In early August of 1968, a stylish and brilliant convert from Anglicanism, and at this time a pastor of a flourishing parish in Suffolk, was driving his “fast and comfortable Jaguar” from Bury St Edmunds to London. He took a friend, Edgar Hardwick, parish priest of Coldham, with him. When he pulled up to his friend’s place, the friend got in, holding a newspaper.
He let me drive for about twenty minutes and then asked me: “Have you seen today’s paper?” “No,” I replied, “I haven’t taken a paper since 1954.” “But I think this may interest you,” and he started to read something: it was Humanae Vitae. Luckily there was a layby to get off the road. I stopped the car and listened. Humanae Vitae was quite perfect. Edgar was a bit surprised when I hugged him and kissed him on both cheeks. “The Catholic religion is true,” I cried; “one can trust the Church; salvation is real!” I drove up to London with a song in my heart. But it had been a very near thing. Could I have lasted another three months? I doubt it.[1] …
