When the music is playing

I heard just the other day of Norman McGrail’s death in January, a day short of his 81st birthday. 

Though Norman has not lived in the Highlands for many years – he worked for the Highlands and Islands Development Board (HIDB) in the late 1960s and 70s – he is still remembered here by colleagues, friends, and older members of the Christian community.

Along with his wife Margaret, who survives him, Norman was active in Christian circles. He was involved in the YMCA; he was a youth leader – he and Margaret ran a youth fellowship while living at Faillie Mains, Daviot (and produced a collection of songs called The Faillie Fifty); he organised at least one house-party at Kilvannie in Ross-shire for young people attending the Northern Convention (then held in Strathpeffer each September); he was a Trustee of the Kilravock Castle Christian Trust.

And during their time in Inverness, Margaret taught piano in a studio in the garden of a house in Annfield Road, and is remembered by her pupils.

I can’t recall what church the McGrails called their own, but I accompanied them to Greyfriars Free, to the Free North, Farr Free Church, and the West Church of Scotland.

I first met the McGrails with my parents as a 10-year-old, in the gravel drive of a church in Carluke in late spring, 1962 when Norman was working in personnel at Cummins engine factory in Shotts. Every week from then on, Margaret taught me piano – and fed me chocolate cake, and read attentively the short stories I scrawled on cheap pads of paper.

After they moved north, I visited their various homes in the Inverness area, where there was always at least one Cavalier King Charles spaniel. I listened to the manned lunar landing in July 1969 in their kitchen at Daviot. Later, when Norman was appointed Strathclyde Regional Council’s representative to the European Commission, I visited their Brussels town house. After Norman’s retirement he and Margaret divided their time between Belgium and York,

I have always cherished Margaret and Norman: his death makes me realise the depth of this cherishing.

I remember their love for me as teenager and young man. I particularly recall their kindness in Brussells in 1990; when we saw the sights, and listened live to the original ‘Three tenors’ concert from Rome; when, relaxed and accepted, I was able to offload the problems I was having communicating with my parents.

I remember their calibre and credibility as Christian believers. I recall the attractiveness of Norman’s love for, and awe of God, his integrity and calm presence. Norman’s theology was far more conservative than mine now is, but he has been an example and inspiration to me. If I had just a fraction of Norman’s graciousness, I would be delighted.

I remember Norman’s obvious affection for Margaret; his Gaelic term of endearment for her, pronounced so tenderly that its two syllables expressed love unlimited. Even the slight edge in his voice when he didn’t quite agree with her had gentleness. He’d show me his brass telescope, 
caressing its polished surface. I believe he turned his back on a Merchant Navy career so that he and Margaret could be together always.

I remember the respect in which Norman was held by colleagues. ‘We have a man in Brussels. He knows everyone,’ said the leader of Strathclyde Council.

I remember Margaret and Norman’s readiness to encourage. Norman quietly ensured that, despite being a visitor, I was given a communion token at Farr Free Church in 1969. He introduced me (a librarian) to Richard Ardern, librarian at HIDB in the late ‘70s, and later to his counterpart at the European Commission. I did not take full advantage of these introductions, but I was touched by Norman’s efforts on my behalf.

We walked past a bar in the Grand Place, Brussels, late one evening. A musician was coaxing plaintive beauty from a double-bass. ‘D’you want to go in?’ Norman asked, inclining his head towards the open door.  I shook my head. I’d never been in a pub in my life. Ever since, I’ve wished I’d said ‘Yes.’

We need more people like Margaret and Norman McGrail. Christians who show accepting love; who model strong, robust marriage; who are respected; who encourage others and invite them in where the music plays, but don’t insist if they decline. People of their spiritual calibre, who model lives of transformative encounter with God.

I last saw Norman and Margaret’s faces in the crowd behind me as I went through the departure gates at Brussels Airport in 1990 to fly back to Glasgow. Since then, I’ve been in touch only by occasional phone call and letter. But I loved and respected Norman McGrail, more I think than any man except my father.

(Christian Viepoint column from the Highland News dated 4th June 2015)