Our friend Mary
Sue and I first met Duncan and Mary not long after we arrived in Manchester in 1995. Sue was pregnant with our first child at that time, and yet Mary, we learnt very early on, had already had two miscarriages. It would not have been surprising to have seen in her a reluctance to befriend us as newcomers given that Sue’s pregnancy would have reminded her of her own loss. But she was never bitter, never resentful, and was selfless enough to introduce us to people and help us settle in.
Now churches are strange places. You sometimes only ever see each other on a Sunday morning or evening at church and only get the briefest chance to catch up over a cup of tea or coffee amongst a crowd of other people. It can be hard at that level to reconnect with people each week and really develop a friendship. And yet, Mary was so easy to talk to, there was never any side to her and it was never difficult to get right back to where you were with her. We used to take the mickey out of each other, but we used to be able to talk on a much deeper level too.
My own wife suffered a miscarriage between our first and second children. I had taken this event much, much more lightly than Sue did (something for which my wife still finds it very hard to forgive me). At least we already had a child – was my reasoning - whereas Mary was still childless. But, Mary taught me that Sue wasn’t grieving for a failed pregnancy, she was grieving for the child she had conceived but had lost.
We would often share stories (sorry Sue and Duncan) from our respective marriages. Nothing disrespectful, just usually when we were both in trouble! Her for going shopping on a Sunday, for example and me for just usually saying really crass things. We would usually tell each other not to be so stupid and to get over ourselves!
Mine and Sue’s own relationship with Mary can be neatly summarised in this way. In August last year when she suspected that her cancer had returned, she was with us at a particularly moving Sunday morning service. I think Tom was leading the worship that day and I think I’m right in saying that he made a point of changing the last song to Christ alone, Cornerstone.
Later that day, Mary texted us both – and maybe others as well - with the words:-
Christ alone, Cornerstone, Weak made strong in The saviours love, Through the storm he is Lord, Lord of all
My response to her text was to try and teach her about the meaning of the cornerstone and was so pious it’s embarrassing to re-read. It was so long that you have to scroll down just to be able to read it all. Mary’s response was brief and to the point. She told me that she had learned about Christ as our cornerstone..... at primary school!
Sue on the other hand texted just this:- Powerful words, just when you needed them. Mary replied:- Exactly, God bless Tom Hopper!
While she was still able to come to church over the last few months, I would try and talk to her after the service and comfort her. She would invariably end up crying and getting the inevitable nose bleed! And I lost two jumpers to her that way!
At the end of the service, I would sometimes offer her an arm to take her home. Once, and only once, she told me that she was terrified, and then she cried like I had never seen her cry before on the steps to her own house. She asked me if I would be terrified in her place.
I told her that honestly, I didn’t know, and I chose that occasion to tell her the story from James Hudson Taylor’s biography when he lost his daughter to meningitis. I told her how he had said “How I miss her sweet voice, the pressure of her hand in mine, the sparkle of those bright eyes. And yet – he said – she is not lost. I would not have her back again.....The Gardner came and plucked a rose.”
Mary sniffed and said “what do you mean?” I’m still not sure I managed to comfort her properly that day, but you were the rose, Mary. I’m sure you know that now.

In spite of her natural fear, Mary’s faith was deep, and she knew that God had a purpose in bringing the cancer back. Her faith had begun, she told me, when she was about 10 years old. A friendly neighbour called Pam would take a few of the neighbourhood children into her home each week just to sing choruses. Mary must have seen something of Jesus in Pam.
And I’m convinced we all saw something of Jesus in Mary. Her eyes were always sparkling, her heart was always warm, her lips never uttered a cruel word, and her face was always smiling. (She would hate me eulogising about her like this!)
And yet it is true. We will miss her funny Yorkshire voice and chuckle, we will miss the sight of her purple fleece, we will miss the pressure of her Yorkshire hand in ours and most of all we will miss the sparkle of those Yorkshire eyes. And yet, she is definitely not lost. She’s in the garden now because The Gardner came and plucked a white rose! Our friend Mary.