The remarkable true life story of Peter Newman (Part 11)

It was strange seeing the old familiar haunts and the old familiar faces. I stayed for a few days, sleeping rough on the bench I'd slept on years before. I had a good time sharing the love of Jesus with some of my former companions. They could hardly believe that I was the same Peter Newman they had once known. The weather was still cold, (it was Easter time,) and I spent many a moment thinking of home, Barbara and little Elaine. But God hadn't given me permission to catch the train back to Worthing, so I stayed on the Embankment waiting for His next set of instructions.

I didn't have to wait long. Three days later I was walking along the Embankment towards Charing Cross Station when God spoke to me. He directed me to a phone box. "Remember when you were a little boy of four?" whispered the inner voice. I remembered. I had a mental picture of Grandad taking me by the hand and walking me from Chelsea, over Battersea Bridge, to a house one Sunday morning. I was taken up to a room and left to play on my own with some building bricks. Then Grandad reappeared and took me home.

"I want you to ring those people up," said the voice.

"But Lord," I said, "that was years ago and I don't even know their name. They could even be dead by now."

The name Mascall came to me so I opened up the telephone directory. There weren't many Mascalls listed and one of those had a Battersea address, so I dialled the number, wondering what on earth I was going to say. I half hoped no one would answer the phone, but God had other plans. The line clicked and a man's voice said hullo.

"Hullo," I said, rather nervously, "is that Mr Mascall?"
"Yes, this is Mr Mascall," the voice replied.
"Well, er, this is Peter Newman here," I said. Then there was silence. "Er, don't you remember me?" I said.
"No, I'm afraid I don't," said Mr Mascall. "Who did you say you were?"
"Peter Newman. My grandad, Mr Walter Newman, used to know you."
"Ah yes, Walter Newman. I knew him, but I'm afraid he's dead now."
"Yes, I know that, Mr Mascall. I'm his grandson, Peter. I became a Christian a few years ago and I'm in London at the moment and I'd like to see you."
"Oh, that Peter," said Mr Mascall, sounding excited, "Yes, yes, you must come over straight away. We'd love to see you."

So I walked to their little terraced house along the route that Grandad had taken me all those years before. I even recognized their street as soon as I came to it. When I arrived at their home, they were waiting on the doorstep to greet me, with tears in their eyes. They could hardly believe that I was who I said I was. They took me into their little sitting room; it was just as I had remembered it, and they kept asking me if I really was Peter Newman. The more I assured them that I was, the more they cried. They asked me if I remembered the day my grandad had taken me to see them and I said that I did.
They told me that while I was upstairs playing, they had spent the morning praying with Grandad.

"And do you know what?" said Mrs Mascall, "we prayed that you would grow up to love the Lord Jesus and that God would call you to become His servant to preach the gospel. And now look at you..." her voice tailed off.

"Yes," said Mr Mascall, "your grandfather thought a lot about you, and he prayed for you, but I think he gave up towards the end because every time he heard anything about you, it was bad news. You were either in prison or were drinking and stealing. We nearly gave up hope, too. But we decided to carry on the praying and now," he said, his voice breaking with emotion, "I thank God we did."

We sat and talked all afternoon. I told them how God had saved me and about Barbara and my daughter. They seemed to cry all the time and I must admit I felt very tearful too. I had some tea with them and then knew that God had done what He'd planned and that I was free to return to Worthing.

Barbara was thrilled when I told her what had happened during my visit and a few weeks later I took her to meet the Mascalls.

I made other trips to London during our stay in Worthing. One Saturday evening God told me to go to Hyde Park Corner. That morning I'd been attending some meetings in London and I was due to catch the train home. However, I knew better than to argue with God, so I found some digs and went to Hyde Park the next morning. Speakers' Corner was crammed with people and orators were spouting forth about everything from politics to religion.

I walked around until I found the spot where the gospel was being preached. There were two men there and only about six people had stopped to listen to them. They were having a rough time, too, with a couple of hecklers. As I stood and listened to them, the Spirit of the Lord came upon me and I felt a great urgency to get up and preach. I walked over to their box and asked if I could have a few words. They were reluctant to hand over their platform but I was so insistent that I almost ordered them off. When they saw that I meant business, they handed their platform over to me. Under the anointing of the Holy Spirit I started to preach about Jesus. Within minutes the six had grown to twenty, then to fifty and before long there were hundreds of people listening to the gospel being proclaimed. The crowd was silent. There was no heckling or jostling; God's word was having free course.

When I'd finished, I handed the platform back to the two preachers and walked down Oxford Street. "Hey, come here you!" someone shouted. I turned around and saw a policeman. "I don't know who you are or what you've got but I've never seen the crowds at Speakers' Corner listen so intently to anyone before. Where were you trained?"