Hundreds gather at Bradford Cathedral for funeral of 'Jesus Man'

http://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2015/oct/13/hundreds-gathers-bradford-cathedral-funeral-jesus-man

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Hundreds of well-wishers attended Bradford Cathedral on Tuesday for the funeral of one of the city’s most famous characters, an 88-year-old who touched the lives of many locals, but who, until his death, hardly anyone even knew the name of.

Geoffrey Brindley was a fixture of the city’s landscape for more than 50 years, his days spent dressed in a monk’s habit and sandals, pounding the pavements around the district’s diverse communities and waving at passersby. His dress and somewhat beatific air earned him the nicknames “the Bradford Jesus” or, more commonly, the “Jesus Man”.

Brindley was the first person John Toward saw when relocating from Thirsk to Bradford many years ago. He said: “I used to think of him as a disciple; he was certainly dedicated.” He smiles and remembers, “He once did a little dance for me, right there in the street.”

Bradford local Margaret Pattison said: “He was always a presence, always there somewhere. He used to like his takeaways, they all knew him up Leeds Road, where the curry houses are.”

Brindley used to roam beyond Bradford, too. John Gaukroger of neighbouring Halifax saw him on several occasions. After hearing of his death, Gaukroger made the nine-mile journey to the cathedral by bicycle to pay his respects.

Brindley didn’t engage in much conversation, but Dr Salem Akbar, who grew up in Bradford but now lives in Dubai, recalls speaking to him when he was a student. “It was in the old library; he was talking about how the second coming was due and things were going to improve. You don’t think anything of it when you’re young. But as I was over, I felt I had to come to the funeral. He was a character, a bit of a mystery.”

Brindley is thought to have worked at the International Harvester factory in Bradford as a younger man; one day in 1960, so the legend goes, he asked his bosses for permission to leave work at lunchtime because he’d had a message from God that the world was going to end and he was to go to the Cow and Calf rocks in Ilkley Moor, where he would be saved. He was refused leave and went anyway. Armageddon was postponed that day, but Brindley decided his old life was not for him and went to live for some time in a cave in Settle before returning to Bradford and embarking upon 55 years of walking the streets.

As mysterious as he was popular with locals, the funeral reflected Brindley’s significance to local people, many of whom learned about his life for the first time during the service.

His woollen coffin was donated by a famous local textile firm Hainsworth, more used to providing fabric for royal wedding outfits, and the funeral procession weaved along his favourite walking routes, followed by a service at the city’s cathedral.

Brindley’s cousin, Colin Watson, issued a short eulogy; the Bradford Jesus was born in Buxton, his father had died in an industrial accident on the railways, where all the Brindleys worked, when Geoffrey was just 10.

“We used to visit the family in the 1940s and I always found him very pleasant,” said Watson. “I joined the Royal Navy in the 1950s and never saw him again. The family never wanted to talk about him. We never knew why he left or what made him want people to not know his whereabouts. Unusually, I had been thinking about him when I was sent a cutting saying he had died.”

A local man, Michael Kerrigan, penned a poem for the funeral, A Touch of Jesus, which he read from the pulpit. The Rev Sandra Benham, the vicar of Baildon, the Bradford community where Brindley was known to spend time in a shared house, said: “What can we learn from him? He was a constant witness, always there come rain, shine, snow or hail. He had time for people, he was never in a rush, not caught up in our frenzied world. He simply walked, waved and smiled.”

There was an outbreak of spontaneous applause as Brindley’s coffin was borne out of the cathedral bound for a private cremation. Earlier, the congregation sang Jerusalem, which seemed hugely apt for a man whose feet had walked, if not quite since ancient time but certainly an impressive number of decades, not only on England’s mountains green but among Bradford’s dark satanic mills, exuding smiles, kindness and an air of agreeable mystery.