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The young one with many questions
Cliff Richard struggled with faith in the early years. David Winter was one of those who helped
 Young in the faith: Cliff Richard, pictured with David Winter’s daughter Becky |
I REMEMBER seeing Cliff Richard on Oh Boy! in 1958, singing “Move It”. Here, we were told, was Britain’s answer to Elvis: mean, moody, and smouldering with barely suppressed sexual energy. “Move It” was pure rock ’n’ roll, built on an insistent, vibrating bottom E on the bass, fast and pulsating. Strange now to reflect that it had been written on a Green Line bus by a 17-year-old member of Cliff’s first band, on the way back from a gig in Essex. The record launched Cliff Richard’s career, climbed to number two in the pop music charts, and earned him a recording contract, a manager, and eventually a new backing group, The Shadows. Sir Cliff (or Harry Webb, as he was then) was born in India, and moved with his parents and sister to England in 1947. They lived in a council house in Cheshunt, Hertfordshire, and, until he was about 15, Cliff regularly went to church with his mother. |
| His father would not go to church — “it’s not for people like me” — but he led family prayers and a Bible-reading every night. It was a stable and secure environment, and much of Cliff’s later ability to cope with fame, success, and money can be traced back to his parents and family. His father, especially, was very supportive as his teenage son embarked on his career in show-business, travelling with him, encouraging, and advising.
His father’s death, in 1961, launched Cliff on a slightly tentative religious search. He had thought of attending a séance in the hope of contacting his father, whom he missed greatly, but was dissuaded by one of the Shadows, “Licorice” Locking, who was a committed Jehovah’s Witness. Licorice showed him where the Bible warned against such things, which led to a conversation — the first of many — about the beliefs of Witnesses. At the same time a much-loved aunt joined the sect, and his sister was also drawn towards it.
Cliff has always respected total commitment to anything, and the fervour and dedication of the Witnesses impressed him. For a couple of years he would attend meetings in their Kingdom Halls up and down the country, but he held back from being baptised as a member.
Still dubious, he consulted his former English teacher at his school in Cheshunt. Jay Norris, a Roman Catholic, suggested that before he took any decisive step he should talk to Bill Latham, who had taught RE at the school. They met and got on well. Bill — an Anglican, and a Reader in his parish church — wisely, did not get too involved with a point-by-point refutation of Witness beliefs, but instead introduced Cliff to a number of active Christians of his own age.
Again, Cliff saw the same commitment, but also something else: that they were not primarily concerned with ticking doctrinal boxes, but seemed to have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. That was something he had not encountered before. |
 A return match with Dr Billy Graham at Westminster Central Hall in 1988 |
| AT THIS TIME, I met Cliff, at his invitation. Would I come round to Bill’s house and “answer a few questions?” It seemed he had saved all the really difficult ones for me: the ones that have tested the finest Christian thinkers down the centuries. Why the Trinity? Is Jesus God? If he is, how could God die? These, and dozens of other questions were thrown at me. Cliff listened attentively to my attempts to answer them, and asked probing but positive supplementary questions. He genuinely seemed to be looking for answers rather than cul-de-sacs. There were several such sessions, sometimes with two or three of us trying to cope with the flow of questions. It was all complicated by the fact that Cliff’s Bible was the Jehovah’s Witnesses’ “New World” translation, but we were driven on by his relentless determination to find answers. Unsurprisingly, the breakthrough, when it came, was not when all the questions were answered, but when we persuaded Cliff that Christian faith was not (as the JW’s put it) all about “right belief”, but about absolute trust. It was not believing this or that doctrinal proposition, but putting one’s trust in Jesus Christ, the divine Son of God. It was turning to Christ, not solving a set of biblical problems. “I’m on my way in,” Cliff said to Bill Latham later that evening — and he was. From then on, Cliff started coming to church, though for a long time most members of the congregation at St Paul’s, Finchley, had no idea who this young man was (the youth fellowship certainly did, but commendably kept it to themselves). Eventually, he went through confirmation preparation, and was confirmed by the then Bishop of Willesden, Graham Leonard. I remember his almost childlike delight at receiving communion at the midnight eucharist later that year — and there was even a smattering of snow on the ground outside. Gradually, guided by his Christian friends, Cliff “went public” about his faith — first at a Crusader rally in Central Hall, Westminster. Eventually, and with some misgivings on the part of a few of us, he agreed to speak and sing at a Billy Graham meeting in Earls Court in 1966. That blew his cover totally. It was front-page news in all the tabloid papers the next morning, although the Daily Mirror had somehow got hold of the story in advance, which meant that thousands of fans descended on the hall. About 12,000 of them could not get in, but Billy and Cliff went outside and talked to them. “He’s not the type to take up religion,” complained one fan in Disc magazine. “He’ll lose a lot of fans,” warned another. In fact, Cliff’s popularity was never affected by his now well-publicised beliefs, and his career continued its remarkable progress right through the ’70s, ’80s and ’90s. He even had a number one hit with his “Millennium Prayer” in 2000, 42 years after “Move It”. SOON AFTER his conversion, Cliff was invited to visit some of the areas in the world where Tearfund was working, including Bhutan. It was an experience that, he said, “changed his life”, and he became a sort of ambassador-at-large for the relief organisation for many years. He also raised huge sums of money with concerts in aid of its projects. Cliff also gave time to speaking and singing at carefully chosen Christian events: everything from a packed meeting of students at the Oxford Pastorate, to a series of gospel concerts on the continent, backed by the pop-folk group The Settlers. He was constantly interviewed on radio and television, showing a remarkable ability to counter even the most unexpected question. Many an interviewer found, as the Oxford students had, that Cliff might not be an intellectual, but the boy from Cheshunt Secondary Modern was distinctly “bright”, articulate, and quick on his feet. Unfailingly courteous and charming, Cliff has never found it easy to tell people to leave him alone or simply go away. Consequently, over the years, he has found it difficult to join a church, because there will always be those who will feel it is their right, or even duty, to badger and pester him. He now spends most of his time in the United States, Portugal, or the Caribbean (although he has a house in England as well). For more than 30 years he has been, arguably, Britain’s best-known Christian. That is quite a burden to bear, and no one can blame him if he has finally come to feel that he is entitled to lay down that very public burden, or pass it on to someone else. |
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