In celebration of life

In his final blog entry, Jim Corrigall attempts to recapture his spiritual journey into Unitarianism

I was brought up in an anti-apartheid household in South Africa by parents of no religious faith but with strong principles. After my father died, I was sent to a church boarding school. Here I chose to be both baptised and confirmed in the Anglican faith – largely because I wanted to fit in with my peers. By the time I left school, I regarded myself as an atheist and did so for most of my adult life.

However, I studied both English literature and theology at university, and always had a great love of religious poetry. As a student in South Africa, I campaigned against apartheid, working closely with radical Christians many of whom I came to admire.

I continued with political and trade union activity throughout most of my journalistic career in Britain, but several years ago I began to wonder if there was more to life – however much I valued my family, friends and work.

I began reading widely, including religious literature. I tried one or two churches, but found them too dogmatic and literal in their interpretations of Christianity. A chance remark by a friend just over four years ago led me to the Unitarian website.

I was hugely inspired by what I read there. Here was a faith that did not demand any body of beliefs, but would allow one the chance to explore. I was not sure what I believed, not sure even that I believed in God, but I felt I wanted to allow my dormant spirituality a chance to develop. I told friends that I did not know whether I wanted to ‘worship God’, but I certainly wanted to ‘celebrate life’.

And I found in Unitarianism a group of people who welcomed me for my doubts, my scepticism and my questions. And I found I could ‘celebrate life’ in Unitarian chapels and churches – in services which seemed to follow traditional patterns, with hymns and ministerial addresses and meditations (or prayers), but which were in fact quite different – full of poetry and the wisdom of many faith traditions.

I have found a religious home which has indeed enabled me to explore my spirituality – after a period of looking at Sufism, the mystical branch of Islam, I have more recently been exploring radical Christianity – including its roots in the Unitarianism of the Radical Reformation. I trust this will be a spiritual journey without end, as rightly befits a denomination without dogma.

Jim Corrigall is communications consultant to the Unitarians in Britain, a post he took up in June 2007, after 17 years as a journalist at BBC World Service. He was born and educated in South Africa, coming to Britain in 1974. He was an anti-apartheid campaigner for many years. Jim became a Unitarian four years ago, and is chair of the congregation at Golders Green Unitarians.
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If there’s no booze or naked women, what’s the point of being a footballer?

Peter Crouch came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

At a professional league ground near you, the following conversation will be taking place. After an excellent morning training session, in which the players all worked hard, and didn’t wind up the assistant coach they all hate, or cut the crotch out of the new trousers belonging to the reserve goalie, the captain or some senior player will go into the manager’s office.

“Hi, gaffer. Just thought I’d let you know that we’ve booked the Salvation Hall. They’ll leave the table-tennis tables in place, so we’ll probably have a few games, as it’s the players’ Christmas party, OK?”

“FECKING CHRISTMAS PARTY!? I TOLD YOU NO CHRISTMAS PARTIES THIS YEAR. NOT AFTER LAST YEAR. GERROUT . . .”

So the captain has to cancel the booking – which was actually at the Salvation Go Go Gentlemen’s Club on the high street, plus the Saucy Sporty Strippers, who specialise in naked table tennis.

One of the attractions for youths, when they dream of being a footballer or a pop star, is not just imagining themselves number one in the Prem or number one in the hit parade, but all the girls who’ll be clambering for them. Young, thrusting politicians have similar fantasies. Alas, it doesn’t always work out.

Today, we have all these foreign managers and foreign players coming here, not pinching our women (they’re too busy for that), but bringing foreign customs about diet and drink and no sex at half-time. Rotters, ruining the simple pleasures of our brave British lads which they’ve enjoyed for over a century.

The tabloids recently went all pious when poor old Wayne Rooney was seen standing around drinking till the early hours at the England team hotel after their win over Scotland. He’d apparently been invited to a wedding that happened to be going on there. What I can’t understand is: why join a wedding party for total strangers? Nothing more boring than someone else’s wedding. Why didn’t he stay in the bar and get smashed?

Even odder was the behaviour of two other England stars, Adam Lallana and Jordan Henderson. They made a 220-mile round trip from their hotel in Hertfordshire to visit a strip club, For Your Eyes Only, in Bournemouth. Bournemouth! Don’t they have naked women in Herts? I thought one of the points of having all these millions – and a vast office staff employed by your agent – is that anything you want gets fixed for you. Why couldn’t dancing girls have been shuttled into another hotel down the road? Or even to the lads’ own hotel, dressed as French maids?

In the years when I travelled with the Spurs team, it was quite common in provincial towns, after a Saturday game, for players to pick up girls at a local club and share them out.

Like top pop stars, top clubs have fixers who can sort out most problems, and pleasures, as well as smart solicitors and willing police superintendents to clear up the mess afterwards.

The England players had a night off, so they weren’t breaking any rules, even though they were going to play Spain 48 hours later. It sounds like off-the-cuff, spontaneous, home-made fun. In Wayne’s case, he probably thought he was doing good, being approachable, as England captain.

Quite why the other two went to Bournemouth was eventually revealed by one of the tabloids. It is Lallana’s home town. He obviously said to Jordan Henderson, “Hey Hendo, I know a cool club. They always look after me. Quick, jump into my Bentley . . .”

They spent only two hours at the club. Henderson drank water. Lallana had a beer. Don’t call that much of a night out.

In the days of Jimmy Greaves, Tony Adams, Roy Keane, or Gazza in his pomp, they’d have been paralytic. It was common for players to arrive for training still drunk, not having been to bed.

Peter Crouch, the former England player, 6ft 7in, now on the fringes at Stoke, came out with one of the wittiest football lines. When asked what he thought he would have been but for football, he replied: “A virgin.”

Hunter Davies is a journalist, broadcaster and profilic author perhaps best known for writing about the Beatles. He is an ardent Tottenham fan and writes a regular column on football for the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 01 December 2016 issue of the New Statesman, Age of outrage