Growing up in Kensington Palace

I was born in Kensington Palace, July 1932. My mother, Princess May Cambridge, was a great granddaughter of Queen Victoria. She met my father, army colonel, Sir Henry Abel-Smith in South Africa when my grandfather, the Earl of Athlone, was governor general there. 

Our family had lived in South Africa for a few years and then returned to the family home, Barton Lodge, near Windsor. I remember lots of tennis parties, swimming, croquet on the lawn, gardening with Grannie on our own patch. Then came the Second World War. My grandfather was appointed governor general to Canada. Once he and my grandmother were settled there, my siblings and I were sent away to live with them for the duration of the war. 

I turned eight the day we landed in Canada. Many children and families had travelled by ship to Canada. A number of the ships had sadly been sunk by the German U-boats, so they tried a different route with our convoy.  

There were constantly officials, heads of European and allied countries passing through Government house. Generals and presidents all came to meet with my grandfather – Stalin, Roosevelt, Churchill. Even the wife of China’s Chiang Kai-shek. On social occasions, sometimes my siblings and I would be introduced to them. Dutch Queen Wilhelmina stayed with us for a short while after she had been forced into exile.

We stayed in Montreal until the end of the war. I’d been away from my parents for five years. 

Early adulthood

Back in England I went to boarding school, then finishing school for three years. We studied art, cooking, sewing. In those days women were not prepared for a career, but for marriage.  

Church was also very much a part of our lives. It was the done thing. No one talked about Jesus – about knowing God or loving him. The place of the Bible was on the church lectern, in a pulpit, so few people read it themselves. 

For my 21st birthday, I was given a Hunter horse by Papa. I loved being with horses. I took a job as a groom to a well-known showman of hunters. When post-war conditions allowed, we travelled. In spring, Switzerland. In autumn, many Scottish balls.

It was during these years I rekindled my friendship with David Liddell-Grainger. We had known each other when we were younger. When we reconnected in our 20s, there was a spark. We got married in 1959 in Windsor Chapel Royal, and had our reception at Windsor Castle. I remember laughing then, and still do, at the newspaper headlines the following day: “Girl called Smith has four queens and princesses at her wedding.” 

Generals and presidents all came to meet with my grandfather – Stalin, Roosevelt, Churchill

Divorce and redirection

Our marriage lasted 19 years; sufficient time for the birth of five cherished children. But our differences drove us apart in the end. Following my divorce, I stayed with my parents. It was the mid-1980s. It was a difficult time, obviously. I needed to reassess my life. I began to pray and meet with our local vicar from St Peter’s, Cranbourne, Berkshire.

I remember on one occasion I told him that I felt my life had come to an end. He was emphatic in his response. “Not at all!” he said. “Absolutely not! God gives new beginnings.” We talked and then he prayed for me. I was grateful. 

Soon after, I was told about a Christian conference in London. I was able to attend and met many people who seemed to be alive with faith and energy and connection to Jesus. What a far cry from the formal prayers and traditions of my upbringing. We prayed together and I felt something like golden rain falling down all around me and on me. Then, it was as if all the anger, pain and hatred in me fell away. I didn’t understand it all, but from that moment everything changed. 

Later I went to Canada with a friend and saw many women in Christian ministry – speaking, preaching, praying for people. I had the sense that Jesus wanted me to do the same. I reminded him that in the Church of England, there were no women in ministry. (There were not in those days.) I think my objections were rather brushed aside.   

I connected with a wonderful church, St Marks, Kennington. The vicar, Nicholas became a good friend. On the top floor of the church property, they had launched a training programme called Christian Life Centre. It was pioneered by a couple, Elmer and Jean Darnell. I was hungry to grow in the knowledge of God and his ways, so I applied. It was a two-year programme. 

It was there that I learned how critical it was to not just read the Bible, but to study it. I saw how often God specifically directed people through his Word. I grew up thinking of myself as a Christian, but the truth is I knew very little about Jesus. 

It was absolutely wonderful being a part of that programme and of the vibrant, multi-racial and ethnic St Marks’ community. I eventually moved house, closer to that part of the city. 

St Marks had become a place with a powerful ministry to those troubled with drugs and disillusionment, without homes or friends. Nicholas asked for my help as he and others sought to find housing for the many indigent people in the area. I loved being a part of a community that cared and got involved practically to help the range of peoples’ needs. 

Out of the blue, Jean Darnell contacted me. She was embarking on a teaching tour in Europe, and needed help. She asked me to travel with her. And so I did…for three extraordinary years. I learned so much. How to pray. How to hear from God. How to serve and bless people. We met energised believers from all walks of life, and I continued to grow in my relationship with Jesus. 

On board

I found out about a hospital ship ministry coming to London. The ship, Anastasis, meaning resurrection, would spend a few weeks on a tour in Docklands. I went with a friend to a ‘ladies’ function’ on board, hardly aware that this visit would alter the course of my life. As I walked the hallways, and heard about their vision and work, I knew that in some way I needed to be a part of this wonderful enterprise. 

I was in my late 50s, and, barring accidents or illness, I sensed I had many years left – and a wide-open space ahead of me. I was committed to spending the rest of my life doing work for Jesus and helping others. And the Anastasis was about to sail into a new season of service in Africa. After a stint in Le Havre, France, she would cast off her ropes and cross the Atlantic on her maiden voyage to West Africa. Destination: French-speaking Togo. It was 1990 – and I felt certain that this was a step into my future. 

In Lomè, capital of Togo I was asked to work with our on-shore teams. It was hectic, tiring, exhilarating, challenging. I spoke French so was asked to help on the screening days. I translated for the nurses and doctors and helped patients move from one care station to the next. 

After a number of months in Togo and Ghana, responsibilities at home required my return to England. It was wonderful to have time again with my children, and to pray and ponder my future. The months flew by and I knew I was to return to the ship. We sailed this time to Abidjan, capital of Côte d’Ivoire. 

It was an extraordinary and humbling season. My eyes had been opened as never before. It’s a serious vocation to help people who are dying or in dire need. I realised I needed more training, and certainly more understanding of God and his ways.  

I went to a discipleship training school with YWAM in Cape Town, South Africa. At age 64, I was the oldest student, but my energy and hunger for more of God matched any of the young ones. It was July 1996. One evening while I was prayer walking, I had a strong awareness of God’s presence and sensed that he was telling me I was to leave behind my former life and cleave to him. Africa would be my calling and upon my return to the ship, as we travelled, he would show me where to get off.  

Finding my home

In Guinea I’d become friends with a missionary couple who were working in a town called Pita, in the northwest of the country. I’d visited them and was deeply moved by the immense need I saw there, particularly in their local prison. Many conversations and much prayer ensued. It wasn’t long before I knew that Pita was to be my next assignment.

I returned to England, called the children, and said: “Come and get what you want from the house; I’m leaving England, and going to live in Guinea.” That was 25 years ago. 

When I came to know Jesus, a new part of me came alive. Horses, parties and my children had been my life, but Jesus led me out into a wider world, and taught how to walk alongside people with deep sorrows and grievous struggles. 

Words by Paula Kirby