My intellectual development continued when the Harris twins began to interest me in music. Until then my musical education had been limited to what I heard on radio, which was largely the popular music of the time. I was, and continue to be, a fan of big bands and jazz. Ted Heath and his orchestra, Dizzy Gillespie, Stan Kenton and his band were among my favourites. One day John Harris said to me, ‘George, do you fancy coming round to our house on Saturday afternoon to listen to music?’ I readily accepted, expecting that we would be listening to jazz. Not a bit of it. I found myself listening entranced to classical music for three hours. This became a regular feature of my weekends, listening to great music, which like literature and philosophy took root in me – Elgar, Beethoven, Chopin, Bach, Mozart and other great composers. Ironically for a developing evangelical, Elgar’s Dream of Gerontius had a major impact on my emotional and theological development. It remains to this day one of the finest pieces of music I have ever heard. Through the influence of John and David Harris, music became an essential element of my growing faith. In time I was able to say with Siegfried Sassoon:
From you, Beethoven, Bach, Mozart,
The substance of my dreams took fire.
You built cathedrals in my heart,
And lit my pinnacled desire.
You were the ardour and the bright
Procession of my thoughts toward prayer.
You were the wrath of storm, the light
On distant citadels aflame.
As my thinking progressed, so did my journey into the Christian faith. I bought my first Bible, and read it avidly. At the same time I was reading Christian writers such as Leslie Weatherhead, the great Methodist teacher. Pit-Pat, recognising my thirst for reading, lent me books on prayer and spirituality, on faith and doubt, on doctrine and dogma. The focus of my interest was the person of Jesus Christ. His claims, and the claims that the Church made about Him, were so remarkable that I was forced to ask: Is it true that He is the hinge of history, that decisive omega point, by which all faith is assessed? The point came when I passed from a vague belief in God to a firm and joyful conviction that Jesus is the Son of God, Saviour of the World and, what seemed more important at the time – my saviour and Lord. There was no blinding Damascus experience, rather a quiet certainty that many of my questions had been answered, and my Christian life had begun.
I told Pit-Pat, and he was thrilled, although his response unnerved me: ‘I want you to read John 1.1, and memorise it to the end. Come back next week and recite it to me. Now, next Sunday, after the evening service we are going to have an open-air service in the banjo directly opposite your house. I want you to give your testimony.’
The first request was easy, but the thought of giving a testimony, a familiar practice in evangelical circles, terrified me. Because the ‘banjo’ (a familiar pattern on council estates, with houses arranged in the shape of a banjo around a small green) was opposite my house, all our neighbours would be able to see me standing on a soapbox, and would hear me speak. The implications were horrifying. My parents would be ashamed. But Pit-Pat would not hear of me backing down. ‘You have committed yourself to Christ. Now nail your colours to the mast!’
The following Sunday evening after the service, about thirty of us were there on the green, and a simple service began with a few hymns, a speaker and my ‘testimony’. I doubt if it lasted more than two minutes, but it was enough to satisfy Pit-Pat. In his opinion George Carey, at the age of nearly seventeen, had declared himself a believer.
Looking back fifty years, I have no doubt in describing it as a real conversion experience which changed the pathway of my life. It was forged from reading, from worship, fellowship and prayer. But it was only a beginning. Other great moments of discovery were to follow, and one can only call such youthful moments of conversion authentic in the light of what develops from them.
Great joy was to follow as other members of our family followed Bob and myself on this journey of faith. Our sisters Ruby and Val attended a church camp, and returned with a story of a commitment to Christ. And then our parents quite unexpectedly followed. I will never forget the moment Mum and Dad committed themselves to Christ. They had watched their children’s spiritual development with curiosity mixed with joy and, no doubt, alarm. That they did not know what was going on was evident, but they were pleased with the difference faith made to our lives.
Youth for Christ rallies were held regularly in Dagenham at that time, and we had invited Mum and Dad along to one particular meeting. The preacher invited all those who wanted to follow Jesus Christ to come to the front. To my amazement our parents walked hand-in-hand up the aisle. For both of them it was a ‘coming home’. They had been brought up as Christians, and had gone to church as youngsters. My father’s life, especially, had been irradiated with the spiritual through the influence of his blind grandfather. Now both of our wonderful parents were convinced Christians.
Dennis, eighteen months younger than me, was in the meantime going out with Jean, his future wife, and missed the spiritual revolution going on in the family. Although sad that this was not to be his story too, he was never made to feel excluded in any way. Indeed, I always felt very close to him, and knew that the Christian faith was also real to him, although expressed in a different way.
The impact of my father’s dramatic conversion revealed itself a few weeks later. Dad said early one Sunday morning, ‘I’m not going to church today, because I’ve got to put something right.’ He explained that when he was fourteen he had worked for a Christian man named Mr Zeal in Forest Gate, and had stolen some money. ‘But he must be dead by now!’ said Mother, amazed by Dad’s insistence that he had to at least try to make amends.
Later that day, Dad returned from his journey with a glad and triumphant smile on his face. He had gone to the nonconformist church where Mr Zeal worshipped and had been informed that Mr Zeal was still alive, but was not very well. Dad went round to his former employer’s house, reintroduced himself and confessed that he had taken a small amount of money. Mr Zeal looked at him with complete amazement and joy. ‘You know, Carey,’ he finally said, ‘I knew you had taken the money, and I have been praying for you ever since.’ What a shot in the arm for my father’s faith that was, and what a lot it taught us all about the power of prayer.
Even as a youngster I could tell what that commitment to Christ did for my mother and father. It changed them both, and gave them a great thirst to know more not only about the Christian faith, but about how to apply that knowledge to life around them. The limited education my father had received made it impossible for him to do anything other than lowly jobs, and soon after his conversion he became a porter at Rush Green Hospital in Romford, where he made a deep impact on the lives of many patients through his Christian goodness and kind words.
As for me, my learning too continued. My work at the London Electricity Board did not tax me, and I was eager to move on. The opportunity came when, not long before my eighteenth birthday, I received a letter informing me that I was due for my National Service call-up. I was delighted. It was time for me to move from my secure home, and I was ready to go.