wick to Kirkwall.  We had little time to explore, but while the others, being keen on anything nautical, took themselves off to the harbour, I just absorbed the atmosphere and fell in love with the place.  Soon it was time to get back to the airport, but I was filled with the feeling that this place was special.

In the summer of 1966 my sister and I had booked a holiday in what was then Yugoslavia.  Not long before the balance of payment was due, my brother suddenly said “You know, Israel isn’t much further away than Yugoslavia – why don’t you see if you can stay with Uncle David instead?”  Now that was an amazing idea, and little did he know how his suggestion would change all our lives.

My father got in touch with Uncle David and the next thing I knew was that we (my father, my sister and I) were welcome to stay with him in Haifa.  My brother had already used up his holiday allocation for that year and I often wonder if he regretted that he hadn’t been able to join us.

We flew from Heathrow airport on 19th August.  It was a lovely summer’s afternoon in London, and the weather report for the flight was good. It was about 11 pm when the plane touched down, but any idea that I might have had about the air temperature being similar to that in London vanished when the plane door was opened: the blast of hot air and the lovely scent of cedar trees took my breath away.

It was lovely to see Uncle David and my cousin Mark waiting for us.  Luggage collected, we piled into the car and set off for Haifa.  My sister and I were in the back with Mark and we were catching up with several years’ news and stories of other cousins.  Uncle David’s wife Marion was in England keeping the home for the family and looking after the publishing business, and Mark was due to return to England soon prior to going up to Oxford University.  He was telling us about some of the subjects that he’d be taking but I must have had one ear on what was being spoken about in the front. To my astonishment I heard my father say “OK David, what’s all this nonsense about the Bahá’í Faith?”  It was so unlike him – how could he be so rude?  Uncle David didn’t seem at all perturbed, quite the opposite. As he spoke I saw his appearance transform from looking tired after a long, hot drive in the dark to become radiant. I’m afraid that it was my turn then to be rude.  I said to Mark “Shut up please, I want to listen to your father.”  Uncle David was explaining about progressive revelation and how Bahá’u’lláh was the Promised One of all religions. Instantly I knew that it was true. I felt as if for years I had been wandering in a desert but now had found an oasis with the sweetest, most refreshing water, which was there for me to drink from for ever.

The two weeks that we spent in Haifa were the most wonderful of my life.  Uncle David took us to the Shrine of the Báb, to Akka and to Bahjí. We were able to share in the gathering for the occasion of the 19 Day Feast of Kamál. We met Rúḥíyyih Khánum several times and were invited to dinner in her home, and before we were due to leave Haifa she very graciously gave my sister and me a personal gift each.  In between all these occasions and visits to famous sites and beautiful places, Uncle David taught us about the Faith.

One day he said that we had been invited to dinner with another member of the Universal House of Justice, Amoz Gibson, and his wife Mary. He mentioned out of interest that Amoz was part African American and part Native American.  What happened then was rather disturbing.   Although my father was never racially prejudiced, he had been brought up to believe that mixed-race marriage was not a good idea.   He apologised to my uncle but explained that he wouldn’t be able to accept the invitation.  Uncle David’s response was to tell him not to worry, it would be all right, and so it was.  We were having a lovely meal and there was lots of friendly conversation, when I noticed that Amoz and my father were not at the table but instead were out on the balcony with their arms around each other’s shoulders and laughing.

The wonderful days passed in a flash, but before we left my uncle gave us the contact details for the UK Bahá’í National Office so that we could get information about the where-abouts of any Bahá’ís near to where we lived.  I was happy to discover that the National Office was very close to where I was living.

A few days after returning to London I phoned the National Office to ask if there were Bahá’ís in my area and in Kent.  To my surprise I was invited to go along to the Office the following evening for a chat.

I had no idea what to expect, but what an introduction awaited me!  The front door of 27 Rutland Gate was flung open and I was overwhelmed by as big a hug as I’d ever had, and warmly welcomed by Jeanette Robbin (now Hedayati) who was from the USA and was just helping out there for a short spell.  We went upstairs to a nice room with comfortable chairs where two other people were waiting. This time I was relieved to be welcomed in what seemed a more usual manner in those circumstances.  The two people were Claire Copley from Ireland, and Joe Jameson, whom I took to be the person in charge.   We spoke a little about how I knew about the Faith and if I had read anything about it.  On that last point I was happy to tell them that I had read Uncle David’s book Renewal of Civilisation when we were in Haifa. As there didn’t seem to be anything else to ask me, I was given names and telephone numbers for the secretaries of the relevant Local Spiritual Assemblies.  I thanked them and we said goodbye.

My father and sister still lived in Kent, and I knew that they were also interested in meeting Bahá’ís again so I passed on the contact details to them. At that time the only Local Spiritual Assembly was in Canterbury.   I phoned the number for my area in London and explained my reasons for the call to a lovely-sounding lady who promptly invited me to join her and her husband for dinner in a couple of days’ time. By good fortune their home was two minutes’ walk from where I was living.

That dinner invitation became a regular event for me at the home of Earl and Audrey Cameron.  While the setting moved from dining room to kitchen table and the food from speciality to everyday menu, the conversation grew into topics covered by the teachings and history of the Faith.  One evening in a pause in conversation Earl said “Colleen, are you thinking of becoming a Bahá’í?”  I was slightly taken aback, as up to then I hadn’t realised that there was a procedure to be followed, but within no more than a split second I had assured them that of course I wanted to be a Bahá’í and that I thought that I was already!

They explained that an important step was to read the Will and Testament of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá so as to understand how the Faith was protected and also about the divinely ordained administrative order, both of which Uncle David had told us about.  They also mentioned that there was a convention at that time to either meet with or write to the Local Spiritual Assembly to inform the members of my decision to become a Bahá’í.  None of this deterred me, though I felt a bit shy at having to meet with nine people all at once and convince them that I sincerely accepted the message of Bahá’u’lláh. Happily, all went well.

It was only a few days before the Feast of ‘Izzat which was being held at Earl and Audrey’s house and they invited me to join them for my first attendance at a Bahá’í function as a member of the Faith. I was quite nervous about this, and when it was time to take the short walk up the road, I’m afraid that my courage failed me.  Thankfully, Audrey phoned and reassured me that I’d be welcome to join them at the next Feast on 27th September, and told me about a meeting coming up at their house with a Bahá’í called Philip Hainsworth, who had just returned from a pioneer post in Africa.  Soon I overcame my shyness and a new world opened up to me.

One early experience was when the Local Assembly asked me to become a member of their Teaching Committee.  This was very exciting for me, but when I mentioned this to my new room-mate her response was “How can you teach something when you’ve only just learned about it?”  I suppose that should have been a good opportunity for her to learn something about it, but it took a while for me to fathom that out.

Earl and Audrey told me about the regular meetings that were held at Rutland Gate with different speakers each week, and there I found not only Bahá’ís but other people of all ages and backgrounds seeking to learn more about the Faith.  Bahá’í visitors from other countries who were passing through London would drop in, and most memorable among these were Hands of the Cause, who inspired the friends with their love and devotion.

In the first year or two as a Bahá’í I heard the expression “my spiritual father or mother” which I came to realise meant the person who had brought the message of Bahá’u’lláh to oneself.  For me that was undoubtedly Uncle David in partnership with his wonderful wife, my Aunty Marion.  She made sure that I attended the Teaching Conference early in 1967. When she was in London she would take me with her to visit some of the people who were believers from the early days.  She told me wonderful stories of the beloved Guardian and of his unflagging dedication to his responsibility; of the many Plans that he made for the spread of the teaching work, and the maps that he drew to plan and keep track of progress.

Together with my spiritual parents who were also my real uncle and aunt, Earl and Audrey Cameron could be described as my ‘spiritual uncle and aunt’.  I was truly blessed.

In 1967 my sister Shelagh became a Bahá’í, and the following year so did my father.  By this time my father had decided to sell our house in the country and move into Canterbury so that he and my sister could be part of a Bahá’í community.

Around late 1967 or mid 1968 I moved from the shared bed-sit in Kensington and Chelsea to Barnes, just over the Hammersmith Bridge and in the borough of Richmond.  My new abode was part of the downstairs of a lovely house which belonged to the mother of a Bahá’í called Charles Caprez.  He and his wife Soraya and young son Paul were pioneering to Swaziland and were keen for the space to be taken up by other Bahá’ís.  I offered to take this on and by chance was contacted by a previous room-mate who had for a while been living back home in San Sebastian but had returned to London and was happy to come and share with me.

From a Bahá’í aspect, Richmond borough was very different from where I had been previously.  The community was smaller but I think there were enough people to form an Assembly, together with a few other adults to keep it safe.  I didn’t feel worried when somebody mentioned that the Assembly in Epsom was in danger of being lost for the want of one member, and was it possible that I could move there for a short while?  It was possible, and I managed to find digs in a nice house owned by a widowed lady and stayed there for a few months, being officially part of the Epsom community while occasionally shuttling between there and Barnes so that my Spanish friend Ana wouldn’t feel that she was on her own. It wasn’t long though before I was properly established in the Richmond borough.

Back in Barnes, we were joined by a third person to share with us. This was Jacqui Bendix, who was working at the National Office. Jacqui was full of ideas and energy and was a very kind-hearted person.

The lovely house that we lived in was also home to Mrs Caprez’s daughter, but around that time she moved out and my friend Ana took the opportunity to have her own space upstairs.   We remained friends and I enjoyed sharing her tortillas and the delicious combination of puréed sweet chestnuts topped with cream, while politely declining the offer of pigs’ trotters.

Jacqui and I continued to share that space and we had quite a lot of activity and escapades during the following year until we both took new routes.  Jacqui moved to Durham and started a course for a new career, and I also moved north – but more about that later.  I did manage to visit her in Durham, but heard some time later that she had died and that her death was caused by diabetes.  It was sad but not surprising news for she had always struggled to keep the diabetes under control.

In the summer of 1968, Hand of the Cause Bill Sears visited London and gave a talk to the friends at the Centre one evening.  I had suggested to my father that he attend, as Mr Sears was an inspiring speaker.  A specific goal for the UK community at that time was to achieve a Local Spiritual Assembly in one of the three Scottish island groups. Progress in Orkney was promising and much attention and effort was being focused on achieving an Assembly there by Ridván 1969.  Bill Sears spoke animatedly about the importance of achieving and maintaining Assemblies, using Christmas tree lights as an analogy. A string of nine lights would make a lovely display, but if even only one bulb were broken or not properly screwed into the wire, then the result would be no lights at all. Likewise, a Local Spiritual Assembly could not exist with fewer than nine members.

My father was a quiet, reserved person who would not normally choose to take a front row seat, but as he was growing rather deaf he did on that occasion.  During the talk, I had been aware that he was getting a bit fidgety and wondered what was wrong, when suddenly he put up a hand and said “Oh all right then, I’ll go!” meaning he would help to establish an LSA in Orkney.  It must have seemed to him that Mr Sears was speaking directly to him.

“Go” he did, together with my sister; the way wasn’t always easy and there were a few difficulties to be overcome, one of which was when he went to a travel agent to book passages for himself and my sister on the ferry from Edinburgh to Orkney, the travel agent told him “There’s no such place as Orkney.”  Luckily he was able to tell her that there certainly was, that he’d been there, and would she please arrange the bookings.

They arrived in Orkney a few days before Ridván 1969 and made up the eighth and ninth members of the first Spiritual Assembly of Kirkwall.  I was delighted for them – what a joy!

Something rather surprising happened about a month later. An unexpected visitor arrived to see my sister.  He was somebody she had met not long before the move to Canterbury but now that she was no longer there he realised that he missed her very much so took himself up to Orkney to rectify the matter.  They were married at the end of May, and their wedding was featured in the local paper (The Orcadian) with a photo and report on the first Bahá’í wedding in Orkney.

That July I spent two weeks in Orkney staying with my father.  I remembered the first visit we had made there back in 1965, before any of us really knew about the Faith and it came back to me how I had been affected by the atmosphere of the island.  It was still the same, except perhaps better because now, as a result of the dedicated efforts of the Bahá’í pioneers and travel teachers, there was a Bahá’í LSA established there with local people being some of the members.

Returning to London, I remember standing on Hammersmith Broadway, surrounded by advertising hoardings, wondering what on earth I was doing there with all the hustle and bustle, nobody seemingly paying attention to what might have been needed by anybody else or caring what was going on around them.

By that time I was working in a job that I loved at Imperial College and until coming back from Orkney, had no thought of moving on. But something was niggling away at me and one morning when thinking aloud about what I should do, one of my colleagues suggested that I consider training to be an occupational therapist. Initially the idea wasn’t attractive, but there seemed no harm in finding out more about it.  I wrote to several places to ask how to go about it. Most replied that it was too late for the current year and that I should apply again earlier in the following year, but one in Derby invited me to an interview the following week.   The outcome was that I was offered a place and could either catch up on a month’s course work or defer until the following year. As I wasn’t in a position to arrange a grant immediately I decided to accept the offer to start the following year, and in the meantime go to Orkney for a year, which at least would be doing something positive.  My father arranged for The Orcadian to be sent every week, and I would scan the Situations Vacant column while on the way to work. There always seemed to be jobs going for “cheese workers” – whatever they were – so I thought that if all else failed I could earn a bit of money doing that.  I’d told my current boss about my plans and he was very encouraging, although a bit dubious about the cheese worker job.

One morning towards the end of September an advert in the paper appeared to leap out of the page. It was for a Clerical Assistant with the business that ran the BP oil distributorship throughout Orkney, Shetland and the Highland areas, based in Orkney.  I wrote a letter applying for the job, but not in the usual way of giving my qualifications and experience – rather I waxed lyrical about Orkney, mentioning that my father and sister had recently moved up to live there. I must have said where I currently worked because one day shortly after that my boss let me know that he had a call from somebody in Orkney who had asked for an off-the-cuff reference for me, and that he was looking for somebody “for at least a year” (said in a meaningful tone by my boss, who knew I only intended to stay for 10 months).  The caller and I had a brief conversation and he then asked me to go for an interview in Orkney the following week.  My response was that I couldn’t make it so quickly, but would be in Orkney in three weeks’ time and would that suit him?  Amazingly he accepted.

I arrived in Orkney on the 20th of October (the anniversary of the Birth of the Báb) and had an interview the following morning.  I was offered the job and started on the following Monday.

I discovered afterwards that the Orkney grapevine had been hard at work. Somebody in the office remembered having seen the photograph of the first Bahá’í wedding, where my original family name, King, had appeared in the report.  They concluded that I must be related, and set about finding one of the locals who they knew to be a Bahá’í to ask if he knew me and what was I like.  “Oh yes, I know her and she’s very good” was his response (on the strength of having met me at my sister’s wedding earlier that year).

Perhaps marriage was in the air, but it was a time of change for me and for that local Bahá’í who was Ian MacLeod.  Neither of us had intended to be still in Orkney for even another year, but getting on for 52 years, three sons and three grand-children later we’re an old married couple and still here for the Faith!

Many wonderful things have happened in those years. The status of the Faith that drew Charles Dunning to the islands in 1953, for which he earned the designation Knight of Bahá’u’lláh, has grown in the eyes of many islanders, some of whom remember Gloria Faizi visiting and who, in the time of the martyrdom of a group of young Bahá’í women in Iran in the early 1980s, phoned to ask if Gloria was all right. The Local Spiritual Assembly celebrated its 50th year at Ridván 2019 and the anniversary was covered by the local paper, unsolicited, as part of its weekly archival selection. The goal given to the UK by the Universal House of Justice to establish a local centre in one of the three Scottish island groups was achieved, thanks to the generosity of a Baha’i couple outwith Orkney, and dedicated in 1984 on the anniversary of the Birth of Bahá’u’lláh. The building is well known in Kirkwall, and many events to which members of the public are invited have been and are still held there. It is of special significance to the Faith as in the 1950s the building had been home to the doctor who attended Shoghi Effendi in London prior to his passing (this was confirmed by Rúḥíyyih Khánum on one of her visits to Orkney).  These are a few of the visible results of the love and dedication that over the years have been showered upon the islands.

Nearly at the end of my story, I would like to return to that book which had stubbornly remained unread. It was, of course, an early copy of “Bahá’u’lláh and the New Era”which magically became clear and wonderful to read. I think Uncle David had given it to my parents many years earlier, perhaps even when we were still living in South Africa, and it had stayed hidden in clear sight until somebody was ready to read it. It was the second Bahá’í book that I read.

Finally comes the story of a surprising connection. Some years ago dear Irene Bennett, intrepid pioneer in a number of African countries, who spent her last years in Orkney, was talking to our community and showing a few photographs of her time in Kenya where she and another young English woman whose name was Joan Powis, became attracted to the Faith. While Irene declared her belief in Bahá’u’lláh, Joan was sadly prevented from doing so by pressure from her fiancé. In one of the photos that Irene showed was someone who looked rather familiar and Irene confirmed that it was Joan. I was delighted to tell her that she was the lady who, many years later and with her husband, unexpectedly took over the house opposite my family home and told us “Bahá’ís are wonderful people”.

________________________

Colleen MacLeod

Orkney, March 2021


First Spiritual Assembly of the Bahá’ís of Kirkwall, Orkney (1969)Back row, left to right:
Jackie Mehrabi, Moira MacLeod, Ernest Bertram, Parvin Jahanpur, Eric King, Violet Bertram
Front row, left to right:
Shelagh King, Daryoush Mehrabi, Adele Senior