Life as a Jehovahs Witness

For over forty years I was one of Jehovah's Witnesses.  I left the organisation (for reasons that will become apparent in future blogs) a few years ago or to use JW parlance I 'drifted away'.  Hopefully this blog will give an insight into what it's like to be a member of this strange and often misunderstood religion.

I will begin in the mid 1970's in a small mining town in the English North Midlands.  I'm eight years old, dressed in a suit and tie and carrying a briefcase almost as big as me.  In the briefcase you would find a barely worn bible, some Watchtower and Awake magazines, a pen (heavily chewed at one end) and a grubby S8 (a form to mark down all the 'not homes' and any house number where the resident showed even a modicum of interest in the JW message).

As I walked down yet another weed lined concrete path towards yet another battered council house door my father uttered the most frightening words I had ever heard; "You have a go at this one son."

For all of my young life my parents had religiously (no pun intended) taken me on 'field service' (knocking on doors and talking to people about God) every Saturday and Sunday morning.  My job was to write down the 'not homes', carry some spare magazines and try not to look bored.  Suddenly, and with no prior warning, my father decided that I should open my mouth and talk to some complete stranger about Jehovah!  I guess he thought I had heard him and my mother make presentations so many times that I would know what to say.  The fact was I never listened to anything when I was on 'field service', I was far too busy imagining scoring a hat-trick for Nottingham Forest or rescuing the gorgeous Julie Banks from evil crims to take any notice of what my parents were saying.  From a very early age I had an active imagination and I used it to offset the boredom of JW life.

So there I was, skinny as a rake, in an over-sized suit (my mother always bought them two sizes too big so that I could 'grow into them) and a huge battered briefcase, standing in front of a council house door with the words 'Jimmy is a w*%ker' still visible despite obvious scrubbing.

I knocked as quietly as I could.

"They won't hear that!  You need to knock like this." My father advised sternly as he proceeded to attempt waking the dead.

Midlands women, especially miners wives, are not the shy and retiring types and it's normal to hear them before you see them.  This particular lady had an exceptionally broad vocabulary of Anglo Saxon words which she addressed to me as she gently thundered towards her front door.  In the background I could also hear Cujo trying to eat his way through a wall and a gurgling bellow from somewhere upstairs.

As the door began to open I felt an overwhelming urge to run and probably would have done if my father hadn't put a hand on my shoulder at that precise moment.  By the look on his face I guess he felt that same overwhelming urge as well.

"Who the f*@king hell are you waking my bleedin' husband?  He's on bleedin nights yeh noisy b@*tards.  What the f@*k d'you want?"

In the background a gorilla dressed in y fronts and a string vest appeared at the top of the stairs.

"F@*ks sake Nelly, who is it?"

"You go back to bed Frank, I'll deal with these t@*ts."

She stared at me, her arms folded over a huge chest, spittle glistening on her hairy chin, a crown of plastic rollers in her hair and a look of fury in her eyes.  And then, right at that second, God must have smiled because a miracle happened; I opened my mouth and began to speak in Turkish.

My move from passive JW observer to an active member was both traumatic and funny. After that memorable Saturday morning my parents forced me to practice presentations regularly and then use them every time we went out on the ministry.  In fact the only times we missed field service was for illness and when it was raining - boy did I pray for rain a lot as a kid!

Jehovahs Witnesses are not just a religion, they are a lifestyle.  Everything revolves around meetings at the Kingdom Hall, field service and assemblies.  For those of you not familiar with some of these terms the Kingdom Hall is the building they worship in, field service is knocking on doors and assemblies are where hundreds or thousands of Witnesses all gather for between a day and three days to listen to more JW stuff.

For a kid the religion is tough, very tough.  Friends outside the religion are not permitted, birthday celebrations and Christmas are banned, they can't celebrate Mothers Day, Halloween, Harvest Festival or any other 'cool day'.  You can imagine the fun Witness kids have at school when they have to tell their classmates that they didn't get any Christmas presents or birthday cake.  And no I can't come to your birthday party, even if all the other kids are going.

It's not all doom and gloom - families get together for 'wholesome fun' and for the older kids parties are organised with bible based games, appropriate music and chaperones.  Oh how I used to look forward to those evenings.  I apologise for my sarcasm and promise not to use it again - or as little as possible!

The Kingdom Hall is just an extension of your family, everyone there calls each other brother and sister and when you are young you are taught to consider them as your uncles and aunties.  This 'open family' approach has allowed some paedophiles to operate with impunity within the organisation, a sad situation that I will discuss in a future blog.

As with all families, there are some you like, some you don't and some who are just weird. Every Kingdom Hall has a Brother Smug, a Brother Suspicious, a Sister Overthetop, a Sister Hypochondriac and a Brother and Sister Judgemental.  They also all have a Brother Cool, a Sister Heartbreaker, a Brother Wellnice and a Brother and Sister Normal.

The one thing everyone has in common is an (almost) unshakeable belief that they have 'The Truth'.  They sincerely believe that they have the one and only true religion and that only those that join them will survive the coming Armageddon - which is why they go around waking you up on a Sunday morning hoping to convert you.