It was the night of her baptism. Just 17, she had recently been converted under the preaching of Dr. Martyn Lloyd-Jones at Westminster Chapel, but . . . .
When she arrived at her grandfather's house, where her family were staying while their own house was undergoing repairs, Janice Wiseman was denied entry by the butler.
When he announced: 'Miss Janice is here', her father came to the door. 'Who?' he asked pointedly. 'Who? I know of no one with that name.' Then her grandfather, her Aunt Mag and her parents did a surprising thing. In Janice's own words: 'The four, as one, rent their garments, buttons falling to the floor in front of me, denoting they had not only severed all connections with me, but that I was dead.' How dead she was in their eyes was brought home to her a year later, when a friend found her tombstone in the cemetery with these words carved on it: 'Janice Rebecca Wiseman, May 1946 - February 1963'.
