Page 7 - Consider The Lillies of the Field - My Story: Jill Kemp

people don't really know what from. I
had a dilemma because I have to speak
about someone to-night and I didn't
want to cast a slur on their name, but
facts are facts and I just want to pray for
a blessing on my Step Mum tonight.
When I was 4 years old, our
neighbour invited me to Sunday school
at St. Sepulchre's Anglican Church, in
Khyber Pass, Auck-land. I vaguely
recall the building as being brown and
dark; some-one played the piano, people
sang songs I didn't know and I put a
penny in a flat brown plate, which

disappeared off somewhere; I had to walk a long way and wait a long
time for the lady to walk me home again. I clearly remember that the day
my mother “ran away” with a friend of my Dad's was a Sunday, because I
was sent next door with a note saying “Sorry that Jill can't go to Sunday
school as I am leaving.” That was my first introduction to “God” things
and it stuck in my mind that I wasn't allowed to go to Sunday school
because my mother ran away with another man. We were bundled, along
with all the clothes, behind the seat of a black V8 Coupe. Our poor father
came whistling home from work to find his children and wife had gone.
He never really recovered from the shock.

We went to live with mum's new boyfriend. He was kind to us girls (my
sister was 2 years old.) They soon had a baby. Nothing terribly dramatic
happened during that time, except that I had a traumatic encounter with
a wild animal when I was told to go and collect the milk from the
letterbox. (Would you believe we had milk in a billy in those days!) I

grizzled
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