The Last Word : Old Bill

The One volunteer. That’s all my enthusiastic – some might say visionary - appeal to the congregation had produced. I had been tasked with setting up a youth group in my new church and had grasped the opportunity with both hands; the supportive minister had given me a prime Sunday morning service slot to drum up help and support. There was lots of nodding; there were lots of emphatic ‘Amens’. But only one man stepped forward.

Bill was 72 years old, and so quietly and infrequently spoken that you’d have been forgiven for thinking him a voluntary mute. This was the rock on which...

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