When I first came to live in Knutsford in 1967, I was suffering from Agoraphobia. The phobias are a group of mental illnesses in which the sufferer experiences severe attacks of panic after certain triggers. The triggers can be various, such as spiders, heights, flying in aeroplanes and in my case people, particularly crowds (agoraphobia literally means fear of the market place). There are normal fears which God has given us for our own protection, but phobias are quite irrational and very unpleasant.

In 1967 I was in the early stages of the illness, and being a stubborn individual I tried to fight it but it steadily got worse. There were many evenings when Margaret and I went out together and I thoroughly spoiled her pleasure when a panic attack struck me. After one particularly unpleasant session, I did go to the doctor. He diagnosed the problem, but was not inclined to prescribe the usual sedatives such as Vallium because they are addictive and can result in the cure being worse than the disease. Instead he suggested that I keep away from places which brought on an attack. This advice would have eventually led to me never leaving the house or meeting people as happens to many with agoraphobia.

In the early 1970s my wife and I attended a seminar on divine healing during which it was explained that these irrational phobias are often caused by demonic forces. When we got home we discussed what we had learned, then prayed about my problem. Nothing happened - then. A few days later I spent several days in London on business. As I had no evening commitments I decided to go one evening to the "London Healing Mission", an Anglican establishment on the west side of London. They have an evening worship and healing service.

My hotel was in the East End of London near the Barbican Centre, and I had to walk across the East End to a suitable underground station. Halfway there, a panic hit me. My thoughts suddenly turned to the reputation of the East End, and there was I, a solitary stranger, finding my way across. All I wanted to do was to run back to my hotel and lock myself in my bedroom. But remembering the teaching of the seminar I decided to challenge the demonic forces. In the middle of the street I shouted out loudly "Satan I am going to worship Jesus and you are not going to stop me" and immediately looked round in embarrassment in case anyone heard me. There was no one in sight.

Immediately I had said those words the panic stopped, and I spent a wonderful hour or so in worship, then afterwards half an hour witnessing to an Irishman in the street. I have never had another panic attack since that day.
Praise the Lord.