The Random Thoughts of Henry Holloway
What a time we had on Wednesday of last week!
You know, it was really maddening! The electric fire wouldn’t go on and there was I examining all the fuses to see what was wrong, and trying all the switches.
There were some numbers I couldn’t get on the telephone. And the butcher couldn’t mince the steak, and after being to the dentist I couldn’t eat the steak without having it minced. The poor man hadn’t even got his breakfast because his wife depends on electricity for cooking. My wife could not iron the shirts. Not that it matters much to me; mine are hidden anyway.
Then somebody thought about the poor farmers with their electric milking machines, and the poor cows unused to human hands for milking. Somebody else thought of the hatcheries and of all the little chickens that would die unborn. There were school meals that couldn’t be cooked, and all the electric clocks stopped. I’m writing this by daylight but it’s going to be funny at night going to bed with a candle. And the streets will be dark. That’ll suit some people!
Now I’m not expressing any opinion on the rights or wrongs of the dispute. This column is not for that, though I don’t mind saying that a lot of people were praying hard for the electricians on Wednesday. I said a few prayers myself. It does make us realise all the same, how much we depend on the men and women who have to run the essential services of our everyday world. Every day we go about our tasks, having heat and light and power at the turn of a switch or a knob. And we seldom stop to think about the wonder of it all.
When there is a mining disaster or a coal strike, we know what the miners mean to us. A shipping strike means all sorts of disturbances to our way of life. A transport strike disorganises everything. For the matter of that isn’t it about time the ordinary people went on strike too? Maybe if we didn’t use the buses for a while they’d have to bring the fares down. And one of these days it would be rather fun to see the parson go on strike.
Well, that’s the kind of world we live in. A world in which we cannot live to ourselves. A world in which our actions affect the lives of other people. A world in which our service means much to everybody.
It was a great Apostle who said in one of his letters that we all have to bear one another’s burdens in the service we give as a community. Every hospital, or school or club is a means by which we are bearing other people’s burdens. The doctor, the nurse, the teacher, or the missionary abroad, are doing what we cannot do.
There’s a danger there, though. We may allow these institutions and these other folk to become a slave to our conscience. We feel that we are paying rates to maintain public services and we have done our bit. But that is not personal enough. No other person and certainly no institution can offer the service that you alone can give.
It may be the writing of a letter, the paying of a call, the silent grip of the hand which says far better than words; I understand and I am with you. These things may mean so little, but they can mean a lot to somebody.
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