The History of the Ryburns

Building this web site made me realize how little I knew about my paternal grandmother, Anna Jane. Steadman, who I just remember from when I was very young. However, my cousin Michael Gray got to know her well when he was student in Christchurch. He describes her as a very gracious lady. This is certainly borne out by the following handwritten account of her personal stuggle in coming to terms with the loss of her eldest son, Eric, at the Battle of Passchendaele, Belgium, during Word War I. This was sent to me by Michael.

"Christchurch, 9th Jan 1940

Perhaps this personal experience may help someone whose faith is waining or shattered. It has been very much on my mind of late, and I feel impelled to write it down. Indeed, I have often felt so, but it always
seemed too personal and sacred to write about.

When my dear boy was killed at Paschendale at first I seemed to be benumbed, but gradually as I came to realise all it meant, my house of faith crashed to the ground and I passed through the most awful time of doubt. I questioned everything I had always taken for granted, even the existence of God, or that if he did exist, that he cared for the affairs of his people, or answered their prayers. How did I know there was any future life, or that the hope of seeing my boy again was anything but a delusion? I could find no peace or rest anywhere, and felt I was being overwhelmed. I felt like a child that had been given a blow for the first time by the hand that it had always loved and trusted, and was utterly bewildered.

And then, one night I had a dream:- I was in a dark cove., or small bay, surrounded by dark mountains that closed in the little beach. I was struggling in the water, trying to reach the beach, but every time I got near I was drawn back again by the rough waves. Presently I hear a voice say "stop struggling and you will get in". I did stop, and lay quietly on the water, and so was carried gently and quietly on to the little beach.

When I woke I knew it was more than a dream. It was a message from the Lord himself, and a great peace filled my soul, which has never left me since. I saw no face, but i knew Christ was standing there on the beach watching my struggles, and had sent me a message of help and comfort.

But the miracle was not only in the voice that spoke to me, but also in the wonderful peace which followed. For just as surely as Saul heard the voice on his way to Damascus, and the hearts of the two disciples burned within them as they spoke to the stranger on their way to Emmaus, so I knew he had spoken to me. He was real and he cared. The perplexities and problems still remained, but I was content to leave them in the hands of him who had come to me in my sore need."

Last Updated 16 February 2009