My Dad -- Part 4

My father first met my mother, Margaret, at the beginning of 1935 when he was 27 and she was 17. About a year earlier, she had accepted an invitation from her friend Iris to attend a service at the People's Church in Toronto, and she trusted Jesus as her Savior that night. A few months later, she and another friend decided to go and check out the nearby Sunday school they had heard about. They were warmly welcomed, and my mother was assigned to the teenage girls' class where Cecil Hodgson was the teacher. There were some mischief-makers in that class who loved to give the teacher a hard time, and one Sunday a girl named Florence asked him very deliberately, "Mr. Hodgson, don't you think Miss English is pretty?" (I wish I had been a little fly on the wall!)

Here she is around that time!

I remember once my father told us about his first impressions of my mother. She had been attending his Sunday school class, and one day she went to him and asked him when the church prayer meeting was held. And he said to himself, "That's the kind of question a girl should be asking!"

But lots of changes were going on. My mother began teaching a Sunday school class herself, my father was away at times in the city, and so they saw each other only infrequently at church. Then one day my mother and her friend Gladys met my father and his friend Fred on the street and stopped to chat awhile. My father invited the girls to go with him and Fred to the next meeting of the mission organization he was considering joining, and so they agreed and went in Fred's car -- the men in the front, and the girls in the back. Not really a date!

Time passed, and my father did indeed join that mission organization, planning to leave for Africa. In the book she made for her grandchildren, my mother wrote: "By this time, I knew he had an interest in me that I didn't feel I could return, and although I had thoughts of the mission field, they were at that time vague, not concrete. I was far from ready, and any thoughts I did have didn't include Grandpa!"

Here's a little story I love, because it tells so much about each of my parents! Soon after this, my father invited my mother to have supper with him at the Stoodleigh Restaurant downtown. This was a special event, because eating out was not an everyday thing then. She met him there, but after the usual greetings, he told her he was sorry but he could not take her to supper because he had nothing in his pocket! She knew she had enough money to pay for supper, but after a few quick thoughts decided it would not be the thing to do, so she did not offer. They walked round and round in the ample space in the nearby Union Station and finally went home! And it was just as she expected! Everyone wanted to know what she had for supper! But somehow, the incident made her think more highly of my father, not less. It was not until much later that she found out that he had money when he invited her, but a sudden need had come up at the Mission headquarters, and he felt the Lord wanted him to give what he had.

In her little book for the grandchildren, my mother wrote: "Later, one rainy evening, Grandpa walked home with me. We stopped by the lamppost in front of my house, and under a dripping umbrella, Grandpa asked me to marry him. And Grandma said, 'No.'"

(Oh, how I loved to hear my mother tell us these stories when we were sitting around the supper table so many years ago!)

(To be continued...)