Articles - Miscellaneous

Can you spare me a quid?

It had been a fulfilling but unremarkable service. Gwyneth read the long story of Lazarus with her well practiced clarity. Kath preached simply and well. Rachel presided with the assured good humour which characterises her ministry. Simon was self-effacing in his near absence.

The fellowship afterwards was particularly warm. Brian reminisced about his time in Liverpool. I teased John and Barbara about their misguided soccer affiliations. Geoff recounted his batting with the new record making New Zealand cricketer. Copies of the Church accounts were jokingly pressed into the hands of the unenthusiastic before the next day's PCC. I was treated to the usual mixture of cheques, invoices and financial thoughts that it is the lot of the Church treasurer to receive after Sunday service.

So it was with a warm heart that I called into the garage on Street Lane to fill the car up with petrol and use the car wash. I was walking back to the car with my car wash voucher when a young woman approached me across the forecourt.

" Can you spare me a quid for the bus fare home?", she asked.

She was in her twenties, thin and scruffy. I told her that I had no
money on me, which was true.

" Would you give me a lift then?", she persisted.

I explained that I was about to wash the car.

"I can wait ", she said.

I asked her where she lived - Headingley - and how she had come to be here with no money - it's a long story she said. I assumed she was a student. I felt sorry for her so I agreed to give her a lift. She got in the car and we drove round to the car wash.

Being inside a car wash is peculiar. With the noise and splashing going on outside it felt as if we were in a bubble isolated from the world. As it started we began to chat. She was 22. Her name was Lisa. No she wasn't a student she was a working girl. Was I interested in doing business? I thanked her but said no. She had used her last cash to come to Roundhay to do business at one of her regular client's homes - she indicated the general direction of Talbot Road - but he was out. That was how she had become stranded. Now she was going back to her mum's for a sleep, a bath and a change of clothes before she went back to Spencer Place or the Calls for another night's work to fund her heroin addiction. I asked her what she thought of the Genesis project - she said they were great providing condoms, coffee and support. She was delighted that we sent them money from Church. I told her about the One City Project and my Christian view that we are all equal in God's eyes. She lit a cigarette and told me that she was really 28 and not called Lisa but Ellen. She had lied about her age because she thought I would be more likely to want sex with a 22 year old. She explained that she was the lowest of working girls now because she was no longer young or attractive. She had no pimp to protect her. Most of her money was earned in the alley ways around the Corn Exchange or in a client's car; being taken back to a seedy hotel room was a real luxury.

As the washing stopped and the drying started she told me about her family. Her mother had mental health problems. Her father was a heroin addict and so was her younger brother. She was hooked on heroin at 18. She had tried to come off it lots of times but her life was so unbearable that she went back on it to blot out reality. She had turned briefly to the Church but the only support she had was to be taken to a service where they surrounded her speaking in tongues to drive out the devil in her.

As we drove towards Headingley she started to chat about how much she liked the warm, sunny weather. She asked about my family. She told me her mum had a compulsive disorder to do with washing. Like Lady Macbeth I joked. She said she would tell her mum about Lady Macbeth it would cheer her up. She suddenly seemed like any other young woman.

It turned out that she lived on the Hawksworth Estate. We arrived at a crossroads in the middle of the estate. She saw some people she knew and asked me to stop. Before she got out I wished her luck, she thanked me and kissed me on the cheek. I squeezed her hand. As I was driving away it occurred to me that her friends would think I was a client. This amused and disturbed me in roughly equal proportions.

I have reflected on this encounter which lasted only 30 minutes or so.

Who gained from it and how? Would it have been better to have done more or less? What does it say about the City and our place in it?

What would Jesus have done if it had been his dirty Rover at the Texaco garage?

David Everett

© St Edmund's Church, Roundhay - Charity Number 1131904