17th December
I arrived back after the last person had left. Clinic over. Finished. It had been a good day, Sally said. Plenty of banter. Lot's of laughs. Some good news and some not so good. Someone had brought a delicious carrot cake, another had brought a card, newspaper cuttings, articles of interest. Sally had laid on the usual array of Bridge Rolls, egg mayonnaise, tuna, ham. Why are Bridge Rolls so addictive ? There were some left over. I dug into them.
Later that night Sally and I talked about the clinic, what it meant to the people who had come, what it meant to us. Three times a year they come, more or less the same faces. Some of course pass on and they are replaced by new people. And some don't come any more because they don't need to. Mrs. Davey who was down for cataracts found that her sight improved and no longer needs any help. Some come because not to come might mean a recurrence of the problem. Marina doesn't get migraines if she comes. She does if she doesn't. So she comes. Richard should have been here today but he was back in hospital. A couple of others couldn't make it because they were too ill.
We had come across Michael Chapman when my great friend Christopher was at the end of his fight with cancer of the oesophagus. The cancer had gone to his liver by then. I found out then what `liverish' meant, first hand. Another friend had heard about a father and son team who treated a great many people and who had apparently had successes. An example of a woman with a tumour was cited. Once the tumour had been found the lady was told by the doctors to come back in a month for chemo therapy. She decided that there might be another way of tackling the problem and went to see George Chapman, a well known psychic surgeon who took on the persona of William Lang an opthalmic surgeon from the early 20th century. George's son Michael was a faith healer who worked with his father and took on the persona of William's son, Basil. The lady went to George on a regular basis for the month and then returned to her doctor. When he inspected her he was unable to find the tumour and concluded that it had disappeared, healed itself..
This was the sort of miracle that we required for Christopher so being too ill for the five hour drive into the depths of Wales where the Chapmans were based, a friend organised a helicopter airlift for Christopher. I saw Christopher when he returned that night and he seemed different. It didn't work for him however and he died a fortnight later but the connection with the Chapmans was made. So when, a year later my mother in law, Theresa, was diagnosed with cancer of the colon and she was launched upon the standard course of NHS treatment - radio therapy, chemo therapy and surgery - I suggested to her that the `alternative' Chapman option might be worth looking at. Taken in conjunction with conventional treatment it could do no harm. It is a brave person who when diagnosed with cancer by the NHS will turn their back on the system and head off for alternative therapies. Desperation of course fuels the need to seek alternatives and I certainly know that Chistopher became involved in all sorts of what I would describe as `quackery' which will have done nothing more than increase his vitamin C level at best, I would imagine. Some of the concoctions, weeds, and grasses are truly disgusting to taste. I know I tried them all. And Theresa tried them, too. And the NHS system being what it is a patient is quite often swept off their feet and racing down the burn poison and slash path before they know what's hit them. All well intentioned of course.
So Theresa went to see George Chapman who was in his mid 80's at the time. George rarely left Wales but Michael travelled the country holding clinics. And Theresa caught up with Michael at a number of these. Theresa and her daughter Sally would come back and tell me about these. Clinics are held in private houses. There is no fee to see Michael. And a session with Michael which should be 15 minutes is always longer. As far as Michael is concerned he will spend as long as it takes which means the clinic always runs late but of course no one minds. We put up a sign which just says '£25'. If you can afford it, then a contribtution to Michael of £25 for your session would be gratefully receivd. If you can't afford it, then it is perfectly acceptable to pay nothing, or to pay that which you can afford. Two Indian ladies came to our house once and at the end handed Sally £10. That is all they could afford. They had taken a taxi to come to our house and had to rush back before their husbands found out what they had been up to and where their spending money for the day had gone ! £10 was gratefully received. Nobody abuses the system.
I have always been fairly sceptical about faith healing and have felt that it is probably rife with fraudsters which is why I wholly subscribe to the Chapmans. George died a couple of years ago but Michael carries on the good work. Michael and George went out of their way to help Theresa and there was no financial advantage for them to do this. And the comfort, warmth and support that Michael gave meant so much to her. He also came to see me in hospital when I had my accident. And over the years I have had healing from Michael. Now I am not for one minute going to tell you what I think is going on between a God or a spirit and Michael and the patient because I have no idea. I think of it as Michael inspiring confidence within us and our own bodies healing themselves. It doesn't really matter what is actually going on, if people get better or feel better or are able to handle their illnesses better then this is a benefit. And the wonderful thing about hosting a clinic three times a year is the social nature of the event. Everyone has come to see Michael of course but they've also come to see Sally catch up with everyone's news. Patients often stay for hours and hours chatting to one another and making it a real day out. And we have all become great friends. And that friendship and support that everyone gives and is given must be beneficial in helping them to come to terms with their illness or indeed in helping them to overcome it.
I took a call from a patient the other day to say that their son wouldn't be coming to the clinic on Sunday. I thanked them for calling and passed this on to Sally. She told me that this was the mother of the tragic baby who'd been born with a tumour. His parents had brought him to the last clinic and it was all terribly sad. Now, the baby had died. That makes it all very personal. There was another young boy, a very brave boy who had something dreadfully wrong with him. I never found out what but I notice that he doesn't come any more. I hope that doesn't mean what I think it does.
I greeted the first patient to arrive on Sunday and she said to me “Did you stay here overnight ?”
“Yes, I did”, I replied. “I often stay here overnight. I live here”
“Oh, I thought you were Michael,” she said “You look so, alike”. Actually I look nothing like Michael. He has a beard and longer hair than me and he always wears a suit and tie, whereas I have an open neck shirt and casual trousers. I didn't say anything of this to the lady but I was relieved to discover that she had come to see Michael about her eyes which were failing her.
Sally already has a practically full list of appointments for Michael's next visit and we look forward to seeing all these lovely people next time. And Michael of course.
Duncan
