Escaping to The Hookses
Escaping to The Hookses
The story of The Hookses starts with a holiday in 1952. John was standing in Bridford Mews, with his head inside his ‘jalopy’. He loved to get away to remote areas, the more remote the better. It dated back to his birding trips with Robbie Bickersteth.
‘We’re almost ready,’ he said to John Collins. ‘Just checking we’ve got everything.’
John Collins, now his curate, was going with him, and they were heading west on holiday, as far as they could get. John ran through his mental checklist: ‘Something to cook with, something to cook on, tent pegs, sleeping bag …’ It was all there. ‘It’s good to have four wheels,’ said John, once they were on their way. Before I got the jalopy I went up to Scotland once with a friend who had a motor bike.’
‘Sounds a long way on the back of a bike,’ said John Collins.
‘We got the train to Carlisle. That’s when the real adventure started. We took a bend too fast and were both thrown off. I lost consciousness. He thought he’d killed me!’
Eventually they reached Pembrokeshire. John drew into a lay-by and they looked at the map. ‘Let’s head for Dale,’ he said. Dale is a village some ten or twelve miles from Haverfordwest. This was a journey he would make hundreds of times in the future, but he did not know this then.
It was gloomy and beginning to rain. When the men reached Dale, they decided to look for somewhere to stay for their first night. The postmistress directed them up a hill to a farm.
‘You can doss down in that Nissen hut, if you like,’ said the farmer. Just mind my sacks of potatoes.’ It was shelter, and that was good enough.
Walking along the coastal path the next day, John and John saw many species of birds. Skomer and Skokholm islands lay about five miles offshore, world-famous breeding grounds. John took his binoculars everywhere. Now he and John Collins would be stopping every few minutes to catch a good view of the bird life.
While on holiday, John wanted to create a framework for a series of talks he would deliver three months later in Cambridge University. The talks had been arranged by the CICCU. John Collins was the ideal person to use as a sounding board as he, too, knew Cambridge well.
‘Give me a couple of hours to make a start on the framework,’ John Stott said. ‘Over there looks good.’ Praying for God’s help, he sat down in warm sunshine, below the cliff top, leaning against the wall of a derelict farmhouse. His view was stunning.
John Collins went for a walk on his own, later joining John Stott where he was sitting. ‘I wonder who owns this farmhouse,’ John Stott mused, half to himself, half to John Collins. Over the next few days they found out more about it. It was called The Hookses, though no one knew where the name came from.
The Hookses was tantalizing for John. ‘If it ever comes up for sale, I think I’d try to buy it. I’m not sure how, but I’d love to try.’ It was in a poor state, but its walls – nearly thirty inches thick, would withstand anything. John left his address with the local agent, just in case it ever came on the market.
A year or so passed, then a letter arrived. The Hookses was for sale! The owner had already turned down an offer of £1,000, and John was advised to offer £1,200. The estate agent thought it could be suitable for a café in the National Park. John shuddered at the prospect. Over the following week John made phone calls from London, and arranged a survey of the property. The result wasn’t good. So he put in an offer of £500, hoping no one else would be interested. Alas, he lost The Hookses. Peter Conder, Warden of Skokholm, offered £800 and became its new owner. John Stott was disappointed. However, that is not the end of the story.
A few months later, Peter Conder was appointed Director of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds (RSPB) and had to move to be nearer London. John Stott had just completed his first book Men with a Message, and received £750 from its publisher. So with it, he purchased The Hookses from Peter Conder. A few months later, he felt it wasn’t fair to have bought it at less than Mr Conder paid for it, so he invited him to lunch, and handed him £50.
A gale that winter took off the roof (happily Peter Conder’s insurance was still in place). There was no mains electricity, no mains water, and no fence to mark the boundary to the property. In short, it was in a sad state. Ah, but that was not the way John perceived it! For he was a man who looked at what was, and saw what could be. Here in his mind’s eye he saw his writing retreat; a place for study, and for relaxation; a place to invite friends; a place for students to come ...
‘Will you come to The Hookses for a working holiday?’ John asked his family and friends. ‘Bring your old clothes and wellies.’ There was a lot of hard work to do, both inside and outside. Together they mixed concrete, dug the garden, pulled out weeds and sludge from the pond, and painted walls and doors. Over the years, The Hookses was completely transformed.
* * *
John Stott wrote most of his books at The Hookses. He would set apart several weeks per year, and travel down alone or with friends. He came to be regarded as part of the local community, and got to know the Christians who worshipped at the nearby church.
The Hookses now is what John Stott saw in his mind’s eye back in 1952, through generous gifts from friends, and a lot of hard work. Overlooking the bay is John’s desk, on roughly the same spot where he sat down in 1952 to think and pray about his talks for the Cambridge University mission. The outbuilding he had been leaning against has been transformed into The Hermitage, a flat with a bedroom, a study, and a sitting room / cum office for Frances. John laid the concrete path leading to The Hermitage himself. He named it with a grin ‘The Frances Whitehead Walkway’.
The Hookses – the main house and outbuildings –can accommodate fifteen people. Its rooms are named after friends and family: for example Joanna’s Room, Joy’s Room, Evelyn’s Room, Meg’s Loft, and Fanny’s Room. (Fanny was Joy’s beloved beagle ‘as bad in character as it was good in looks’.)
When John had guests, he reached to the shelf on his right before he left his study. There, at arm’s level, was one of his favourite books. He bought it while he was still at school. It was his copy of Saki’s short stories. He loved these stories, and he loved to share them with others. He would laugh at them again and again, even though he had read them many times. Sometimes he would laugh so much at what was about to happen that he couldn’t read any further! And the friends listening would laugh at him laughing! Soon everyone was laughing, but only John knew what was funny!
‘Time for a Saki story,’ he would say after dinner. If his friends were at The Hookses for the first time, and hadn’t heard it before, he would begin with his favourite The Lumber Room. It is about a boy who said there was a frog in his bread-and-milk. His aunt punished him for making up the story. He had put the frog there himself, so he knew it was true! His revenge on his aunt was very sweet. Saki’s stories are still available from public libraries. (Saki’s real name was H H Munro but his books always carry the name Saki.)
* * *
John Stott loved Saki for relaxation, but his reading was not always so light-hearted.
Each day began with Bible reading, following the McCheyne reading plan. John wanted to master the whole Bible. Or rather, he wanted the whole Bible to master him. It is through reading scripture and studying it that Christians get to know God. Through Bible study, John Stott gained God’s perspective on the world.
John wanted to persuade people that Christ is the Truth, and that the Christian faith affects all of life. To engage with people he asked questions, read articles in newspapers, watched plays and films. John knew the need to listen carefully to what people believed, as well as listening to what God says in the Bible. It was important to listen in both directions, each for a different reason. So he coined a new phrase – ‘double listening’.
John Stott wrote over fifty books, mainly at The Hookses, to help Christians understand their faith, and be better equipped to explain it to others. He wrote them all by hand. Imagine! There must have been several miles of ink by the time he completed his last book.
The book John Stott always considered his best was The Cross of Christ. He was sixty-five years old when it was published, and he dedicated it to Frances Whitehead. This book was translated into more than twenty languages. One of its many readers was Ajith Fernando. Ajith lives in Sri Lanka and, like John Stott, loves to work among young people. Ajith travels widely, and speaks often, so he has to fit in reading where he can. Like John, he would be seen balancing books on his lap in airports, or reading books or journals while standing at a bus stop.
Ajith Fernando loved The Cross of Christ. He spent four months reading it slowly and making notes in the margins. He underlined words and sentences, and even made an index at the back so he could find things again easily. He learned so much from the book. Ajith was travelling by bus through the mountains. The journey wasn’t easy as the roads were bumpy, and full of bends. The bus was full, so Ajith had to stand. He couldn’t read while the bus was travelling, because he had to hold on tightly. But each time the bus stopped for a few minutes, for passengers to get on or off, Ajith reached for the book, which he placed on a ledge. Then suddenly, while the bus was moving, he realized his precious book had fallen out of the bus. Disaster! So he quickly grabbed his bag, asked the driver to stop, and got out to hunt for it.
It was too late. The book had gone. Someone on a bus coming the other way had spotted it, and picked it up.
But just then a police jeep appeared. Ajith waved to the police to stop.
‘I have just lost a book,’ Ajith said in Singhalese, his local language. ‘It fell out of the bus, and someone has picked it up, and it’s now on a bus going that way!’ The police were very understanding.
‘Quick! Jump in!’ the driver said.
‘That’s the bus!’ said Ajith as they spotted it. The bus had stopped in the next town and Ajith was able to get his precious book back. He thanked the police warmly. The notes Ajith had written could not have been replaced. This shows the value placed on John Stott’s books around the world.