Dying for a cup of tea

This morning I met Ivy, a woman who lives in North London. I met her through the pages of a new book by my friend Martin Wroe, The Gospel According to Everyone. which is a thing of beauty and wisdom. He has collected the stories of some of the people who live in his neighbourhood, on the basis that the life of the Church is sometimes called the Fifth Gospel. Long hours of conversation are edited down into deceptively simple first person accounts. Each person is the subject of a portrait painted by Martin’s wife Meg, and these too are beautiful. So, I would suggest you think about buying a copy of this book from this web page. In the meantime, here’s Ivy talking about the war, which she spent in the same streets that are still her home.

“In those days, people used to have to get all dressed up for church, to wear a hat and gloves. The men wore bowler hats and suits. All very refined. But in the war people stopped going so much.

During the war, you’d come home from work and go straight down the air raid shelter at the bottom of the garden. You stayed all night, until the all clear. In our shelter it was Mum, Dad, Bob our brother and us two. Sometimes Dad would go to the house to get a cup of tea. Some people died doing that – a direct hit when they were boiling the kettle.’ Makes me grateful for the cup I’m sipping now. Thanks, Ivy.

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