It was nearly two years since I had left London. Now I was back, my mind still swimming in dark, stormy waters, but firm in my resolution to continue my spiritual quest. My first port of call was the Brompton Oratory where I spoke to one of the priests. This turned out to be the beginning of a very long friendship. Father Damian Wood seemed to understand my situation immediately and took me to a block of apartments in Sumner Place, South Kensington which was run by a wonderfully kind soul called Nellie Buckley. She rented me a bedsit at a good reasonable price. However, for the next six months while I was getting onto my feet, she never actually collected any rent.
These were the leanest times in my life. I had always said to the Lord that I wanted to live like the poor. Well, this was as close as I got. Fr. Damian knew what a struggle I was going through and realised that I was not going to contact my family for financial help so he stepped in and supported me himself while I looked for a job.
I had prayed, “Lord, I know I will let you down if I am left to myself. Please surround me with saints!” and He did.
I then met Lalage Hall who lived in the rooms opposite my own. One day, I noticed a book about the Stigmatised monk, Padre Pio, lying on the hall table near her door. My grandmother had told me stories about Padre Pio who was reputed to have the stigmata, the wounds of Christ. She had told me that he said his mass at 5 am every morning and that that was the best time to ask him to pray for me. I did so and had developed quite a strong interest in him. I was curious to see this green book with his name on it sitting outside my door. The next time I spoke to Lalage I brought the conversation round to God and to my delight, she responded with great interest and enthusiasm. Her father was a Harley Street Specialist and her mother a London socialite, Viola Banks, who wrote a book called the Dorset Heritage. In it she described Lalage’s grandmother, entertaining the king and queen at their home in Dorset. This was the world that Lalage had grown up in, surrounded by wealth and exclusivity. However, her own search for a deeper meaning in life had led her to a simplicity and an honest spirituality which I marvelled at. She was a convert to Catholicism and deeply in love with the Lord. This, I would say, was what struck me most.
Lalage became my spiritual helpmate and sister in Christ and I met with her nearly every evening for prayer, sometimes for the rosary or meditation or both. She too would help me make it through these lean times by leaving the occasional bowl of soup outside my door or a pile of coins in a cup to feed the gas heater.
During that time, the Lord helped me to keep my mind on the right road by creating all kinds of distractions. Pigeons would fly into my little room during thoughts that caused me unease and the radio would come into full blast without me turning it on.
Joe, on his rounds, collecting thrown out antiques would call me in the middle of the night to join him in his flat and keep me from dwelling on fear and useless thoughts. Janni, an actor of small parts from S.A. would bring me soup in cartons and bring me some of his paintings.