Four lessons I learnt from the late Canon Christopher Smith

I like this photo of Christopher presenting prizes at a Ruth and Cecil Memorial Golf Match. It shows him in action, bringing jollity and energy to the proceedings.

My godfather, the Reverend Canon Christopher Smith, passed away peacefully at home on 11th January 2025. He was eighty years old, and had been suffering from lung cancer for some time.

I was, and am, sad about his death. Christopher was an ebullient, caring person, who lit up the lives of many thousands of people in his professional and personal life. He devoted his life to the teachings of Christ and the Church of England. He was a theologian and a man of the people.

The power of ritual

Christopher on the right with my father, Peter Gilbert, proprietor of the Dunstanburgh Golf Course, which they are standing on, the incredible ruins of the castle in the background. A lovely beautiful day.

Dressed in his white vestments of his religious vocation, Christopher n his white robes scattered the ashes of my grandparents, Cecil and Ruth Gilbert, over the lawn of Christon Bank, the remote Northumbrian farmhouse which they used as a second home for many decades. Their ashes were scattered over the graves of the pets that my grandparents adored; these graves were lovingly constructed by Ruth and Cecil to honour the many pets they had over the years. Christopher knew many of them!

Christopher spoke from memory from the liturgy and asked us to remember the life of Cecil and Ruth. There was a sense, even though I am not religious, that their spirits had been laid to rest. Christopher’s voice travelled across the fields on that blue day. There was a sense of closure and peace, which Christopher’s presence brought to the occasion.

Christopher had read theology at Cambridge during the 1960s, and was my father’s oldest and closest friend. He knew Ruth and Cecil very well. He had delivered the sermon at their funeral in Embleton church in February 2003. Following that turbulent time, their ashes were never scattered, and so some years later, a family decision was made to scatter them. What better person than Christopher to make it a solemn and life-enhancing occasion?

He had seen many, many deaths, and had the compassion of a man steeped in the best aspects of the traditions of the Church of England and Christ’s teaching. He knew how to hold a ritual very well.

I learnt from him this; that ritual needs to be invested with both a profound seriousness and playfulness. He was so familiar with them — weddings, funerals, communions, sermons, bingo — that he carried them off with the ease and embodied knowledge of someone who was both relaxed and earnest. A rare combination.

The importance of conviviality

I like this video of Christopher talking jokily about a mutual friend, Timothy Kirkhope, a former MEP and now in the House of Lords. This clip captures Christopher’s affectionate, jolly tone.

He and his family, his wife Christine, were a very generous couple, opening their home to many different visitors and guests. I was one of them on the odd occasion. I can remember very vividly in 1986 going to visit Liverpool university on an open day, and then going to visit Christopher in his vast vicarage in Walton. I was very much out of my comfort zone, not used to travelling back then in the way many eighteen year olds are now. I got lost and went to Woolton, not Walton, and eventually arrived very frazzled on Christopher’s doorstep, after navigating my way through the spooky graveyard near his house. It was dusk, and I was so glad to see Christopher’s cheery, large presence in the doorway. He immediately sensed my anxiety, and said, ‘I say, you do look rather out of sorts, old chap! Come in and have some lemonade, or a cup of tea, or maybe something even stronger, you’re not a child any more, or are, old fruit!?’

The significance of prayer

Christopher with a gavel at an auction after a Golf Charity Match. He was great at running these sorts of ritualistic occasions, particularly auctions, and taught Peter’s granddaughter, Scarlett, how to be a teenage auctioneer!

Christopher was an authentically religious man, in a world where often spirituality is mobilised for worldly gain. This said, he had important roles in the church, and, at times, would minister to upper echelons of British society. He was a Chaplain Royal to the Queen. As part of his duties he was required to give sermons in the chapels of St. James’s Palace.

But he wasn’t arrogant or snobby about this, and I got the sense, even though he enjoyed fine wines and good food at times, he was happiest working with his parishioners and so-called ‘ordinary’ people. I remember accompanying him on his rounds around Liverpool, visiting youth clubs, pubs, playgrounds, talking to people with a rare ease. Everyone liked him. He was both holy and approachable. He was an amazing table tennis player; he scarcely moved, but would always knock the ping-pong ball back at you.

He had a routine for praying which he told me about, which involved praying in quite a strict cycle for people who were significant to him. I, as his godson, was one of them. So he prayed for me regularly throughout his life. This makes me think about the value of prayer as a non-religious person. Again, it had a ritualistic quality, a listing of names, a sense of intoning people in the imagination, bringing their humanity into his thoughts, their presences.

Sometimes you can look too hard

Christine, Christopher’s wife, Christopher, Peter Gilbert, and my brother Alexander Gilbert

One of the many stories Christopher would tell was about the person looking for a valuable gemstone on a beach. He became so obsessed with looking for it, that when he did actually pick it up, he threw it away! Christopher would tell this story replete with arm gestures and in his inimitable voice.

I like this story on many levels. For me, it’s a warning about being too obsessive, too carried away with the minutiae of life, and not stepping back and appreciating the gemstones.

Now I must a take a moment to pause, and treasure the gemstone that was Christopher. I and many people will miss him terribly.

Details of his funeral can be found here: https://christopher-milne-smith.muchloved.com/

keywordsritual spirituality

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2 responses to “Four lessons I learnt from the late Canon Christopher Smith”

I first met Chris in the late sixties when he was a curate and lived above St. Nicholas Church, Liverpool. The young curates used to hold fantastic parties there after drinking in the Stile House Pub or the Pig and Whistle. I, as a struggling young artist never arrived until before last drinks as most of the lads were in well paid jobs and I wouldn’t bum off them. The curates were part of the local scene and so were very popular with everybody. Later Chris became the Rector of Walton Church and regularly called to see my father who loved his bottle of whisky and so they shared many late Friday nights by the fire. My mother was buried from Walton Church and Basil Fletcher Jones was the rector at the time but the service was taken The Roy Middleton whose sister Ena had been in my class at Evered Avenue School. My father had been at sea for forty years and had many stories of the war which he shared with Chris. When he died, we had the reception in the old Grammar School where I used to play table tennis and played football for Walton Church . I didn’t realise that Chris had been a very good table tennis player. A very famous Welsh poet had been a curate there in about 1750 and taught Latin and Greek in the old Walton Grammar so there has been a long tradition for learning in Walton. Goro nwy Owen never got over the death of his baby daughter Ellen who was buried in the church yard near the wall of the church. Before coming to Walton Church he had been imprisoned in Shrewsbury Gaol for having a debt of forty pounds and his pay was only £40 a year. He was a drinker but left Liverpool for the south of England. He left and then went to America it took over three months but on the journey over there was a terrible storm and his wife and one of their young sons died and were buried at see. We had the reception in the Goronwy Owen room where we used to go with the cubs after we had the first part of the meeting in the part of the church being used until after the church had been renovated.
We had to take a lump of coal each to make a fire to heat the room. Harry Gifford was the cub-master and saved the church records after Walton Church was bombed during the war. He and his brother Ted went into the blazing church at great risk to themselves. Ted emigrated to Canada with his wife and son David. Goronwy Owen was from Anglesey and is still revered their after all this time. He was a tiny man and his first day as curate on the Sunday morning he was given a massive cassock to wear and had to follow the minister who was a massive man. He said he felt like he was following a giant crane around the church yard. My sister Marge who still lives in Ivernia Road, remembers you helping her Christine when she was doing her medical secretary’s course and wishes to be remembered to you.
I remember Chris giving a Christian Blessing after Geoff LLoyd and Nettie were married in the Registry Office. It was a privilege to have known Chris and to remember his generosity in buying a chalk drawing of Daniel Street, Everton from me, when I was very poor. It was much appreciated then and now is still. In my chat with Christine yesterday I suggested buying it back to which she replied that I can have it for nothing. So Christine please tell to which charity is being collected for in memory of Chris and I will generously contribute. I mentioned Aunty Nell, who was my God Mother. Her husband Bob worked for the famous Estate Agents [The Venmore Estates] Mr Venmore helped him how to invest his money and he obviously built up a sizable nest egg. Bob died of a wound which he got in the Great War ‘I remember Aunty Nell saying that he would say [I can’t get my wound to weep] this was a wound which he got riding a motor bike. He died just before the second war and my father bumped into her in Mauritania Road. She had been a great friend of the seven Kernan Girls at school in St Francis De Salles Infants and Junior Schools. ‘They were all Catholics as Aunty Nell had been. My mother had moved to Chirbury, Shropshire with my three older sisters after the railings of Walton Hall Park had a land mine dropped on them. It demolished six houses including the house that Dave Beatty was born in later. All the windows and doors of all the houses were blown off. Father happened to be home from the Merchant Navy and told mother he didn’t want her to be in Liverpool when he came home. She then on her own initiative found logins in this idyllic village. Father bumped into Aunty Nell and suggested to her that she went down to join her. She was worried whether her son Kenneth would like it. But after a few days helping with getting the cattle he told his mother that he quite liked it there so they stayed for four years. Funny how Aunty Nell, a good Catholic became one of your congregation. It was in Chirbury that I was Christened and Aunty nell was my God-Mother. She also had to go at six in the morning to the Herbert Arms Pub to asked to phone the mid-wif as I had arrived . She bumped into the mid-wife on her bike on the way back to the house. Thank goodness you’ve arrived the baby has arrived all ready
love to all. Frank Green

Frank Green

January 20, 2025
Hi Frank

Thank you for sharing such wonderful memories about Chris and the rich history surrounding Walton Church. It’s heartwarming to hear how he connected with your family and the local community. The stories of the curates, including their vibrant gatherings and your father’s experiences, truly paint a vivid picture of that time.

It’s fascinating to learn about Goronwy Owen’s legacy and his impact on both the church and education in Walton. These personal anecdotes really highlight the deep connections formed over the years.

Looking forward to hearing more!

Best,

Francis

francisgilbert

January 23, 2025

Four lessons I learnt from the late Canon Christopher Smith

The power of ritual

The importance of conviviality

The significance of prayer

Sometimes you can look too hard

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2 responses to “Four lessons I learnt from the late Canon Christopher Smith”

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