Trustee's Blog - Good Friday 2012 Durham UK

I adore Durham. The first time I visited was a year or so after its university rejected me for having committed the cardinal sin of applying to Oxford. A bit mean really. They didn't want me either.

My then (sort of) boyfriend was the result of a holiday flirtation and his brother lived up here so we visited in order to progress things only I didn't bother and fell head over heels for the place instead.

My well documented love affair with Northumberland actually begins here too. The minute I arrive, all is well in my world. There is something reassuring about the Cathedral as it rises above the inevitably swirling mist and snow of this time of the northern year. Perhaps because it had withstood desperately awful weather for more than a thousand years, it is very much my Safe Place.

I bonded for life with my great friend Jude Heron who lives here seven years ago. We were late collecting our Girls from afternoon ski school in La Tania, largely because in a moment of well meant but ill fated generosity, Robert (her husband) offered to take us skiing in the afternoon after our own morning ski school beginners class. OMG - huge mistake. I ski faster uphill than I do downhill.

Anyway, we made it back - just - but shared a collective sigh of welled up panic that only a very large G&T can honestly relieve. It takes one to know one, as they say. We knew one another from that moment of relief.

A week later, I was in Durham attending Robert's real 40th Birthday party in Shadforth Village hall, after celebrating his actual 40th Birthday in a swirl of fizz while still away. To say I got a Geordie welcome under states what it is to be 'family' in these parts. This is how to live.

Last year when my life began to unravel completely, I came for Holy Week to settle my head for the year ahead. It worked as a retreat. Although I needed medicine to really help, at that time, I was still planning on getting through my terrible depressive illness without chemicals.

A year on, give or take a few weeks to allow for the calendar vagaries that surround the allocation of Easter, I can see quite clearly that I was in no state to be able to cope without medical intervention. At the time, I thought I felt so terrible because it was my cross to bear. Now I know that no one is intended to bear crosses like that.

I have been asked to write about my experience because people who meet me would never believe I could get like that. There are all sorts of theories about why people do in fact get like that. For my part it took a book called 'Depressive illness - the curse of the strong' by Dr Tim [Cannot Remember his Surname] to persuade me that I wasn't a weak, feeble good for nothing after all. But that was months and months later.

Instead I sat for hours in the Cathedral last year pouring ecclesiastical balm on my wounds.   As a child and young adult, I was adopted by Father Maurice & Eileen Bird (RIP) who retired to my parish and took me to Wakefield Cathedral most Sundays for evensong. I'd enjoyed singing at school and had found my way in to the Church choir where I sang my little heart out at hundreds of weddings, christenings and services through my teenage years. Probably why I'm so fond of babies and marriages now. When you have seen so many seas of happy faces from an elevated position, it tends to point to the important things in life.

I went to York Minster for Easter Sunday last year where there was standing room only for a glorious sunshine weekend. And then managed to walk Phenny Ghent the following day where the decision to accept the voluntary Haven Trustee role was finally made. As I reflect on that decision, a year on, I know it was a great turning point in my life. In the year that has followed it has been my one constant companion, never failing to give me a reason to be optimistic when I'm least cheerful.

When I look back at what life was like beyond a year ago and in particular the stresses of the years leading up to it, I have finally found the courage to be my own independent bystander who would say, knowing all that I know, it would be surprising not to need modern medicine.

A year on, last week was an extraordinary week for me. At Ripley Castle, last Tuesday, we had the wonderful pleasure of a Black Tie dinner to welcome HRH the Countess of Wessex, Patron of the Haven Guardians to Yorkshire. All the people that attended will never forget what a stunning evening it was bathed in spring sunshine at the family home of Lord & Lady Ingleby. I could barely contain my excitement at being in the room with many of Yorkshire's most illustrious. It never fails to amaze me how a Girl from South Leeds can get about.

Sophie Wessex is the most beautiful woman, I've ever met. Quite simply stunning. Radiant. Kind. Courteous. Funny. Ordinary. Extraordinary. Everyone - and I really do mean everyone - fell in love with her.

Then the next day, she came to see the Yorkshire Haven having last visited when it was a building site more than three years ago. What a difference to the world Debra Horsman, the clinical manager, makes. Most people around me know that I credit Debra with saving my life, this last twelve months. Our Visitors happily say the same thing so why shouldn't I? The work she does changes lives.

Whenever the going gets tough, Debra is there. It has been mighty tough this past year. At Christmas and New Year when I felt so ill with hyper thermia after the bike ride that, to be honest, (Sorry Majors) I'd had enough and wanted it to kill me, there were days when I think it nearly did.

I should never have done LEJOG. I was physically fit enough but the black hole always gets me anyway and having been well and truly in it for July and August last year, I should have known better. The truth was, I didn't care enough about myself at that time to be bothered what it would and did, do to me. 

Looking back over the last six months of my recovery, I didn't help myself at all. I can see that very clearly now. How hard that has been for my family has made me realise that you can't keep battering yourself otherwise something or in my case, someone, has to give. Its one thing to read a book that describes you but quite another to practice what it preaches. People like me think they can always take a little bit more. Until no more.

Still, I'm here. And this week to begin the real return to health, I met Simon Coach who, to the relief of pretty much everyone has made me pledge Charity Challenge Chastity for a whole year from now. Otherwise he won't take me back. To my own amazement, I've agreed so that huge scary six months that I got through all by myself was actually a growth experience. Way hey.

This time last year, I still did the London Marathon despite being in a state. This time this year, much as it pains me, I shall just have to watch. I gave my place to Vicky so that she can enjoy the experience for me. I tried to secure New York in November but Simon Coach just gave me the look in our Apprentice Equivalent cafe in Horsforth. That'll be a 'no' then. He also handed down another ultimatum. Miss more than two sessions consecutively and I'm toast.           

I do feel pleased with myself about this important milestone. The last two months after my operation have made me really think and look hard at myself. Killing myself is not a great outcome for my children. Also I have a day job to do. Plus I would like to be a good Trustee and raise a load of money.

So I have decided that as last year's challenge was in honour of the memory of my Grandfather Albert who would, I know, be proud of my single minded over throwing of the UK road network, this year's challenge will be vocal in honour of my Grandmother who passed away in the final days of LEJOG on the day we saw the world's most beautiful rainbow just arriving in Inverness.

My Lent Course this year was based on the King's Speech and was a book because I couldn't get to Wakefield Cathedral after my operation stopped me driving. It was called 'Finding a Voice'. When I went to see my Grandma Ethel in the Chapel of Rest last November, I painted her nails, did her lippy, brushed and sprayed her hair and used her favourite scent, ready for her return to her beloved Albert.

I sang at her funeral, two songs that she would have liked. When I was a little Girl, she would always sing with me and I think that's why I always liked singing. In view of the pact described above, I can't do a physical challenge, this year's challenge will have to be a Concert for Ethel. Feel the fear and do it anyway. No pressure.

The music in Durham Cathedral today and Wakefield Cathedral all this past year has been wonderful. It makes me calm. We have a sing therapy group at the Haven. I wonder whether someone will cover the cost of the singing teacher that we will need? 

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