Ann Widdecombe: A Trailblazing Convert

The death, allegedly by murder, of British politician and former government minister Ann Widdecombe on July 8—nestled between the martyrdom anniversary of St. Thomas More, patron of politicians, and his feast day in the Traditional Roman Calendar—offers much pause for reflection.

Not only on the tragic loss of a politician of true integrity and conviction, who fought tirelessly for the protection of unborn and innocent life, for persecuted Christians, and to free Britain from the shackles of the European Union. But on the legacy of a hitherto rare breed of Catholic convert, who challenged perceptions and showed just how countercultural the decision to swim the Tiber really is, or should be, nowadays.

As a poster girl for the mid-1990s wave of converts from Anglicanism following the Church of England’s decision to ordain women, Miss Widdecombe was something of an inspiration for your present correspondent leading up to my own decision to make the switch many years later. When I read the chapter of her autobiography in which she described the obstacles she had to overcome before she was received into the Catholic Church, I could have been reading my own story.

In explaining how, conscious of the Solemn Profession of Faith that already-baptised converts must make, she had to extensively research and discuss doctrines she had previously struggled with lest she commit perjury, Widdecombe took a courageous stand against the widespread myth that all ex-Anglican converts had always had one foot in Rome theologically and, in coming over, were doing nothing more than canonically submitting to the pope’s jurisdiction, as if this were merely a bureaucrat’s rubberstamp.

As the character of More says in Robert Bolt’s play A Man for All Seasons, “When a man takes an oath, he’s holding his own self in his own hands like water, and if he opens his fingers then, he needn’t hope to find himself again.” Words which all politicians would do well to keep in mind, and which for one as principled as Widdecombe would have informed all aspects of her conduct in public and private life.

For context, it is probably fair to say that, prior to the mid-nineties, the vast majority of English-speaking Catholic clergy (and laity) expected all aspiring converts to be either dyed-in-the-wool Anglo-Catholics or complete newcomers to Christianity. Widdecombe’s own circumstances, her renown as a Conservative MP and her discussions with the late Cardinal Basil Hume (then archbishop of Westminster), shed welcome light on the challenges faced by those in the middle: not needing the Trinity, Incarnation, or Redemption explained to them, but neither yet being 100% clued up or convinced about purgatory, the sacrifice of the Mass, or sacramental confession.

Having herself aligned with the Evangelical wing of Anglicanism, she also dared to tacitly pose the awkward but pertinent question of why her High Anglican brothers and sisters, having been theologically Catholic for years, had not converted long before Canterbury as good as cast them out. Without wishing to judge anyone, I personally could not in good faith have remained Anglican a moment longer if, at any point since I turned 14 and could legally choose my religion, I had concluded that all Catholic doctrine was true. Hence my bewilderment that any Catholic I spoke to might fail to grasp how or why I ever struggled with any of it.

Widdecombe’s testimony, at some level, bears witness to all the largely unknown challenges faced by converts of my ilk. For starters, having been raised to believe that Catholicism was a thoroughly legalistic religion, finding that most Catholics now regard the Ten Commandments and the Precepts of the Church as mere guidelines.

Having, furthermore, embraced the Faith believing that only the unavoidable constraints of liberalism and secularism prevented the Church from sending neurodivergent people to the monastery at a young age like in medieval times (a wonderful thought), discovering that nowadays only people enjoying perfect physical and mental health are admitted. Notwithstanding that advances in medical science have made many health conditions and disabilities far easier to live with.

Being inclined by nature and nurture to regard sex as little more than a bodily function, and so opposing premarital relations for the same reason one might oppose relieving oneself in the public square; but upon listening to the more morally orthodox cradle Catholics waxing lyrically about John Paul II’s “Theology of the Body,” realising that they rather equate fornication with a man who is not a priest attempting to celebrate Mass. And, after all this, wondering with increasing bemusement how anyone in the Church could expect someone in my position to get married and lead a normal life having made a decision that turned his existence on its head.

Perhaps most importantly, though, the way I found myself more than once accused of something vaguely resembling heresy for my support of Britain’s departure from the EU really served to highlight the importance of public figures like Widdecombe as a voice for true conservatism among the Catholic laity in Britain. I once heard Brexit described as ‘Cromwellian Protestantism’ by an interlocutor who apparently regarded the EU as the successor to the Holy Roman Empire; a view which, alas, seems rather prevalent among the faithful. To say nothing of the tendency to stereotype Brexiteers as ‘little Englanders’ for the crime of opposing a bloated supranational bureaucracy which has striven to suppress genuine cultural and economic diversity among the peoples of Europe, and to shroud the governance of nations and administration of justice in secrecy. Before one even considers the opaque management of the EU budget.

Widdecombe understood very well that, with neither a firm grounding in Christian values nor proper democratic accountability, such an institution will inevitably succumb to secularist dictatorship. But she also understood that having fought so hard to make Brexit happen, she must try to see it implemented in a way that truly benefited the British people. Hence, even at the time of her death aged 78, having long since retired from elected office, she was serving as immigration and justice spokeswoman for Reform UK, promoting a genuinely Catholic stance which accepts the need for proportionality and the protection of a nation’s way of life. Rather than conflating Christian charity with an open invitation to anyone wishing to exploit the nation’s hospitality and trample on its culture.

I remember very well the autumn day in 1992 when, as a 10-year-old school pupil on an historically themed trip to a neighbouring town in rural Wiltshire, I heard about the parliamentary vote to ratify the Church of England’s ordination of women. I had no idea that, 140 miles away in Kent, an ambitious junior government minister tipped for high office was grappling with the reality that her treasured affiliation with Anglicanism was over and her political aspirations must now take something of a back seat to her spiritual life. Had events not conspired to compel Ann Widdecombe to make the switch, who knows if she might eventually have become a full Cabinet minister?

For her sake, for my own and that of the whole country, I thank God that she chose the One Thing Necessary. She was a true trailblazer, bearing witness to the Gospel truth that we must be prepared to leave all behind to follow Christ, and mapping out a path for others like her to follow. She was also a politician very much in the spirit of St Thomas More, always letting her faith drive her commitment to public service, staying true to her principles to the bitter end and dying as she had lived: the King’s good servant and God’s first. Requiescat in Pace.