3. The Tramp
As Christmas drew near in 1983, following a Sunday morning meeting (worship service), I went and sat with Maldwyn, a short, shy, dark haired man of the road who, for some time, had been attending our meetings with his little dog.
He was very clean and tidy despite sleeping in a farmer's barn in a village some four miles away. Although several people had offered to take him home in their cars, he insisted on walking all the way to our hall and back each Sunday whatever the weather. I also learned that the kindly farmer would provide him with hot meals and other food from time to time.
Have you ever asked someone a question only to discover that their reply has put an unexpected onus on you? So it was when, as he got up to leave, I asked Maldwyn what he was going to do for Christmas.
‘Nothing.’
‘Are you spending it on your own then?’ I enquired.
‘Yes,’ he answered.
‘Don’t you have a friend who you could spend it with?’ I then asked.
‘No,’ he replied, ‘don’t have any friends.’
His reply saddened me, but also challenged me. ‘But what could I do about it?’ I thought as our conversation ended and we went our separate ways. Our council house wasn’t very big and there was already insufficient room around our dining table or in the lounge for the seven of us, what with all the babies’ paraphernalia. Add to that any Christmas toys the children may want to play with and there definitely wouldn't be room for a guest.
One moment I was happy, unaware that Maldwyn would be alone. Then, one simple question later, everything changed. I had assumed he had some friend, some buddy, or that the farmer would take him in for a few hours, but now I knew differently and I could not ‘unknow’ what I now knew. I prayed, but try as I may to reason myself off the hook as I walked home I got no peace. Over the lunch table I shared what had transpired with my wife, Judy. Her response was immediate. There was no question: Maldwyn was to come to our house for the day.
‘It will be a squash, but if he would like to come we would be pleased to have him,’ she said.
So it was that after Christmas morning worship, Maldwyn and his dog accompanied us down the long footpath to our home. Though we were cramped for space and our noisy brood needed all our attention, we could see that he was thoroughly enjoying himself as he pulled crackers with us and put on his paper hat before tucking into his roast turkey with all its trimmings, and then his Christmas pudding. His eyes followed all that was going on at our entertaining table.
With the lunch things washed we joined Maldwyn in the lounge where he sat in a corner, close to the fire. The two month old twins were asleep in their cots upstairs whilst the other three children were playing with their new toys and asking first mum and then dad to help them with some newfangled plaything or to join them in their play. Maldwyn just sat there, silently watching, mesmerised by it all.
We were still quite full from our Christmas lunch so we did not want too much to eat when tea-time came following the twins’ afternoon nap. But no sooner had we finished our cups of tea than Maldwyn said, ‘I’ll be off now.’
‘Let me take you home,’ I insisted.
‘No, I’ll walk,’ he replied.
‘But it’s very dark and cold, and the road isn’t well lit. Let me.'
‘No, I want to walk. I prefer to walk.’
As we helped him on with his heavy coat, he thanked us both and said how much he had enjoyed it. We opened the door and watched him and his little dog go up the garden path and out of sight.
It was as we lay in bed, both feeling emotional, that we agreed that although he just sat there, did nothing, said hardly a word, Maldwyn had somehow, mysteriously, done more to make our day than we his. It was then that God brought a scripture to mind, ‘Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by doing so some people have entertained angels without knowing it’ (Hebrews 13:2).
Major Howard Webber (retired)
Salvation Army Officer
UK
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