John Bradburne’s
niece, Celia Brigstocke, looks back. “I remember John from when I was a little
girl. My mother was John’s elder sister and he often used to visit us in the
school holidays as we lived in a school. John was always good fun to be with as
a child.” She recalls, “He loved to go for long bike rides taking along a
picnic so we could stop at a place with a view, and soak in the beauty of the
countryside, and pick blackberries in winter and admire the flowers that were
out in the summer. He was always enthusing about the nature around him.”
The Brothers Grimm
and Beatrix Potter left a lasting and enchanting impression on John, whose
lively imagination conjured a magical world for his young listeners, as Celia
fondly recalled. “In those early days he would tell us stories about the elves
and the fairies, the little world we could not see. We believed it all and it
made our appreciation of the countryside much more interesting! As an uncle
there was no one in the world like him. He taught us so much about the simple
things in life. Always joking, he was so exciting to have around; not dull like
other adults! We loved him to bits. It was like a breath of fresh air to have
him with us.”
“John was
especially close to my mother of all his siblings. They were both tomboys in
childhood and shared so much together, climbing trees and playing in the stream
near their home in Skirwith, Cumbria. John was the one who taught us to climb
trees and was very quick to show how best to do it. He was thin and agile.”
“In the summer
holidays my mother and my elder sister and I would journey by train to stay
with my grandmother, John’s mother who lived in Ottery St Mary in Devon. We
took all our pets with us on the train, the cat the dog the guinea pig or
hamster. It must have been a sight! My father always went off to go sailing on
his boat then. Mist, as we called our grandmother, was a widow then. John lived
near to his mother there in a lovely part of Devon. His father had been vicar
of Westhill nearby, and they are buried in the little graveyard there.”
His longing for
prayer and solitude showed itself early in his life. “John was given an old
disused shed to live in by a local farmer a couple of miles out of Ottery. It
had running water and was John’s borrowed ‘home’ for a while. He collected me
and my sister (who was older than me). John put me on the handlebars and off we
went on bikes along a winding lane to his new ‘home’. It was just a shed
really, but John was very proud of it, and the farmer and he got along very
well. I suppose, thinking back, this must have been the first ‘Hermitage’ he
had.”
Those who knew John
Bradburne remember his gift of mimicry. Celia spoke of her uncle with nostalgia
and affection. “My last memory of John alive was when he visited us in our
home. I was in bed with measles or mumps, and he came in to my room to say
hello. He did so at a glance with a beaming face, but as soon as he came in to
the room his eye caught the frieze of brightly coloured birds that adorned it,
and the conversation began about each bird and he imitated the song of each
bird. I must have been about ten years old then, but I remember that moment so
clearly. I was spellbound.”
In 1962, the man
who called himself “God’s Vagabond” knew that he had found what God had called
him to be when he visited Mutemwa, a leprosy settlement some distance from
Harare, where he spent the next 17 years, praying and caring for people with
leprosy. Celia commented, “The tin hut which was John’s home called Piper’s
Vale is still there and the many thousands of pilgrims who visit pay their
respects by sitting and praying in there. Many of John’s poems are still stuck
on the walls in there and some favourite holy pictures.”
Murdered on 5th
September 1979 by the guerrillas who had captured him, John’s death was
surrounded by unexpected events. He died because he had asked his captors to
allow him to return to Mutemwa and the lepers who would have nobody to care for
them. “John’s killers were never caught, and the family have never had an
interest in that. The glorious thing about John’s death is that we do believe
he died a martyr’s death. This is one of the things he desired, to give the
ultimate price to God in this way. He would never have deserted his leper
friends, and he was shot because he refused to leave them. The extraordinary
event at his Requiem Mass, when drops of blood fell beneath the coffin were
seen during Communion, at the moment when three white lilies were placed on top
of the coffin- representing John’s love of the Trinity. It was at this point
that the blood fell, witnessed by many. On opening the casket, no sign of any
issue of blood was to be found, it was clean and dry. No explanation has been
given to this day. The mortician had never seen anything like it because there
was no deterioration in John’s flesh. He realised that what had happened was no
ordinary thing.”
Until John’s death,
Celia herself had never had the opportunity to visit Mutemwa. “My first visit to Mutemwa was triggered by
an event in my own life which brought about my initial conversion. It was
brought about by the intercession of my uncle, and it changed my life forever.
As a result I knew that John was ‘alive’ (and probably kicking!) Fr John Dove,
John Bradburne’s close friend told me that I should visit Mutemwa, the place
where he looked after the lepers in Rhodesia as it was then. I had an impulse
to go and see the place and say ‘thank you’ to John.”
It was a memorable
event. “On arrival I was introduced to each of the residents who each had
stories to tell. I knew that it was no ordinary place, and the sense of
holiness was omnipresent. I had never experienced this before. Three eagles
circled a group of us when we visited John’s death site, as soon as we started
praying they came and went after about a minute. Eagles and bees are associated
with John when people pray to ask his intercession. I was received as a
Catholic by Fr Dove in the little chapel there with all John’s friends, a very
moving occasion for me. I climbed the mountain called Chigona where the large
cross has been erected by a man whose sight was restored after to praying to
John, and dabbled my feet in the little pool where he bathed each day.”
Conscious that John
Bradburne died, literally, because he laid down his life for others, steps are
under way to promote his official recognition by the Church as a martyr. Many
thousands of people have visited his grave in the grounds of the Jesuit church
at Chishawasha, also near Harare. “Representation has been made to Franciscan
Postulators in Rome for John’s Cause for Beatification via Fr Liam McCarthy
OFM, who is designated by the Archbishop of Harare to be the person in charge
of the Cause. There is now a surge of impulse by the people in Zimbabwe to
drive the process forward. This will be discussed at a John Bradburne Day in
Harare on June 15th at the Dominican Convent. The first step is to
formally have a Postulator in Rome to take it on. Approaches have been made in
this direction, but a final push has to be made now to put matters in place for
the initial stage to commence. We believe that Pope Francis will love John’s
story and the John Bradburne Memorial Society and the Secular Franciscans in
the UK are hoping to find a way of approaching him about this.”
God’s love within you is your native
land,
So search none other, never more
depart,
For you are homeless, save God keeps
your heart.
