Later, he was among the "walking wounded", having bashed his head in a rickshaw. But it only reminded him of Baba and the time in ’54 when, coming out of Mandali Hall at lower Meherabad, he suffered a nasty head cut, which Meher Baba Himself attended to, dressing his wound with tenderness and affection. Baba told Fred, "You are very dear to Me!", expressing constant concern for his recovery. Still, Fred felt Baba's Presence strongly on this last visit of his for He had said to him (he told me) "l will be so close to you that you will hear the sound of My voice!"

It was at Meherazad that Fred became my patient. Receptive and patient, he invited me to visit him when coming through London town.

The following summer I came to London, enrolling in two professional massage therapy courses. During this time, I began treating Mr. Marks and became his therapist. Fred looked forward to these therapeutic massage sessions like a little boy and was enthusiastic and encouraging about my intensive studies. Always before, and after sometimes, treatment and rest, there was illuminating conversation centered around Meher Baba.

Fred told me that in the middle of a long varied and lonely life (he had been an officer in the guards, a teacher at a boys' school, a professional gardener, and both during and long after WWII, a worker in a London hospital, and, in partnership with Adi K. Irani, Baba's brother, an antique buyer and appraiser)—he had unexpectedly heard The Call of God. He knew that his heart had Awakened and that his heart was filled with Divine Love. He felt aware. Fred knew without a doubt that Meher Baba was God Incarnate and that he had to go the "Divine Way" (follow Him), for he was powerless to do otherwise. And this, he said, "happened to me so quickly."

Fred Marks came to Baba through Will and Mary Backett, meeting Baba for the first time in 1952 in a private interview at the Charing Cross Hotel in London. He then became one of the most dedicated English disciples in Meher Baba's Cause.

He was selected by Baba to attend the 1954 September Men's Gathering in India, known as "3 Incredible Weeks," travelling out to India by ship together with Will Backett and Dana Field. As one of that very special group of men carefully chosen by God Himself to be in holy company with Him, he "learned a humility of which you still have no conception—a humility which never makes comparisons, never rejects what is there for the sake of something else or something more."

After tea, Fred showed me his Treasure Box. If was a simple wooden cigar box and it held a vintage Baba locket given him by one of the Mandali, a small photo of Meher Baba from the '54 visit, a stone pebble that Baba picked up and threw when walking up Meherabad Hill, and a letter from Mani. Baba was there in that little room of Fred's, Baba was always there.

It was on 28 September, '84 that I last saw Fred. Arriving with a huge bag of groceries, I had suggested preparing a proper dinner for him following the treatment, as bachelors live on tinned soup. I noticed that Fred's eyes had aged dramatically. There was "withdrawal" in his eyes and I was aware at the same time of intense physical suffering. But in a flash his eyes took on the sparkle of that familiar, twinkling, mischievous merriment I had come to know and love in him.

Fred knew I was off to India next morning. He tucked two tubes of first quality calcium tablets in my bag, saying "Look here, you are Baba's and you must keep well!" It was a long and satisfying treatment, although Fred was in great pain then. He was longing for release, yet he had pledged himself to patience and acceptance of the will of God as it applied to him. That this splendid man of God who had nourished and supported me through two diplomas could be grateful for his pain and ever faithful to Baba every inch of the way was a study in the strength that comes from true humility. He rested a little, and dressed and after dinner he pulled out his table top organ and played and sang his own "Baba's Arti" (now called English Arti) and his small room became a great cathedral, with every chord a note of praise. Then for fun a lively English folk tune, "Vicar of Bray," and finally, in a voice full of longing, he sang Begin The Beguine.

Well, there was enough remaining from dinner for a nice hot lunch, and Fred promised not to forget it. Then he read to me some of his unpublished writings in the light of Meher Baba's teachings; and in a voice quivering with love he read to me his just-finished poem to Baba, telling me you are the first one to hear my 'Poem in Praise of Meher Baba' His last request was