Remembering John

John at 80

I've just 'attended' the funeral of a wonderful man.

His name is John Sampson and he was a leader of Linden Church when I first went there back in the early 90s, but his reach was far far greater.

Go anywhere in Swansea and mention that you attend Linden Church and the first question most people will ask is, 'Do you know John Sampson?' 

Lots of people have spoken and written much about him already in the days since his death so I'll just concentrate on John in my life.

I hadn't been going to Linden long when Husband was diagnosed with cancer. He was hospitalised for a week at a time and John often popped in to see him, where he'd talk about football, rugby, and cars. On one occasion I turned up just as John was about to leave. we chatted briefly and then he said to Husband, ''I'll just pray for you before i go.'

I was horrified but I needn't have been. Husband took it in stride, I suppose recognising that prayer was so natural to John that he could no more not do it than he could address an audience without first clearing his throat. 

Later when our boys were of that age Husband 'managed' the Linden junior football team. I use the term managed very loosely. A good proportion of the team was made up of boys from the local estate and whether they turned up for a game was down to chance. So often on a Saturday morning you'd find us counting heads and coming up lacking.

Then John would turn up in his old car. (He was notorious for bad cars.) 'How many do you need?' he'd ask, then he'd drive around the estate picking up boys from the street. Today he'd be arrested for it.

On one occasion we had an away game and John was going to bring some of the boys up in his car. When they arrived the boys took great delight in telling me, 'John saw a policeman and told us to duck so he couldn't see how many of us were in the car.' All unseat-belted of course.

With John I became largely responsible for the production of a local newspaper. It was his brainchild and he was an enthusiastic supporter in many ways but especially writing the editor's column.

'Have you done it yet, John?'

'Not quite. I'll get it to you.'

'The deadline's this week'

'Yes, yes.' He'd beam. 

Three weeks later I'd get his hand-written column and have to translate it. (The deadline I imposed was just a vain attempt to get him to write it quickly.)

I also worked with John in prison. He ran a Wednesday evening chaplain's hour for the inmates and sometimes he'd invite me as guest speaker. His confidence in my ability far outweighed my own but it must have worked as I gradually got more and more involved with the prison team until I was leading Sunday services. I don't think anyone else would have placed so much trust in me.

He was interested in all aspects of my life and always asked about the children. He wangled a job for Younger Son in a nearby church youth club, and encouraged Elder Son to join in when he was available to play football on a weekday lunchtime session that John ran. Already he must have been in his seventies - and with only a third of his lungs left following TB as a child - but he was still probably fitter than Elder Son! He also told me off for taking Younger Son to an Eddie Izzard gig.

As I say, he was a great supporter, and when I launched my first novel in the local library he came along. Unfortunately he was late - a John feature - and I noticed him coming in just as I was reading the bit in my book about being fitted for a bra. I was probably more embarrassed than he was.

Whenever and wherever I bumped into John he would kiss me, ask about the family, 'your lovely girl' if he couldn't remember her name, and then pray for us. I remember Younger Son being with me on one occasion and could feel his unease as we stood on the street in the middle of the busy village and John prayed aloud. But, as I said, that was just John. He couldn't help himself.

He officiated at Daughter's wedding in Linden, he spoke at Elder Son's wedding in Richmond, and he was disappointed we didn't invite him to Younger Son's wedding in Italy. I am so sorry too, John.