By . John Preston . A quarter of a century ago, a young oil executive called Justin Welby had a meeting with the then Bishop of Kensington. Welby was interested in becoming a Church of England vicar and the Bishop agreed to see him to assess his suitability. The meeting did not go well. At the end of it the Bishop told him bluntly: ‘You have no future in the Church of England.’ None the less, Welby managed to get  a second interview — with the vicar of  St Mary Abbots in Kensington. This didn’t go well either. When he was asked what he would do if he visited a female parishioner who needed help with a blocked drainpipe, Welby replied that he would send his wife up a ladder to clear it — his wife being a lot better at DIY than he was. Unshowy and unstuffy: The Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, who joined the Church of England 25 years ago . Remarkably, he was then sent for a third interview with the Bishop of Maidstone, who asked what he would do if he was turned down. Welby laughed and said he would ‘take my wife out for the most expensive meal I can afford to celebrate’. Jump forward a quarter of a century and Welby is now the Archbishop of Canterbury. His predecessor, Rowan Williams, famously said that he would need the constitution of an ox and the skin of a rhinoceros. On the face of it, Welby had neither. Ecclesiastically speaking, he was very much the Man from Nowhere having only been a bishop for four-and-a-half months when he was appointed. No one with less experience had been given the top job since the 17th century. Yet, two years on, Welby is generally reckoned to be making a pretty good fist of it. He’s just managed to persuade the General Synod to back women bishops while successfully appeasing the traditionalists. In marked contrast to several predecessors, he is unshowy, unstuffy and prefers to travel by public transport — so much so, the Lambeth Palace chauffeur has taken early retirement. And while he has never hidden his opposition to gay marriage, none other than the normally implacable gay activist Peter Tatchell has declared that he is ‘a genuine, sincere,  open-minded person’. Tough job: The role of Archbishop of Canterbury is not an easy one, but two years on, Welby is generally reckoned to be making a pretty good fist of it . As this new biography reveals, there is far more to Welby than you might think from his rather bland and doughy exterior. If you’re looking for a rational explanation for why he has embraced certainties so wholeheartedly, you might find it in the swirling chaos of his childhood. His father was an alcoholic fantasist who by a barely credible quirk of fate was once engaged to Vanessa Redgrave. His parents’ marriage collapsed after three years and though Welby had an ostensibly privileged upbringing — Eton followed by Cambridge — life at home was far from easy. At school he showed no interest in religion. The only interesting thing he can remember happening in chapel at Eton was when the headmaster fell out of the pulpit. Overcoming tragedy: Welby and his wife Caroline say their daughter's death brought them closer to God . While he didn’t do well in exams — his  A-level grades were C, D and E — he scraped into Cambridge to study law. There, he attended chapel occasionally, but only for the music; he was more interested in rowing. But then, shortly after the start of his second year, something extraordinary happened. One evening Welby was persuaded to go to chapel by a friend of his. He sat through the sermon ‘bored out of my mind’, then went back to his friend’s rooms. There, they began to talk about what it meant to be a Christian. ‘And suddenly I saw the grace, the freedom, the free giving of God, which meant that to follow him would not be constraining but would be the most ultimately liberating thing I could ever do.’ It wasn’t long before Welby’s new faith was put to perhaps the greatest test of all. In 1983 his wife, Caroline, and their seven-month-old daughter, Joanna, were in a car crash in France. The child was thrown from the car and suffered a fatal head injury. Both Welby and his wife believed the tragedy brought them closer to God. Indeed, Caroline said that while she was sitting at the side of the road waiting for the ambulance to come she’d had ‘one of the most powerful experiences of God I have ever had’. Neither has wavered since. When Welby left his job in the oil industry to become a vicar, his former boss remarked that it was the only known case of a rat joining a sinking ship. But as far as Welby was concerned, it was a ship ripe for re-floating and launching in a new, more clearly defined direction. A graduate of  the Alpha Course at Holy Trinity Brompton — set up by his fellow Old Etonian and Cambridge contemporary, Nicky Gumbel — Welby has proved to be a canny mix of the inflexible and the expedient. Etonian: Justin Welby, aged 18, pictured as he was leaving Eton School . While he still believes homosexuality is against the will of God, his stance may have softened since he became Archbishop — he’s pro civil partnerships and made it plain the Church ‘must have no truck with homophobia’. As Andrew Atherstone states in his introduction, this is not an authorised biography — but neither is it entirely unauthorised: various friends and colleagues of Welby’s were given the  all-clear to talk to him. The result . is a solid, fair-minded and scrupulously researched affair which . unfortunately lacks a quality that Welby seems to possess in abundance: . humour. He’s got an appealingly dry, self-deprecating wit, once . describing himself in his archbishop’s robes as looking like ‘a . self-propelled toadstool with a pointy hat’. By . an odd coincidence, I was at prep school with Justin Welby, though I . can’t say I remember him and very much doubt if he remembers me. I . did, however, come across this description of the Battle of Waterloo in . the school magazine written when Welby was 12: ‘Wellington looked sad . as he picked his way past the ruins of a gun with its crew sprawled . around it. In the distance you could vaguely see men and women looking . for the bodies and stealing the clothes of the dead . . . Then, from far . away, came the sound of marching.’ Even then, it seems, he had a robustly unvarnished view of human nature and an ear tuned to the beat of a distant drum.
At his first interview to join the Church, Justin Welby was snubbed .
But 25 years later he is enjoying second year as Archbishop of Canterbury .
New biography reveals there is more to Welby than his bland exterior .
His father was an alcoholic fantasist who was once engaged to actress Vanessa Redgrave .
In 1983 his seven-month-old daughter, Joanna, died in a car crash .
By . John Preston . A quarter of a century ago, a young oil executive called Justin Welby had a meeting with the then Bishop of Kensington. Welby was interested in becoming a Church of England vicar and the Bishop agreed to see him to assess his suitability. The meeting did not go well. At the end of it the Bishop told him bluntly: ‘You have no future in the Church of England.’ None the less, Welby managed to get  a second interview — with the vicar of  St Mary Abbots in Kensington. This didn’t go well either. When he was asked what he would do if he visited a female parishioner who needed help with a blocked drainpipe, Welby replied that he would send his wife up a ladder to clear it — his wife being a lot better at DIY than he was. Unshowy and unstuffy: The Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, who joined the Church of England 25 years ago . Remarkably, he was then sent for a third interview with the Bishop of Maidstone, who asked what he would do if he was turned down. Welby laughed and said he would ‘take my wife out for the most expensive meal I can afford to celebrate’. Jump forward a quarter of a century and Welby is now the Archbishop of Canterbury. His predecessor, Rowan Williams, famously said that he would need the constitution of an ox and the skin of a rhinoceros. On the face of it, Welby had neither. Ecclesiastically speaking, he was very much the Man from Nowhere having only been a bishop for four-and-a-half months when he was appointed. No one with less experience had been given the top job since the 17th century. Yet, two years on, Welby is generally reckoned to be making a pretty good fist of it. He’s just managed to persuade the General Synod to back women bishops while successfully appeasing the traditionalists. In marked contrast to several predecessors, he is unshowy, unstuffy and prefers to travel by public transport — so much so, the Lambeth Palace chauffeur has taken early retirement. And while he has never hidden his opposition to gay marriage, none other than the normally implacable gay activist Peter Tatchell has declared that he is ‘a genuine, sincere, open-minded person’. Tough job: The role of Archbishop of Canterbury is not an easy one, but two years on, Welby is generally reckoned to be making a pretty good fist of it . As this new biography reveals, there is far more to Welby than you might think from his rather bland and doughy exterior. If you’re looking for a rational explanation for why he has embraced certainties so wholeheartedly, you might find it in the swirling chaos of his childhood. His father was an alcoholic fantasist who by a barely credible quirk of fate was once engaged to Vanessa Redgrave. His parents’ marriage collapsed after three years and though Welby had an ostensibly privileged upbringing — Eton followed by Cambridge — life at home was far from easy. At school he showed no interest in religion. The only interesting thing he can remember happening in chapel at Eton was when the headmaster fell out of the pulpit. Overcoming tragedy: Welby and his wife Caroline say their daughter's death brought them closer to God . While he didn’t do well in exams — his  A-level grades were C, D and E — he scraped into Cambridge to study law. There, he attended chapel occasionally, but only for the music; he was more interested in rowing. But then, shortly after the start of his second year, something extraordinary happened. One evening Welby was persuaded to go to chapel by a friend of his. He sat through the sermon ‘bored out of my mind’, then went back to his friend’s rooms. There, they began to talk about what it meant to be a Christian. ‘And suddenly I saw the grace, the freedom, the free giving of God, which meant that to follow him would not be constraining but would be the most ultimately liberating thing I could ever do.’ It wasn’t long before Welby’s new faith was put to perhaps the greatest test of all. In 1983 his wife, Caroline, and their seven-month-old daughter, Joanna, were in a car crash in France. The child was thrown from the car and suffered a fatal head injury. Both Welby and his wife believed the tragedy brought them closer to God. Indeed, Caroline said that while she was sitting at the side of the road waiting for the ambulance to come she’d had ‘one of the most powerful experiences of God I have ever had’. Neither has wavered since. When Welby left his job in the oil industry to become a vicar, his former boss remarked that it was the only known case of a rat joining a sinking ship. But as far as Welby was concerned, it was a ship ripe for re-floating and launching in a new, more clearly defined direction. A graduate of  the Alpha Course at Holy Trinity Brompton — set up by his fellow Old Etonian and Cambridge contemporary, Nicky Gumbel — Welby has proved to be a canny mix of the inflexible and the expedient. Etonian: Justin Welby, aged 18, pictured as he was leaving Eton School . While he still believes homosexuality is against the will of God, his stance may have softened since he became Archbishop — he’s pro civil partnerships and made it plain the Church ‘must have no truck with homophobia’. As Andrew Atherstone states in his introduction, this is not an authorised biography — but neither is it entirely unauthorised: various friends and colleagues of Welby’s were given the  all-clear to talk to him. The result . is a solid, fair-minded and scrupulously researched affair which . unfortunately lacks a quality that Welby seems to possess in abundance: . humour. He’s got an appealingly dry, self-deprecating wit, once . describing himself in his archbishop’s robes as looking like ‘a . self-propelled toadstool with a pointy hat’. By . an odd coincidence, I was at prep school with Justin Welby, though I . can’t say I remember him and very much doubt if he remembers me. I . did, however, come across this description of the Battle of Waterloo in . the school magazine written when Welby was 12: ‘Wellington looked sad . as he picked his way past the ruins of a gun with its crew sprawled . around it. In the distance you could vaguely see men and women looking . for the bodies and stealing the clothes of the dead . . . Then, from far . away, came the sound of marching.’ Even then, it seems, he had a robustly unvarnished view of human nature and an ear tuned to the beat of a distant drum.
unstuffy: The Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, who joined the Church of England 25 years biography reveals, there is far more to Welby swirling chaos of his childhood. His father was an alcoholic fantasist who by a barely credible quirk of fate was once engaged to Vanessa greatest test of all. In 1983 his wife, Caroline, and their seven-month-old daughter, Joanna, were in a car crash in France. The child was thrown