Christmas at St Mary’s Join us to celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ

Sunday 21st December 6.30 pm Service of Nine Lessons and Carols

with St Anne Line Church Christmas Eve Tuesday 24th December 5.00pm Children’s Nativity Service

11.00pm Midnight Mass and blessing of the crib Christmas Day

Holy Communion Services at 8.00am and 10.00am Feast of the Epiphany Sunday 6th January

Holy Communion Services at 8.00am and 10.00am 6.30pm Choral Evensong

We wish you all a very Happy Christmas and blessed New Year

St Mary’s Church, 207 High Road South Woodford E18 2PA:

020 85053000 www.st.maryswoodford.org.uk

Ring out wild bells to the wild sky ....... Ring out old shapes of foul disease Ring out the narrowing lust of gold Ring out the thousand wars of old Ring in the thousand years of peace Ring in the valiant man and free The larger heart, the kindlier hand; Ring out the darkness of the land, Ring in the Christ that is to be

St Mary’s Parish Magazine

Volume 1, Issue 26

Christmas 2008

www.stmaryswoodford.org.uk

Love giving and receiving Christmas is a time for giving – it says so in every TV advertisement, on every roadside hoarding, in every supermarket catalogue. We often reflect ruefully that mostly what we are giving is our money to large companies, but Christmas is a time for giving – and it is lovely to give the people we love the presents they desire. But, of course, because we are well

brought up, once we’ve passed the age of writing a letter to Father Christmas, we don’t talk about what we want to get for Christmas. We’re too polite: Christmas is for giving, not for getting. The Gospel reading for the Midnight Eucharist is also about giving. God sent his only Son to us, God gave his only Son to us and for us. At Christmas we make merry and rejoice because God has given to us. But, the Gospel says more. It says that the light of Christ shone in the darkness of the world, but the darkness didn’t get it. Christ came to his own people, and they didn’t get him, but to all who got him, he gave the power to become children of God. God has given us his Son and the power to become his children, to know him for ourselves, but if we don’t get it, all the giving in the world is of no use to us. This Christmas, give, by all means. But also get. Get hold of the gift that God is giving you. Don’t be so polite that you miss out on God’s gift at Christmas: his own presence is our present for evermore. May God bless you this Christmas-tide and give you your heart’s desire. Naomi

Our cover features an extract from Tennyson’s “In Memoriam”. Inspired by the bells of Waltham Abbey, it reflects our prayer for the year ahead for all our readers and for all the world.

And I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: "Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown". And he replied: "Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than a light and safer than a known way". Minnie Louise Haskins

Message for New Year 2009

I am not very good at keeping resolutions! So this year I am going to avoid making any New Year Resolutions! But it is good to think and to pray about what our expectations are for ourselves and for the world God has placed us in. When we pray we open our own lives and that of the world to change. So what changes would we like to see in ourselves and in the world as we enter 2009? Here are some of mine. More time to reflect and to think. I hope it isn’t because I am getting older but I do sometimes get anxious about the pace of our lives today. Might we not all find some more space to stand back and reflect on what is happening to us? We need time for our friends and families and for those opportunities to enjoy one another. Human life is helped to grow as we learn to enjoy one another and share our lives with each other. So why not aim for a more balanced life? Dare a Bishop hope and pray for a fairer and more inclusive society? At a time of hardship those on the margins are the most hurt by what is happening. It surely cannot be right for people to walk away with huge bonuses from the financial world at one and the same

time as people are struggling to pay the fuel bills and feed their families! In the care we offer to neighbours and the expectations we set for our society can we strive for a better deal for those in difficulty? A time of difficulty in our economy tests all of us. It tests what we really believe and value. I pray for myself and for others that I will hold fast to the message of Jesus for people on the outside and work for the strengthening of our common life in this society. No New Year Resolutions but plenty to pray for and aim for in 2009! John Bishop of Chelmsford

The light of Christ Holman Hunt

understand, and in which they played no part. But in doing so they did not lose eloquence or reverence. The same liturgy that was fit for the royal chapels and the great cathedrals was also fit for the humblest and remotest parish church. For generations, the Prayer Book was treasured, regardless of social background. The same liturgy with which kings and princes were baptised, married and buried was experienced in the poorest parishes of England. In this way, it was remarkably inclusive. Think of

Joseph Merrick, known as ‘The Elephant Man’ due to his severe deformities, who learnt to read using the King James Bible and Prayer Book in the 1880s. Today, the language of the Prayer Book is no more antiquated than it was 100 years ago, when revising its language was out of the question. For evidence that the King James Bible can be relevant and inclusive, look no further than the ‘Bible Belt’ of America. I am certainly no proponent of most of trappings of ‘Bible Belt’ religion, but one thing that does strike me is the way in which the King James Bible is universally used. The vast majority of worshippers at these churches do not come from privileged backgrounds, and yet they are exceedingly content to hear the word of God in a translation commissioned by King James I in 1611. Unlike many church leaders closer to home, they do not complain about it being old-fashioned or incomprehensible. They simply consider it an essential part of their spiritual life. It seems patronising to me that English churchgoers are frequently offered services which do not aspire to the highest qualities in language, music and liturgy. It is my earnest desire that the Church of England once more offers our nation the liturgy which has defined it for centuries, and without which it cannot be sustained. This is not an elitist sentiment, but rather a plea for the Church to include all in utilising what is surely its greatest liturgical asset. I expressed these sentiments in a letter published in the Daily Telegraph of 2nd October. A reply to my letter, from a Mr. Robin Self, was published in the 4th October edition of the same newspaper. Mr. Self complained that, ‘The average age of congregations is still rising; it certainly is where I worship. In less than 20 years, the Anglican Church will hardly exist – unless, of course, we see the light and start using language that will attract the younger generation and give the Church of England a foundation on which to build the future.’ Little did he know, he was arguing against a 16 year old – a member of the very same ‘younger generation’ for the benefit of

whom he advocated abandoning the Prayer Book and the King James Bible. [Editor's note: We were delighted to publish Nick’s original article. It was stimulating and well crafted and aroused sonme constructive reaction. Can we however end this correspondence with our next edition? ]

The debate goes on

PARISH REGISTER

Welcomed into the family of God by baptism 26th October Anna May Bearfield 16th November Verity Elizabeth Kay Funerals 22 September Moira Walker aged 79 29 September Violet Bedford aged 85 10 October Joan Davis aged 78 10 December Ken Wirdnam aged 84 May they rest in peace and rise in glory Verity with parents

Adam and Adele

Welcome the Song of Heaven The remarkable and magical story of the birth of Jesus has brought hope to people of every generation across the centuries. In good times and in bad it lifts our spirits and transforms our lives. Remember Jesus was born in an occupied country to parents forced to travel because of the tax demands made upon them. The story speaks of there being no room in the local inn for his parents and of the need for them to flee their own country when they heard of the threat to his life. Not an easy beginning! Yet the story has the song of heaven running through it, the wonder of his mother at this child who was such a gift to the world from God and the worship of humble shepherds and wise astrologists from the east. What a story! What a message of hope to us who live through difficult times. God chooses to come among us in a small and vulnerable child born to ordinary people in a country caught up in all sorts of difficulty. No wonder people have flocked year by year to hear this story again and again. It offers all of us hope that the God who made us loves us and seeks to win us for new and transformed living in the midst of all that is going on. We can show what all this can mean as we seek to take care of our neighbours who need our support and encouragement in the midst of hardship. It is in what we do for others that we tell the story of Jesus. Not just at Christmas but throughout the year. Jesus came to save us from selfishness and set us free for one another and for the new life of God’s love shared in all we seek to become and to do. May God bless all of us this Christmas as the message of Jesus brings us fresh and lasting hope. John Bishop of Chelmsford

A Short Journey to the Holy Land I was lucky enough to be part of the East London Three Faiths Forum visit to the Holy Land at the end of October. The group was overwhelmingly Muslim – two Christians, one Jew and twenty three Muslims. There was great excitement about the opportunity for the Muslims to be able to say Friday prayers at the Al Aqsa Mosque, a very important site for Muslims. I was looking forward to visits to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, the

Sea of Galilee, the Church of the Nativity and the Church of the Assumption in Nazareth. We were also going to walk around the old city, go to the Western Wall and visit the Masada, Yad VaShem Memorial and Holocaust Museum, and the Crusader fort at Akko (Acre). Here are just a few of my thoughts and impressions from an “action-packed” but very worth-while visit. We flew out of Stansted very late on a Thursday evening, landing at Ben Gurion airport at about 5:30am the next day. We met our guide – Eli – and got straight on to our coach and drove to Jaffa, where we had a very quick look at the old port and Tel Aviv. Then it was straight on to Jerusalem. I really understand, now, the expression “going up to Jerusalem”. Even travelling the modern way (air conditioned coach), you are aware of the steep climb up from the coastal plain to the mountains, where Jerusalem is. There were occasional glimpses of the old road, and, in days gone by the journey on foot, donkey or cart must have been exhausting and dangerous. While waiting for our Muslim friends to return from their prayers at the Al Aqsa Mosque, Rabbi Hulbert, Father Francis Coverney and I went to visit an archaeological site dating from Roman times under the convent of the Sisters of Notre Dame de Sion. The quiet and the experience of seeing paving slabs marked with gaming “boards” dating from the time of Christ made me feel a real connection with the purpose of our visit. We had a delicious lunch – our first “real” meal of the journey in a small restaurant near the Via Dolorosa; hummus, tahini, freshly made pitta bread and salads. Just the sort of things I enjoy. The following day came one of the low points (for me) – our visit to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre. I was completely unprepared for (and very upset by) the noise and confusion, the lack of any apparent feeling for what the place could mean for Christian visitors. Without Father Francis I think I would have wanted to give up on the day completely. However, we went to one side, he read from the Gospels and we said prayers together. We walked back through the old city to reach the Western Wall, a magnificent structure and the only part remaining from the retaining wall surrounding the second temple. Jews believe that the divine presence has

The Wailing Wall

Book of Common Prayer debate Nicholas Dixon responds to the last edition I noted with interest the responses from Cheryl Corney and Graham Nunn to my article on the Book of Common Prayer in the last magazine. While they differed in certain aspects from my own opinions, I was gratified to see that my article has provoked some debate about Anglican liturgy. I consider such debate vital in order for a church to flourish and define its own identity. I also know that they and I have the very same aim: to glorify God in a manner which is acceptable and pleasing to Him, and to proclaim the teachings and message of His Gospel. One of the main points I attempted to make was that the Anglicanism exemplified by the Book of Common Prayer and the King James Bible is a legitimate spiritual and liturgical tradition, as valid as any other. I do not think that the Book of Common Prayer comes anywhere close to suggesting that ‘God is an Englishman and definitely an Anglican.’ The point is rather that we are Englishmen and we are Anglicans – these factors play an important in determining the way in which we conduct our public worship. We do not disapprove of Russians for being Orthodox; we do not disapprove of Italians for being Roman Catholic; neither do we disapprove of Egyptians for being Copts. No one has insisted that the Orthodox Church update its 1000-year-old liturgy to be more inclusive. The expression of Christianity has always been shaped by the prevailing cultural environment. Thus diverse cultures shape the way in which we respond to God’s word. Since our particular culture is English, and our liturgical tradition defined in no small part by the Prayer Book, we have every reason to uphold it with unselfish pride, like any other culture. I agree with Graham when he notes that Jesus sought to include those who were considered outcasts in the society of his time. Of course, we should endeavour to follow His virtuous example in seeking to be open and tolerant towards others. But I do not accept that the Prayer Book is opposed to this aim; in fact, I believe it assists in this aim. Would we be justified in excluding people from deprived backgrounds from appreciating Shakespeare because the language is apparently too difficult to comprehend? The answer is, emphatically, no. By introducing those who do not have the same fortune as ourselves to the sublime language of the Prayer Book and King James Bible, we are not being elitist – we are doing exactly the opposite. We are saying that regardless of your origins, you are capable and worthy of sharing in this unique liturgical and spiritual tradition. It was this purpose which motivated the 16th century reformers to create these liturgies and translations. William Tyndale expressed his determination that ‘if God spared him life, ere many years he would cause a boy that driveth the plough to know more of the Scripture than he did.’ Their aim was to liberate the man on the street from the inadequate situation of attending a church service in a language they could not

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Thank you for supporting recent mission and charitable events. Carol Akiwumi from the Bible Society reminded us in October of the many people who still don’t have a Bible in their own language. We raised £204 for the Society; In early December we launched our Send A Cow Christmas Card; the lunch raised over £200 — enough to help many families transform their standards of living!

And the Bazaar in November made over £4,000 for all our mission work. Thank you

never deserted the place and so it is regarded as an extremely holy site. Following early morning mass with Father Francis, our Sunday was taken up with a journey to the Masada and the Dead Sea. I was astounded by the drive through the Judean wilderness and the very swift descent to hundreds of feet below sea level. The cliffs along the rift that makes the valley of the River Jordan are awe inspiring. Our ride to

the top of the Masada in a cable car proved spectacular, as did our walk among the ruins on the top - an absorbing place from the historical and geological point of view. The next day we travelled on to Nazareth via the Crusader fort at Akko, to be ready for our voyage on the Sea of Galilee. This proved to be one of the most moving experiences of the trip for me. In the middle of the journey across, the engine was turned off; water lapped quietly against the sides of the boat, and Father Francis read the passage from the Gospel about Jesus walking on the water. After the hullabaloo of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, this helped me to think about Christ’s presence and ministry. Later in the day, we visited Capernaum, the site of a house thought to belong to St Peter, and a synagogue built over an earlier one where Jesus would have preached and taught. On our last morning I had another very moving experience. Father Francis and I went to the Church of the Assumption. He said mass in a side chapel while a sung mass (in French) was going on at the main altar of the basilica. The music flowed and echoed around us, helping me to focus my thoughts and prayers. A fitting end to an exhausting but fascinating trip, as we had to drive south to catch our plane back to the UK that afternoon. Our guide, Eli, was very knowledgeable, and Imam Mohammed Fahim and Rabbi David Hulbert gave the Muslim and Jewish viewpoints on the places we visited; but without Father Francis I think I would have found the trip rather difficult. He read the Gospels with me, we said prayers together, and I drew on his very considerable knowledge to help me begin to appreciate the Christian perspective. Jean Lear

Three Faiths Forum Harvest The traditional Harvest celebration ,in an appropriately decorated church, has always been one of my favourite services and conjures up memories of childhood worship. Recently the East London Three Faiths Forum met at the synagogue in Perryman's Lane to explore the importance of Harvest in the various faith traditions. We were warmly welcomed by our hosts, who took trouble to point out and explain the significance of religious

The Sea of Galilee

objects in the prayer hall where the meeting was to take place. It was equally heartening to see people of three faiths sitting together harmoniously in the Shul, all equally interested in what others had to say. The synagogue venue was chosen since it was the Festival of Succot, also known as The Feast Tabernacles or The Festival of the Ingathering. It is named for the Succah [huts] which Moses and The Israelites lived in during the 40 year exile before they reached The Promised Land.

The focal point of the festival is the Succah; a temporary shelter which is built with a roof of branches, spaced to allow the moon and stars to be seen at night. Inside, fruit is hung for decoration and cut down to be given to the needy at the end of the festival. An important aspect of Succot is hospitality and sharing food with others. This we did during the last part of the meeting, when everyone was pleased to share refreshments in the Succah behind the synagogue building. One interesting point that was raised during the discussion was the amount of food that WE waste on a daily basis. The Imam read an instruction from the Qur'an which forbids people to waste food and instructs them to share any surplus they have with those in need. No-one can disagree that it must be a sin for us in the affluent countries of the world to throw food away while others are starving. Chris Meikle

You have a message Geoff Weekes with a modern ghost story for Christmas That Wednesday, I’d done some overdue Christmas shopping. When I got home, footsore, weary, and lighter in the pocket, I found a message on my answering machine. “Jack?” “Jack here, the other Jack. Meet me, please, by the Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square at 5 o’clock tomorrow afternoon, Thursday. It’s important, I can’t explain on the phone.” Jack is my oldest friend, I’d do anything for him, as I know he would for me. Our mums met in the maternity ward where they gave birth to us, became great friends; both liked the name Jack and didn’t see why they shouldn’t share that choice of name as they came to share much else, hence our common nomenclature. And we became the best of friends, too.

A traditional Succah

Although the brothers died unmarried, they were not all childless. It is thought that William Mackenzie was the son of Peter Godfrey II and that David and John Gravier were the sons of his brother Thomas, who died in 1772. The year before, these three gentlemen changed their surname to Godfrey by a private Act of Parliament. William (Mackenzie) Godfrey became High Sheriff of Essex in 1779. He lived at Milkwell Farm (near the junction of Broadmead and St Barnabas Road), but also bought property in East Bergholt. His eldest son, Peter Godfrey III (1769-1837) married Arabella, daughter of Admiral Sir Joshua Rowley, and is it from them that Miss Arabella Wells is descended. Peter Godfrey III purchased Old Hall at East Bergholt and happily took on the role of local squire. The Godfreys became very friendly with their neighbours, the Constables, and were helpful in starting young John Constable on his way as a painter. Peter Godfrey III was buried at East Bergholt which led Miss Wells to think the picture was of the churchyard there. If you’d like to read more about this interesting and influential family, please ask at South Woodford library for a copy of the booklet by Arthur N Harrisson “The Family of Godfrey of Woodford, Essex, and of East Bergholt, Suffolk” published as the Woodford and District Historical Society Transaction no.XII in the mid-1950s. For those of you who have wondered what happened to the picture between 1994 and now, I’m afraid I don’t know. I asked about it later that year, as I had a lengthy correspondence with Miss Wells but only had a fleeting glimpse of the actual picture once, after church. Somehow it disappeared, so it came as a surprise when Mike Clinch asked me about it in October last year. I’m just glad it has re-surfaced and now it has been framed I hope it won’t get lost again. Georgina Green

Diary dates: Coffee Morning and Race Night January 31st Mission Quiz evening February 28th Reg Fowkes Competition March 14th Two exhibitions which may be of interest from an OT and Church history point of view: “BABYLON” at the British Museum until 13th March “BYZANTIUM” at the Royal Academy until the 22nd March Check the diary and website for up to date details.

Children and church can be risky: “Our father, Who does art in heaven, Harold is his name.” During an argument about who should have the first pancake, a mother tells Kevin and Ryan that if Jesus were

present he would say: ‘Let my brother have the first one.’

Kevin turns to little Ryan: “You be Jesus.”

On finding the body of a dead seagull and being told that it had gone to Heaven, the four year old asked “So did God throw him back down?.”

From Woodford to East Bergholt – and back again!

In the spring of 1994 a letter was given to me, with a black and white photocopy of a picture. This showed the Godfrey column and the churchyard around it, but had a couple of features which were not quite right, so it was something of a puzzle. The letter was from Miss Arabella Wells of Worthen, near Shrewsbury, (then in her 70s) but it explained the illustration had been in her family for a very long

time and she wanted to return it to a more suitable home. Her first approach had been to the church at East Bergholt, as she thought it showed their churchyard. Then she tried Woodford, and eventually the picture was received by Revd Bob Birchnall in May 1994. Miss Wells is descended from the Godfrey family, commemorated by the column. It was Michael Godfrey (1625-1689), a wealthy and respected mercer, who first settled in Woodford, building a house called The Rookery not far from where Waitrose is now. (This was later demolished and another house of this name was built in George Lane, near the station.) When he died he was buried in St Swithen’s, the parish in which he had a London home. His widow gave a large silver flagon and a silver bowl to our church in his memory in 1695 but this was stolen in 1773. Although they had ten children, only two of the sons survived their father. Their eldest son, Michael Godfrey (1659-1695), was one of the founders of the Bank of England. He was killed by a cannon ball while visiting the King near a battlefield in Flanders, there to discuss arrangements for paying the army. His brother, Peter Godfrey (1662-1724), had been apprenticed to his father as a mercer and became another successful City merchant. He was, at different times, a Director of the Bank of England, and of the East India Company, and an M.P. He lived at The Rookery after his parents had died. He married twice, both ladies named Catherine, but although seven of his children are named on the Godfrey column, none of them married. Four sons of Peter and Catherine Godfrey lived well into middle age and each did very well in the City. I have found frequent references to their financial transactions in the records of the East India Company in the 1740s and ’50s, when Peter Godfrey II (1695-1769) was a Director, and later the Chairman. It was when he died that the Godfrey column was erected. It was designed by Sir Robert Taylor, a local lad who had risen, with the help of the Godfrey family, to be a leading architect. The memorial is a replica of the columns he designed for the Transfer Offices at the Bank of England, the only example of something long gone.

So, on the Thursday, I took myself up to the West End again, wondering, of course, what the other Jack had to impart. I all but finished my shopping in the hell that is Oxford Street and made my way to Trafalgar Square. One of the relatively few annoying things about Jack is that he is never, but never, late for an appointment. So it was with some surprise, not unmixed with a slightly mischievous delight, that I could see no sign of him. As I mingled, though, with the pre-Christmas crowds, and time wore on with still no Jack appearing, the surprise gave way to worry and the delight was replaced by anxiety. It was so unlike Jack. Once I thought I saw him, standing in his customary way, by one of the fountains, which was not of course playing, with his head leaning slightly to the right, that gently mocking smile playing on his lips as if he found the world about him somewhat amusing – but no, as I forced my way through the happy, merry throng, he, or whoever it was, had disappeared. I should explain that though I am the humble possessor of a mobile, I hardly ever use it; I always forget to charge the damn thing! Needless to say, I didn’t have it on me that evening. At 7 o’clock, I decided to call it a day, or rather a night, and went home. There I found another message on the answer machine; it was from Jean, Jack’s wife. “Jack, I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past two days. Our phone’s been out of order. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Jack, my Jack” and her voice broke, leaving the message unfinished. I rang her back immediately, filled with dread. “Jean, what’s happened?” “Oh, Jack dear. Jack, my Jack had a stroke and, and…and.. he’s dead.” “I don’t believe it. When?” “On Tuesday.”

Greetings from old friends The Clinch family settle down to life in Maldon We have now been living in Maldon for three months (where did the summer go?) but have not yet managed to get to the end of the boxes, which still take up space in the dining room. Our house is more modern than our South Woodford home, so we have been trying to squeeze all our belongings into the rooms, but we are going to have to make some decisions about discarding some of the larger bits and pieces. We have already decorated three rooms, with more to be done as the colour schemes in the house were not to our taste, but at least decorating is an easier job in this more modern house. The kitchen, though a good size, has limited storage and work space but when it is impossible to cook a full Sunday roast, then the thought of Christmas dinner meant a new kitchen by the end of November.

The garden is much smaller, though more manageable and the added bonus is a large conservatory built off the kitchen. The market town of Maldon has many attractive features, plenty of shops and eating places of all types and sizes, and to Mike's delight two micro-breweries. There is also the charming harbour, with its small marina with always a few Thames barges moored up. Further along the riverside is the large Promenade Park ( well used during the summer holidays

with many events for the youngsters) which is very popular. The pace of life seems a little slower and in many small ways more like life in South Woodford a decade or two ago. The annual Medieval Weekend in September enabled us to act like visiting tourists and learn about the history of the town. Buildings open to the public, with guided tours, included the Moot Hall (with Georgian court room and site of old prison) and the Vicarage, a medieval, grade 1 listed building! We chose to attend the parish church of All Saints, out of the two CofE churches in the town and the people there have made us very welcome. The service is a little different from St. Mary's, but then all churches have their own way of doing things, and the settings are new to us, so we are having to learn them! Deborah was immediately roped in for Sunday School, though the number of children is very small so the adults work to a rota of about one duty a month. Harvest time has special meaning in Maldon as it is a rural community, with farming families in the congregation. There is usually an old style tractor in the back of church! The following week was the pet service, with a wide variety of creatures (the only prohibited animals are snakes) from the usual dogs, rabbits, caged birds to ferrets and a sheep! All three of us feel that we have made the right move and that we will be very happy here, but that does not mean that we do not miss our family at St. Mary's, but we are not that far away and will probably keep turning up like bad pennies!

The Myers family (and cat) on a more relaxed life in Dorset Just a quick update. We completed on the sale of 74 Abbotsford Gardens on 13th October, which is really good news in the current economic climate. Having taken a huge risk and moved down to Devon before we’d even exchanged contracts we feel that our Lord was caring for us. Sid is now with us – having left his job as a Restorative Justice Officer for Newham on Friday

Maldon river basin

Ultimately Gideon writes his Testament and leaves it with an Edinburgh publisher, whose later recollections begin this book…. No useful ideas for Christmas, yet? Try three more: “Original Prayer” Lavinia Byrne SPCK £6.69

This useful survey of prayer practice in the various religious orders and traditions includes Orthodox spirituality (the Jesus prayer), the Benedictine monastery as a “school for the Lord’s service”, Franciscan Christ-centredness, Jesuit intensive spiritual programmes and comes up-to-date with materials from the Taize community and a theme of pilgrimage. The title is a teasing play on words. To Lavinia Byrne “original” prayer doesn’t mean novelties, but prayer that looks back to its roots in ancient experiences of God’s eternal presence. Prayer is hard for many of us, but most of us will find some nourishment or encouragement here. “The Hodder Compendium of Christian Curiosities”

David Moloney Hodder and Stoughton £12.99 Look no further for suitable sources for a post-Christmas dinner quiz. From odd Bible facts to prophet’s beards, gruesome gargoyles and the search for the Holy Grail, this is an off-beat look at the tradition. Lists, facts, charts and oddities abound. Don’t say Christianity doesn’t have weird and eccentric dimensions - this is an all-age pleasure and resource. “My Pew: Things I Have Seen From It” Dave Walker SCM Canterbury Press £5.99 My own favourite: child-like simplicity, cleverness and generosity make Walker adept at puncturing the pomposity and plain silliness of church communities and their leaders, but without spite (although his teasing of the bishops over the Windsor report and Lambeth is no less than persistent). This collection of cartoons reveals, among much more:

o the five worst places to sit in church

o reasons to shut your eyes during the sermon

o sharing the peace - a handy mathematical formula (very useful at St

Mary’s?) If you’ve not seen Dave Walker’s cartoons for the Church Times, go straight to www.cartoonchurch.com or just buy this for someone at Christmas and have a quick look. John Wiltshire

From good writing to rather less exemplary examples from sport: “ If you want a quiet life turn a blind ear” Geoff Boycott “A win is a win . . . Except, of course when it’s not a win” Venus Williams

“He chanced his arm and it came off” Brian Moore “We’re not as good as we think we are. We need to go out and prove that.” Steve McClaren.

“Once you’ve thrown the javelin, it’s out of your hands” Tessa Sanderson “This is the steepest part of the course and I am afraid it gets steeper later on.” Phil Leggett TV commentator

perspective that many of us used to think mainstream. Lucy Beckett’s monumental survey of Western writing from Aeschylus to Saul Bellow does us this service, while still emphasising the importance of Christianity’s Greek and Latin inheritance. She clearly loves the tradition of St Augustine, seeing his view of the relation between God and this world as intelligent but importantly not over-academic, humane, balanced, pragmatic and yet fully God-centred. (Yes, she is kind about Augustine’s seemingly shabby treatment of his common-law wife, and his contribution to Christian sexual neuroses, but says this is in support of a wider picture.) Beckett notes Augustine’s appreciation of Plato’s arguably

pre-Christian philosophy just as she recognises, though with misgivings, the Aristotelian inspiration of medieval theologians such as Aquinas who she thinks separated, regrettably, the spiritual pursuit of God from the academic one. Equally, she traces the influence of grounded but devout Augustinian Christianity on succeeding writers from the Benedictine luminaries through Dante and Shakespeare to more recent and surprising figures such as Emily Dickinson and Samuel Beckett. As a result her book not only redresses the contemporary imbalance, but also provides a substantial journey through the Western tradition. I’ve just reached and been intrigued by Dante’s “Divine Comedy”, but I’ve still got the Metaphysical poets, Newman, Hopkins, Eliot and Wallace Stevens and many more in store. At one level it’s like meeting old friends, and also finding interesting new ones. This book isn’t for everyone, but those who love ideas and our cultural history could well base their 2009 reading around its 600 fascinating pages.

“The Testament of Gideon Mack“ James Robertson Penguin £7.99 A Scottish Presbyterian minister follows in the theological footsteps of his strict Calvinist father. In a claustrophobic small town on the east coast of Scotland he declaims from the pulpit despite private misgivings about God’s existence. During regular runs on the moors his confused private life, lack of faith and driven personality lead to strange encounters with a large standing stone that only he can see. While attempts to photograph the stone produce only blank images, Gideon becomes convinced it is real. Local myths surround Black Jaws, a deep ravine with a river at the bottom from which nobody has come out alive. Gideon falls into this ravine, but like Jonah emerging from the whale is washed out to the sea three days later. He is physically unscathed, but spiritually transformed by a mesmerising encounter - not with the God of his Presbyterian Christian faith, but none other than the Devil. Ironically, local people who had accepted his merely public faith now see Gideon’s account of meeting Satan as a sign of madness and delusion. To him the experience is powerful and based on truth: to the reader matters of faith, spirituality and the supernatural become ambiguous. Echoes of Faust, James Hogg’s “Confessions of a Justified Sinner”, R.L. Stevenson and Walter Scott contribute to a Gothic-style novel with a strong sense of Scottish place.

10th October, so no more shuttling back and forth on the train unless it is to go to London for pleasure! Sid says he is going to look for a job down here - so hope he gets something part time as I thought he was supposed to be retiring! My contract with Anglia Ruskin University expires at Christmas as apparently I can only do a limited number of hours/per academic year under terms of my voluntary redundancy and will have done my quota for 08/09 by then. At present I am

able to do extra hours to cover for a colleague who is off sick – so instead of working 4-6hours a week I am doing 2-4 hours per day! However I am starting to apply for some posts locally, not necessarily in teaching. We all like our rented house but it is just too small, we have a spare bedroom and garage stacked floor to ceiling, and wall to wall with boxes. Plymstock is steeped in history as a certain Sir Francis Drake used a boat house on the creek that once reached up the valley just below the house. From our rear windows we have views across the valley and now the trees have shed their leaves we can see Hooe Lake, an inlet off Plymouth Sound. Much time has been spent house hunting but having made offers on a couple they came to nothing for various reasons. However we have now found a 1980s detached house about a mile from here that ticks most of the boxes and had our offer accepted – so fingers crossed that we are third time lucky. If all goes well we should be moving there early in the New Year. We will keep you posted. I have already joined the Plym Valley Heritage Group and we are in the process of joining the local Royal British Legion branch. As you might expect Plymouth with its many military associations means we are not short of ‘comrades’ as there is a large ex service community. The Remembrance Service on Plymouth Hoe was extremely well attended, but we all nearly got blown into the Sound as it was incredibly windy! A shame as everyone rushed off, as soon as it finished to find shelter, rather than staying to chat. We are still investigating churches being unsure as to where we would finally be located. However St John’s at Hooe, although not the nearest, is friendly and is attended by several members of the Heritage group. While missing our many friends in Woodford, we find the lifestyle down here much more relaxed with even folks who we barely know stopping for a chat. The scenery here is wonderful and as soon as the sun comes out everyone heads out of their houses (so it seems) to walk along the cliffs and enjoy the views. We are also finding that fresh local produce is readily available – the trouble is while the fruit and vegetables and fish are good for us the clotted cream does nothing for our waistlines!

Ursula, Robert and Sid in their temporary home

Robert is thoroughly enjoying his 6th form studies at Plymstock School and has settled in well. Quite by chance his friend from Saltash (whose family moved there from Woodford about eight years ago) has also joined this school as the one nearer his home did not offer the courses he wanted – a real bonus! Our biggest worry was moving Soldier our beloved cat. Luckily he behaved very well despite having to spend nearly seven hours in his basket for the journey down and is now re establishing his former position as ‘top cat’ in the local area. Little does he realize that another move is imminent – although at least this time the journey will only be 10 minutes! Don’t forget if you are down this way – do come round for a cuppa! Our good wishes to you all at St Mary’s.

Eileen Ward on choosing a church

Practicing Christians who move to a new area are normally faced with the decision of where to worship. I heard of a couple who visited their chosen area for some months, trying out all its churches until they found somewhere they could settle and then started house hunting! We have been in St. Ives for 2½ years now. We are very settled at our Parish Church of All Saints and have become involved in several activities. When we first moved here it was a priority to find a church and naturally (for us), our first choice was the parish church and we looked no further. Regardless of many important factors the welcome we received decided us. People who decide to join a church that is, make a decision to attend services regularly, what are they looking for? We will take the answer God for granted.

Anglicans can be picky but they are also spoilt for choice. Depending on the area it is possible to find the right sort of liturgy, short sermons/long sermons, comfortable hymns, male/female clergy, enthusiastic evangelism, simple services etc. They can track down a fine choir, thriving s Sunday schools and youth groups or churches attended by congregations of a certain age group. BUT not all under one roof. What draws people and what can congregations do to attract searchers? As with many areas of life first impressions count especially those given by people. As a stranger, to be welcomed in to an unfamiliar place, brings a feeling of warmth. Whatever forms the service takes that first step through the doors can leave the only impression that is remembered later. Some churches appoint welcomers who hover near the entrance to spot

All Saints’s Church St Ives

others. That is how we truly connect with their experience. Remembrance is a kind of prayer. Our act of remembrance is about standing before God – holding those courageous men and women of past and present and all the innocent victims of war – in God and before God and before the community. And for those who believe in Jesus Christ, the last word is not death but life.

St Mary’s Book Reviews

“Reared in a Stranger’s Nest: an Evacuee’s Story of WW2” Michael Wetton Branwichford Press £5.00 In case you’re unsure then this is indeed our Michael Wetton and if you’re further uncertain, even after this review, then I’d simply say “read it”. Michael’s straightforward memoir of wartime evacuation, a shared experience that’s passed into collective memory but which with the passing of time is becoming less well understood, is a significant piece of social history. It will find its place in the archives. But, more than that, it’s also an affecting picture of very difficult early experience and by implication the traces it leaves on the mystery of our biographies. Michael writes about his many moves - from East London to Maldon, Essex and on to Worcestershire - clearly and simply. His ability quickly to evoke a scene or individual is striking, suggesting that he must have a strong visual and emotional memory. The child’s sense of loss and disorientation comes across vividly, but he is also matter of fact about adult insensitivity and bewildering new circumstances. Children just accept things and that, sometimes, is their special strength. It’s a tough story, though. I felt relief when the maternal Antie Rhoda came into young Michael’s life: “I’m greeted by friendliness, smiles and laughter, and surrender myself to the welcoming atmosphere. I feel I’ve come home. And although I’m unaware of it at the time, this - my tenth billet - is to become my home for the next four and a half years, and the bond of friendship will be lifelong.” A stable once offered the grace of a similar welcome.

“In the Light of Christ” Lucy Beckett Ignatius Amazon £13.95 The first draft of the EU’s ill-fated constitution gladly acknowledged its cultural roots in classical antiquity but was determinedly silent about our more recent but equally prolonged Christian background. If that merely institutionalised the dominant anti-Christian tone of C21st academic and political life, it’s good to see a serious attempt to retrieve the more balanced

The last word is not death but life

which they had so little control? We must ask this, because death and burial on this phenomenal scale seems to negate the individual. And yet such carnage actually urges us to assign even greater value to each and every person as an individual. We have to recognise the humanity in each of these courageous people. They were someone’s child, someone’s sibling; perhaps someone’s parent, colleague or friend. They laughed and they cried, they loved. Their lives may have been brief and ended brutally, but as individuals, they mattered and they must still matter to us now. And it is their humanity as much as their courage in the face of evil that must be remembered. But we do of course remember their extraordinary and courageous call. This is the call to act out of love. Yet, courageous, sacrificial love – indeed any kind of love – does not work to a programme. Such is our drive to survive that even when people throw themselves bravely into heroic actions it seems they still cling to the prospect of retaining their own life. Naturally, they don’t think about it; they just get on with it. It is a job and they do what has to be done. But it is hard for most of us to imagine going into a situation to save someone where the stakes are so high that you know that you will be losing your own life in the process. Just like Jesus did. This kind of bravery – being willing to give up one’s life so that others may live – this kind of sacrificial love is special indeed. It is the love that asks no questions. And people who have followed – and still follow – that loving path truly walk the Way of the Cross. When I hear of such brave acts I am overwhelmed with admiration, for I can say with honesty and a certain amount of shame that I do not believe I could willingly lay down my life in this way. Most of us will never know if we can give ourselves like this until a situation demands it of us. Jesus is of course the most profound expression of that kind of sacrificial love. But that spiritual emptiness does not so easily go away when we look back across history at the countless lives lost to war. Yet the cross is the key. When we contemplate those endless lines of white crosses in the military cemeteries, each cross should remind us that the life and death of each and every fallen soldier is bound up with the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Jesus lived and died purposefully. He was not the helpless victim. He chose to die. But to the very end he showed what love could accomplish. At the point of his death he showed love having the last word. It is only the meaning of Jesus Christ that gives some meaning and value to their lives as individuals who mattered and who did not give their precious lives in vain. This is the only way we can now connect with their experience. So we remember them with both pride and pain. It has been said that remembrance must be about more than mere remembering – for that concerns itself only with history. It is not about emotion either, but it must undoubtedly be about feeling. It must be about feeling, about being deeply affected inside ourselves by the cruel lot that has been dealt to so many

newcomers and give a personal welcome. This can work if done discreetly but can also be off-putting if you feel you are on someone’s duty roster. The genuine smile from someone handing out the books (rather than chatting to the person next to them), the empathetic guide towards a seat if you are seen to hesitate and the unobtrusive hand to help if the books, papers and service sheets you are clutching seem a bit bewildering; small actions which mean a lot. Churches with large congregations seem so busy once the service is over but however many people they have to catch up with before rushing off, it is so nice if someone speaks to you. Someone has actually noticed you are there and you will probably go there again.

Christmas and Carols Well, which is your favourite Christmas carol? According to the poll organised by the BBC music magazine, fifty of the leading church choir trainers and composers rate Harold Darke’s setting of ‘In the bleak mid winter’ as ‘the best’. It certainly encapsulates the feeling and meaning of Christmas with beauty and simplicity of music and interestingly it is a piece that had laid unknown to most for many years until King’s College choir sang it in the 1950s under Sir David Willcocks. Following the carol service he was inundated with letters from people wanting to know more about it and from then on it has been a firm favourite of choirs throughout the land. Also in the top ten list are many other choral favourites such as ‘In dulci jubilo’ and ‘Lully lulla’ although the majority of congregational carols don’t get much of a look in. (‘While shepherds watched’ didn’t even get into the top 50!). Herbert Howells’ setting of ‘A Spotless Rose’ comes in at number three, a carol we have performed on a number of occasions and as with so much of Howells’ music, the totality is greater than all the constituent parts. Although we aren’t singing this particular piece at our service of nine lessons and carols we are performing another of Howells’ carols ‘Here is the Little Door’. We have a twentieth century theme to this year’s music, although the composers do operate quite a diverse approach to the setting of texts. The music ranges from the plainsong of Britten (A Ceremony of Carols) to the relentless and stark setting of ‘Today a Virgin’ by Tavener through to the American composer, Mac Wilberg and his arrangement of ‘Ding Dong Merrily on High’. If you heard the service of nine lessons and carols from King’s College last year you may well remember this piece. Our Junior Choir will be joining with us again and certain individuals working through the fantastic RSCM ‘Voices for life’ scheme will have solos to do in

Holst’s setting of ‘Lully lulla’, listen out for them. It is always a difficult task to choose repertoire for the carol service, as it is a balancing act between the old and new and ensuring that the music relates to the readings. Nevertheless, I hope that I have chosen pieces which will please most palates and add to the overall occasion. This issue of the magazine also gives me the opportunity to say a warm welcome to Rebecca Kemal who is joining us as our second choral scholar for this year. Rebecca is studying in the lower sixth at Beal High School and is a brass player as well as a singer. We look forward to getting to know her better over the next few months. Finally, if I don’t get a chance to wish you all individually a Happy Christmas when the time comes, here it is now: Happy Christmas! Martin Seymour

The Twelve Days of Christmas Does the popular Christmas song have anything to do with the real Christmas message? Some legend/urban myth suggests it might have done when persecuted Roman Catholics used it as a code to express their beliefs. Although there is no real evidence for this the symbolism is quite interesting: True Love refers to God 2 Turtle Doves refers to the Old and New Testaments 3 French Hens refers to Faith, Hope and Charity, the Theological Virtues 4 Calling Birds refers to the Four Gospels and/or the Four Evangelists 5 Golden Rings refers to the first Five Books of

the Old Testament, the "Pentateuch", which gives the history of man's fall from grace. 6 Geese A-laying refers to the six days of creation 7 Swans A-swimming refers to the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit or the seven sacraments 8 Maids A-milking refers to the eight beatitudes 9 Ladies Dancing refers to the nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit 10 Lords A-leaping refers to the ten commandments 11 Pipers Piping refers to the eleven faithful apostles 12 Drummers Drumming refers to the twelve points of doctrine in the Apostle's Creed Viveca Dutt

“I HAVE got a poppy but it's on my other coat and I'm not wearing it today because of the rain.” “I lost my poppy in Marks and Spencers. See, I'm still wearing the pin!” “I've already got a poppy but can I buy one for my husband, father, elderly brother who's not well at the moment and can't get out?” “How much are they? Oh well I'll give you all my change then. “[8p] I've already got my poppy! [as they come closer for you to inspect it] Other people just stop for a chat, which is nice. You really feel you're doing something worthwhile when someone says "Oh good, I was hoping to see a poppy seller, I haven't seen many around." If you've never been a poppy seller before I can certainly recommend it. Why don't you put your name down ready for next year? [Valerie Geller is the local organiser and would be really pleased to hear from you.] Chris Meikle

Love that ask no Questions Mark Lewis visits the war cemeteries

Some years ago I went with my family to visit Ypres in Belgium and the country around it – the killing fields of Flanders. We went in part to connect with wartime history and better understand the terrible events that had happened there but also to look for the grave of my great uncle Edward, who was killed at Ypres in 1917. We

found it, and suddenly there was one name with whom we could connect. In some small way spanning over 80 years of history, our lives spiritually touched. As anyone who is familiar with that area will know, military cemeteries are to be found at every turn. Around the district of Ypres there are some 144 cemeteries which hold the remains of tens of thousands of British, French and German soldiers. Other memorials record the names of those 90,000 soldiers whose bodies have never been found. Some of the most awesome are the American cemeteries in Normandy, where row upon row of stark white crosses represent a human loss so great it jams the mind and does violence to the soul. The visible memorials which evidence death on such a colossal scale raise deep questions within us – deep religious questions. They compel us to question our own humanity and even existence itself. How are we to begin to comprehend such relentless and indiscriminate slaughter? What kind of meaning can we attach to the lives and terrifying experiences of those men and women who found themselves caught up in a conflict over

We saw bald eagles, lots of other wildlife -- and a black bear. In the Rockies, one stunning vista followed another. It was the most remarkable journey of our lives. We were left in awe of the Victorian surveyors and civil engineers who drove the track across such a vast and difficult continent. And in such a short time. Equally heroic were the financiers who had the vision to make it possible. We stopped at a small halt just east of the Rockies where the two sides, one driving west across the comparatively easy terrain of the prairies, the other battling the impossible passes through the mountains, met up. The money ran out 50 miles short so the board sent a director to London to raise the rest. He so impressed the City bankers that they gave it to him. He cabled his colleagues back in Canada “Stand fast, Craigellachie!”, an old war cry from their native Scotland. And with the completion of the vital artery linking the Atlantic with the Pacific, the fledgling group of provinces in 1885 became a nation. Heady stuff. And only a generation or two ago. In the course of our visit we met lots of Americans. We watched lots of American television and ate lots of American food – lots. In spite of myself, I got to like the Americans. It’s easy to sneer at the outgoing, breezy personalities of some of them but we found the American character to be complicated and difficult to rationalise. There’s no such thing as an average American. We spoke to a red-necked Republican obsessed with guns in liberal, Democratic Oregon, and a retired bean-counting banker in Boston who was working for a charity so as to put something back into the community. We went to a church where everyone shouted “Alleluia!” whenever they felt like it and one on Fifth Avenue in New York which used the Book of Common Prayer, had an excellent choir boarding school and prayed for the Archbishop of Canterbury. We learned to use American words and learned to love baseball after having its intricacies explained to us. They were a lovely, hospitable people. It was a fabulous holiday, in the course of which we spent quite a lot of our children’s inheritance. But it was something we had to do. And do it while we still could. Whether it’s riding an elephant in India or climbing Ayer’s Rock, do it. Your life will be all the richer for it and you’ll be able to say you’ve achieved your dream. Jill and I are so glad we did.

Remembrance Thoughts of a Poppy Seller As a relative newcomer to poppy selling I wondered if this sounds familiar to the 'old hands' at St. Mary's. I have found poppy selling is quite addictive and I have really enjoyed it over the last few years. However some comments made to me by members of the public have really surprised me. As I stood outside Sainsbury's, on a very wet Saturday, I was ignored by some people but approached by most with a smile. Most smiles were accompanied by coins [and even a few notes!] and some were accompanied with explanations; something I had not expected.

A CHRISTMAS POEM

Tim Partridge

I was asked by a child not long ago, When Jesus came down to the earth So I tried to recall the wonderful story, That told of his virginal birth.

His Mother was Mary, His Father, called Joe, Was a carpenter—with a full bag of tools - But the problem appeared to be moral They weren’t married and that’s against rules!

Now no one is sure of the time of the birth, Was is summer or winter who knows? But the fact of the matter is Jesus arrived, To save the world from its woes.

Tradition will tell you the stable’s the place That may give birth to the child. And the ox and the ass and the shepherds as well, Past the crib with due reverence they filed.

Three great Kings on their camels appeared from the East With treasures and gifts to unpack, But the family were tired from the troublesome birth So the midwife handed them back!

It has to be said when all’s said and done That the gifts were eventually reclaimed, And the Kings went home by a different route As his Father in heaven had ordained.

So that’s what occurred a long time ago And these are the facts of his birth; He was sent down from Heaven on a mission by God, To save all of us sinners on earth.

Enjoy your presents, your food and your wire Your cards and your crackers—but pray To the Lord and bless him with praise For his son born on that Christmas Day.

Meanwhile up on the roof… Nocturnal goings-on at St Mary’s For two weeks in November St Mary’s had the builders in, repairing the roof over the front door. The inevitable scaffolding (erected by a separate company) duly appeared and your church wardens began to worry; while it was in place the treasures on the roof (lead, etc.) would be vulnerable to itinerant collectors of roofing materials and, worryingly, our insurance would be suspended until said scaffolding came down. The floodlighting would illuminate the building and deter would-be roof robbers but it switches itself off at 1.30 am. What’s to be done? Enter four intrepid would-be tower guardians: Fin O’Regan, Peter Webb, Lestor Haslem

and myself. We decided that while access to the roof was so obvious we would sleep in the church and do what we could to deter those of nefarious intent. It wouldn’t be all that difficult, would it – roll out the sleeping bags and blankets, raid the biscuit barrel and the tea caddy in the kitchen, enjoy some jokes

and gossip then head down at midnight, wake up refreshed at 6.30 and then home to a hero’s welcome from the loving wife and the opportunity to dodge the shopping (sorry love, need my sleep -- had a difficult night fighting off burglars). Not so. For a start, we were in the middle of a cold spell and in St Mary’s the wind whistles through the front door and seeks you out wherever you are. Secondly, all the floors in the church are bone-bruisingly hard. Third, I for one found the building a bit spooky in the dark. Finding an answer to the first problem was tricky. The thought of facing Jane Fone and telling her that we’d used the church’s central heating during the night sent a shiver down our collective spine. You don’t mess with Jane – or her sisterhood in the Woodford County High old girl mafia. So that was out. More blankets seemed the answer. Trouble is, when you’re balanced on a slippery air bed (the answer to problem two, courtesy Peter) they slide all over the place and pretty soon you’re awake again. But it would have to do. (I subsequently found a small heater which took the chill off the Gwinnell Room, but if Jane finds out I’m done for.) Fin, ingenious as ever, had his own answer. He brought his camper van, which served two purposes: he would sleep in it and also use it to block the church drive which was essential since anyone carrying off lead would need a lorry. (I’d love to know what he actually got up to in that van since he always had a smile on his face in the morning and the windows were always steamed up. I couldn’t see anyone else in it but can’t be sure.) Lestor had an additional problem. For the duration of the second week he was starring in a local operatic show and it meant his coming to do his shift straight from his adoring public. The third problem was one I sensed I faced alone. I’m not very happy in the dark on my own (always had a gothic imagination due to my Welshness). So I took my dogs, one at a time. Big mistake. Deprived of cuddling into a warm double bed in Forest Approach, both dogs in turn objected to strange digs in cold building. Butch-looking but wimpish Charley, noted for pinning strangers to the floor and subjecting them to slurping affection overloads, whined all night. Sooty, whom Jill and I

The fearless four

An Odyssey in North America Geoff and Jill go West

In August Jill and I set out on the holiday we promised ourselves when we met back in 1968. We’ve all done that – that is, daydream about our ideal holiday. Some of us never get round to doing it (or forget, which is rather sad, or, even sadder, leave it too late) but we were fortunate enough to achieve our dream. In our case, it was an odyssey across America by rail. We were brought up in an age of steam, long before the age of the jumbo jet, when the romance of rail was powerful stuff. When passing through our

great rail termini in London held its own magic of promise of travel to far-off places. That was us. We’d do it or bust. The opportunity came last year when our son Marc married an American. Kathleen Jones came from Oregon, a state high up on the west coast of the US, just south of the Canadian border. Would we like to come with them on holiday to her home state? At the same time, London Welsh Male Voice Choir, for whom I sing, were to embark on a concert tour of the U.S. east coast about five weeks later. We could spend the first two weeks with Marc and Kathleen, cross Canada by train, and join up with the choir in New York. It involved an incredibly complicated schedule involving train, coach and internal air travel. Each stage of the journey would depend on the previous stage. If one link failed the whole thing could have collapsed and left us stranded. Jill, with a little help from Kathleen and some reassurance from Abbots Travel in George Lane, organised the whole thing meticulously. Aircraft to Denver, interior flight up to Portland, rented house on the Pacific coast, hotels and more rented houses in Oregon as we explored the Cascades mountains, train up to Seattle, coach to Vancouver, a few days in Vancouver, train through the Rockies to Banff with overnight stop in Kamloops (the high spot of the whole trip), coach to Jasper (during which we stood on a glacier a kilometre deep in the Columbian icefields), an emotional stay in Toronto, where my brother John had been Reuter correspondent before his early death, internal flight to Boston to stay with friends, train to New York to pick up the choir for a concert out in New York state, return train to Boston for the rest of the choir tour, then home. We unpacked and packed 14 times and only had a few minor disagreements.

Snow capped peaks in the Cascades

where she is now a UNESCO spokesperson. She spoke out at a Veterans’ Day rally in 1997: ‘As you know I am the little girl who was running to escape from the napalm fire. I do not want to talk about the war because I cannot change history. I only want you to remember the tragedy of war in order to do things to stop fighting and killing around the world. I have suffered a lot from both physical and emotional pain. Sometimes I thought I could not live, but God saved me and gave me faith and hope. Even if I could talk face to face with the pilot who dropped those bombs I would tell him we cannot change history but we should try to do good things for the present and for the future to promote peace.’ Shortly after this Kim met John Plummer, a U.S. pilot involved in the bombing of the area, and unconditionally forgave him and others for their actions. By chance, we were introduced to Kim Phuc’s brother, Tam, who still lives in Trang Bang although the rest of his family has settled in Canada. We sat down in the empty noodle bar, his children came out from the back of the shop and he told his story through an interpreter. He showed us photographs from an old magazine and pointed to himself, aged 12 years old, at the front of the haunting photograph on the left-hand side, dressed in white shirt and black shorts, running ahead of his sister. Although less badly burned by napalm, Tam’s scars on his leg and above his left eye were noticeable. The road outside had been widened, the Caodai temple where villagers had sheltered from the bombing, rebuilt. All was quiet, peaceful. As people went about their daily business I sensed that, although the war had changed lives irreparably, they had moved on. When we returned home from that trip to Vietnam and Cambodia I sent a batch of photos to an American friend, Ross, who had served in the Vietnam War in 1968. Over the years our friendship deepened but little did Martin and I guess that one day he would invite us to stay at his home in Massachusetts, meet other Vietnam veterans there and travel to Washington D.C. together to visit the memorial to commemorate all those killed in active service. The Vietnam War may be history now but its legacy lingers; behind the colourful falling leaves and bright pumpkins that decorate doorsteps and window sills basking in the New England sunshine deep scars remain. The monument in Washington is vast; visitors walk past slowly, silently drinking in a sea of names, forever reminded of ‘the sorrow, the pity of war’. No man is an island entire of itself wrote John Donne in 1623. Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main. The death of one diminishes all. For all are bundled together in the bundle of life. It was a privilege to trace the names of boys I had only glimpsed in old photographs till now. May they rest in peace.

Chuc Mung Giang Sinh - Happy Chrismas Chuc Mung Nam Moi - Happy New Year From Vietnam

consider to be either intellectually challenged or just very deep, stood looking down on me from his full 18-inch height trying to be profound but making a hash of it with his habit of periodically going off and transcribing circles on the floor. But we managed. It didn’t stop the building appearing spooky, however. Several times during the night I would wake, wide-eyed and bolt upright at those strange noises all houses emit in the wee small hours. The wind would rattle all those things that rattle when the wind catches them; the front doors would move noisily against each other; the resident churchyard fox would yodel, merry drinkers from the adjacent night club would have shouting matches; branches would bang and scrape against the windows and, in my imagination in half-sleep, whole armies of tanks driven by the undead would trundle down the High Road and Martians would gather in the church drive calling my name. One night a door inexplicably banged shut at 1am. But worst of all was the fire escape door in the Gwinnell Room. Remembering that it led down to the crypt, every time it groaned, my hair stood on end with my wondering what was coming up to get me (I know, but if I had any it would have). All it needed was Vincent Price to start up the organ and wake up Christopher Lee. One night I thought it would be a good idea to sleep in the car, like Fin. However, diesel engines aren’t very good at instantly transferring heat to car interiors so it meant leaving the car on idle for quite a while. What killed this solution was the ribald laughter from Fin on finding me in the morning strapped into the safety belt. He wouldn’t believe that it was an old Welsh fertility rite. The roofers duly finished, and Wendy and Jill scaled the ladders (that must have taken some bottle) to inspect their work and expressed themselves satisfied. Happily – and amazingly, given the way the building industry works – the scaffolders duly came the very next day and took all their gear down. We can only thank Wendy and Jill for this, I’m sure; you don’t mess with our Churchwardens either. Geoff Jones

Lose yourself in quilting Are you stressed out, all tense and would like to do something new, well I have just the solution. Immerse yourself in quilting and in no time at all you will feel relaxed, stress free and surrounded by a host of new friends. Not only that, but quilting provides comfort, warmth and sensory pleasure.

And the less than fearless two

You may ask ‘what is quilting’ and as a friend said ‘ all that seems to happen is you cut up pieces of material and then sew then back together again in a different order’. Well, there is more to that than meets the eye. There are records going back that quilting was used as a method in the making of quilted bedding. In fact from the eighteenth century there are several examples of quilted garments, including petticoats,

bonnets and coats. The Heritage Collection of the Quilters Guild contains a quilted petticoat dating back to 1764. People who could afford the luxury of quilts engaged the services of quilters to make quilts for royal or noble households. The cost was high and the quality was of a very high standard and at times it was suggested that quilting was regarding as another branch of the Embroiders’ Guild. Quilting was frequently used as a background to embroidery on bed covers and pillows. This type of work would be carried out by professionals who were probably members of the Embroiders’ Guild. Quilting in rural areas was very different; it was more like a collage industry. It was more of a necessity than a luxury. Quilting was carried out to make warm and practical bed covering during the winter months from odd scraps of leftover material. Village quilters undertook orders for making quilts and more often than not they travelled from farm to farm replenishing and repairing quilts in exchange for their keep. On the other hand, professional quilters would make out a pattern on a quilt and then the owner would quilt over it. Coming right up to modern day quilting, technology has enhanced things and many people machine quilt, which of course is very much quicker. Why did I take up quilting? I was at a loose end and a very close friend thought it would be a good idea to learn something entirely new and different. For someone who did not even know how to thread a sewing machine needle, I have come a long way. I do find it relaxing and always look forward to my Tuesday morning get together with the other members of the group. At the moment, I am helping to make lap quilts for the elderly, (from all odd pieces of material given to me) but in the past I have been involved with quilts for

premature babies and terminally ill young children. If you are interested in learning more about quilting and would like to join the class, please contact me and I will give you further information. You could be like me and once you have had your first lesson there will be no looking back. Frances Davies

while after my uncle’s death she worked for his brother, who told me that when he realised what qualities she possessed he would have tried to poach her from his brother. My aunt eventually moved to Woodford Green and, thanks to Vera, was made to feel very much at home here. For the last two years of my aunt’s life Vera became her carer. Vera was involved in a number of organisations: the Townswomen’s Guild, the church, and the Conservative Party to name a few. She was an accomplished artist in watercolours; her painting of the Cricketers pub was transferred on to post cards which sold for charity – sales have reached about 5000 and they’re printing more. My last conversation with her was from Ireland just a few days before she died. A good part of that telephone conversation consisted of her telling me how kind everybody had been and how many people had visited her. Vera will be very sadly missed by many people and I would just like to say goodbye to a very old and valued friend.

Vietnam: Healing the scars Penny Freeston on the legact of Vietnam

When Martin and I travelled to Vietnam and Cambodia a few years ago it was a journey I knew I had to make. I was a teenager in the 1960s and the Vietnam War had a huge impact on me. Reading Siegfried Sassoon and Wilfred Owen’s war poetry at the same time evoked ‘the sorrow, the pity of war’ throughout history, across the world, from all sides. I needed to see how life had moved on, how nature had healed countryside defoliated by napalm and Agent Orange and how the

human spirit endured, however deep the scars. On the way to Cu Chi we stopped in Trang Bang, a quiet peaceful village in the Vietnamese countryside. This was the place where Nick Ut took a photograph that was to be a turning point in the American War. From then on it would only be a matter of time before the Americans pulled out. The black and white photograph, taken in 1972, appeared in newspapers all over the world. In the words of one journalist: ‘people looked at it and said, ‘This war has got to end’.’ ‘The girl in the picture’ was nine-year-old Kim Phuc running to escape the misplaced air strike over her village. She was severely burned by napalm, her clothes in shreds, as she ran screaming along the road with other members of her family, some dead and dying from the attack. After years of surgery and medical treatment Kim’s life began again when she and her husband defected to the West, to Canada,

Kim Phuc’s brother, Tam

The service took the form of Common Worship Evening Prayer adapted to suit the occasion. Candles were lit to the children in conflict throughout the world starting with the 57 named countries on the list while the St Mary’s choir sang anthems by Walton and Tavener. It is tragic that, since our One World Day, trouble has broken out in the Democratic Republic of the Congo and made life so hard for many of the kind of children of whose plight we are trying to make people aware.

A Life of Dedication and Loyalty Vera Davies died earlier this year Geoff Jones writes: I came to know the real Vera only late in her life, when she started covering church events for the magazine. Far from the image of the self-effacing elderly lady she liked to portray, she was a competent, dependable source of interesting stories of the church in earlier times and a reliable contributor who took pride in reporting church social events. She had a good memory and had a stock of fascinating insights into life at St Mary’s before and during the second world war, which she would submit in her neat handwriting for publication. What I particularly liked about Vera was that, unlike some precious writers I remember from my days on the Financial Times, she never complained if her copy had to be delayed or sacrificed in the interests of someone else’s material. She was fastidiously courteous. Nothing was too much for her. Even towards the end of her life, her composure and regard for others never flagged. I remember asking how she was and listening in growing alarm as she recounted the symptoms of the disease that was eventually to carry her off. Vera seems to have spent most of her life as a valued member of the Pugh family. What was to become a 60-year relationship began during the war years when as a teenager she went to work at the Air Ministry as a secretary to Malcolm Pugh. After the war she became his personal assistant, helping him to run his various companies in the UK and Belgium until his death in 1966. At her memorial service Vivian Hughes, Malcolm’s nephew, remembered Vera. He said: Throughout the time that she worked for Malcolm, Vera was known as Scotty, a misunderstanding dating back to their first meeting when she wore a kilt. Her loyalty, dedication and efficiency were quite exceptional. She was often in Belgium and my uncle relied on her more and more as she took on quite formidable responsibilities. At the same time she had to nurse her parents, which caused my aunt some concern, but she never complained. My aunt and uncle had no children and Scotty became not only a close friend but really their adopted daughter. When my uncle died unexpectedly the task of winding up his companies fell to my aunt, who would not have been able to cope without the help of Vera. By this time she had become a member of the family, spending holidays with us in Wales and travelling extensively with my uncle and aunt. For a

Woodford Festival: 'Woodford Village to Suburb'

An excellent illustrated lecture from the ever erudite and knowledgeable Peter Lawrence entertained a decent crowd in St Barnabas Church on a chilly evening during the Woodford Festival. Peter explained how Woodford, like the other W's, Wanstead and Walthamstow, evolved from being a Residential Parish 'village' effectively sponsored or funded by its many wealthy inhabitants creating a

reasonably wealthy parish from 1700 onwards, into what we now call a 'suburb' from the mid 1800s on. This was caused primarily by the coming of the railway, the selling and breaking up of the estates to be built on by developers for housing the population that wanted to move into the area in the late Victorian and Edwardian eras as shops and commerce grew and prospered where once gardens and ornamental lakes once stood. Sounds familiar again now doesn’t it? Peter enlightened us on how the effects of this suburbanisation can still be seen today if you know what to look for. Like the fact that the only Victorian house south of the line near South Woodford Station was in fact the estate gardener's house in the bottom far corner of the Elmhurst Estate, an estate cut in half by the railway in one direction, then cut again the other way by the Southend Road. Elmhurst House remains now restored at Gates Corner, but the estate now to the west of Churchfields Road was sold for housing and for the school first time round, then later to Queen Mary College for students residential blocks. Now it's changed hands again, somewhat controversially though. The lonely gardener's house soon found itself neighboured by many a 'South of the line' home as this area became fully developed with housing. Rich and famous alike had made Woodford their home 'in the country'. Even though it was only 7 miles from the City those who worked there usually only visited their families at weekends as there was only horse traffic until the coming of the railway in the mid 1850s. The wealth of Woodford was evident well before this. In the late 18th Century there were over 1,000 'mansions' registered as having been built in Woodford, Wanstead and Walthamstow, a few of which remain today and are easy to spot.

Elmhurst house now fully restored

This wealth did also benefit the local community and sometimes continues to do so. Like the 3 ponds on either side of the High Road, Johnson’s Pond, the potato pond and Warner’s Pond, (plus one since filled in opposite the current Police Station); back then all were reservoir ponds for the botanical greenhouses of Harts House, and fed this through a series of interconnecting pipes under the road which still exist. There are several good examples of philanthropy and private generosity, like the building of our own Memorial Hall, the Woodford Men’s Club converted from the original church, and the Wilfred Lawson Temperance Hotel, now gone from the top of Chingford Lane. One unusual benefit of the pre-war spread of suburban housing was the road bridge over the railway at Broadmead, built before the road and before the second war so it serviced as a suitable concrete air raid shelter complete with blast doors that still remain in use today for keeping allotment users' stuff safe. The road building itself was delayed by the war and followed afterwards when the huge bomb-damaged Congregational Church and outbuildings were pulled down along with adjacent damaged properties to bring the road up to join the short length in front of The Terrace overlooking the cricket green adjacent to the new Hawkey Hall. For those wanting to learn more of Woodford's history and to help keep it alive among today's temporary inhabitants, the Woodford Historical Society meets monthly at Trinity School where Peter Lawrence is a leading light. Richard Walker

Laura’s Baden Powell Challenge For the last year I have been working towards my Baden Powell Challenge Badge. This is the highest badge that a Guide can achieve. To complete the badge I have to do 10 activities and at the end of the challenge we have an adventure weekend away, run by guiders which we have to pay for ourselves. Some of the activities I have completed are organising a table top sale to raise money for Muchunguri. I did this with Hannah James and Emma Pamplin and we raised £110. I

also helped organise a themed party for the 1st Woodford Brownies in which I taught them American line dancing. I am planning to organise a casual music concert, which will be held in the Gwinnell room one Sunday while you drink your tea and coffee. I hope to include mostly Questers, who play instruments. And at the end of the concert there will be a retiring collection to help me pay for my adventure weekend. You never know, if it is a successful event it may become a regular fixture! Laura Walker

of just three staff members and was required to teach ‘O’ level maths, physics, chemistry, biology, geography, English and RE! He said it was fabulous to revisit the school and see that it’s now a successful, thriving and popular establishment with 20 teachers and 455 pupils. In his day it was just a series of mud and corrugated iron houses On our return to Embu we had problems settling our hotel bill as there was a power cut (there is regularly one for 9hrs on a Monday) and the card machine did not function, neither did the ATM at the local Barclays bank where we tried to draw out money to pay by cash. Reluctantly, the finance officer accepted a sterling cheque, just as I thought I was going to have to stay and work my debt off, the bishop saying that he had plenty of work for me to do!! As we traveled to Nairobi to catch the overnight plane home we stopped off at Makutano Orphanage to see the new dining Hall and kitchen and saw how the boys were now growing their own vegetables and tending their own plots of land. We had packed a lot in, but it was a privilege to attend, the hospitality as ever was overwhelming and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Wendy Littlejohns

The tragedy of child soldiers Rowena Rudkin on Woodford’s One World Day

Boys and girls around the world are being forced into armies. And this is happening in as many as 57 countries, Rani Jumnadoo of Save the Children told Woodford’s One World Week. The annual week became One World Day this year as it clashed with the Woodford Festival in October. Rani illustrated her talk with a film of the plight of child soldiers in Liberia. One of the many activities of Save the Children is to reunite the children they have rescued from the “armies” with their

parents wherever possible. Another is to get them into schools and they are currently running a campaign to “Rewrite the Future” to achieve this. Those who have had some schooling prove far less vulnerable to the recruiting officers than those with none. Apart from general education, Save the Children gives its pupils some vocational skills by which they can contribute to the family income. Sadly there were cases where these children were the main, if not the only, breadwinners in their family. We were welcome to attend either the meeting or the service or both. All could meet at the tea held in the Gwinnell Room where a petition in support of the campaign was signed by many of us and, subsequently, sent to Lord Malloch Brown, Minister for Africa, Asia and the United Nations.

Candles lit for child war victims

A Kenyan Consecration Three Days! It’s a long way to go to Kenya for just three days. The Bishop of Barking, David Hawkins and I as chair of the Chelmsford/Kenya group went to witness the consecration and enthronement of the new Bishop of Mbeere one of our link dioceses. We had been fortunate enough to have an opportunity of meeting the Bishop elect Moses and his wife Lucy at his home for lunch the previous day, along with other church leaders and family members. We had visited the local church where he worships and the school where his wife had been both teacher and later head

teacher. The day of the consecration was sunny and by midday very warm. A colourful though serious ceremony led by the Archbishop of Kenya, in the company of fifteen diocesan bishop’s, all the diocesan clergy and over two thousand congregation (under canopies to protect from the hot African sun), during the four-hour service. Flanked by two presenters, the bishop elect Revd Moses Masamba Nthukah, dressed in his new purple cassock was first presented by the group who elected him to the electoral college to the Archbishop of Kenya, before making his vows of canonical obedience, then extolled to be a shepherd of his flock and required to faithfully pray and study the scriptures. The Archbishop and bishops including Bishop David laid hands on him then he received a new Bible and the symbols of his office, a ring and pectoral cross. He was then arrayed with his new cope and mitre (a gift from Chelmsford) and escorted to his throne. The retiring Bishop Rt Rev Gideon Ireri handed over the episcopal staff and vacated his diocesan throne. There was great applause as the congregation greeted their new Bishop especially as he had to announce the date of his retirement which is in 2029! Representatives of all ages and different groups then greeted him: the youth, Mother’s’ Union, Men’s Association etc. and we brought our greetings from Chelmsford. Church choirs from most of the parishes sang during the service at some stage, including the children’s orphanage at Makutano that has received much support from Chelmsford. On our return to the Izaak Walton Inn in Embu we found many of the visiting bishops taking tea or a soda, and we were later joined by the new bishop and his wife. There was much conversation and laughter enjoyed in the cool, leafy surroundings of the hotel gardens. An American couple who have visited and lived in Kenya from time to time, joined us and we spent the rest of the day in convivial company. On our final day we were taken by Bishop Henry of Embu diocese, to visit Mbiruri Secondary school twenty miles north of Embu where Bishop David had spent a year, immediately after leaving school exactly forty years ago. He had taught for a year, saying that he had joined the school in its second year of life as one

St Cedds—part of the family You may have responded to an appeal from the PCC in November to contribute to a gift day for St Cedd’s, a church which due to changing population trends is having difficulty meeting its financial commitment to the diocese. But where is St Cedd’s, and what is our connection with it? Jean Morgans explains. We first became aware of St Cedd’s church, Barkingside, about 30 years ago. A small church, not far from St Mary’s, it is

situated off Roding Lane North, so the title is slightly misleading. Our former rector Bob Birchnall was rural dean at the time. A vacancy had arisen following the death of its incumbent, the Rev Treble, a man in his 90s, leaving the church with about six faithful souls. At the request of Bob, Michael Trodden, who was curate at St Mary’s, with his wife Mandy, agreed to take on this challenge. The church was in a rundown state, with the churchyard overgrown and piled high with litter. Michael was promised the help of the folk at St Mary’s and, headed by Patrick Whitfield, the place was cleaned, swept, decorated, the floor sanded and the outside area cleaned. Patrick’s father Chris made an altar which incidentally wasn’t used, but now serves them on their boat. St Mary’s was represented at the induction and sometimes were found supporting the services. Mark Brafield transferred there to provide the music. Michael and Mandy stayed there for about six years and built up the congregation to about 50 before moving on to St Peter’s Aldborough Hatch.

Quest for perfection You may have noticed that the Quest pews in church – right hand side nearest the choir, at the front – are more often than not full these days. That would suggest that at least some of the activities that Quest gets up to find favour among the 10 to 14 years olds who currently form the membership. The group consists of Senior Questers Pippa, Emma P, Hannah J and Laura (the original Gang of Four), middle Questers Sarah, Molly, Hannah S, Jessica and Jessie, and this year’s intake Emma F, Emily, Kwaku, Tobias and Hugo. (Have you spotted that three boy’s names have suddenly appeared?) We asked them what the best thing about Quest was, and what would most improve it. The best things were the art projects, followed closely by the games. The latest art work on public display is of course the new stained glass window, the fourth that Peter Webb has masterminded with the children’s groups. It’s now in place in the first floor window of the Gwinnell room; go and have a good look at it if you haven’t already done so. See if you can spot the worm, and figure out why this humble character plays such an important part in the strange and wonderful story of Jonah.

The games are certainly a good way of releasing energy; those that Edmund dreams up usually have rules so complicated even he can’t understand them while Roberta’s test the group’s considerable skills in various ways to the very limit. Other good things about Quest include the annual social outing (perhaps it should happen more than once a year), Quest dramas (everyone likes acting and is actually pretty good at it) and Quest Band which has just acquired its very own tuba (complete with tuba player, of course). But of course we are far from perfect, and there were a number of ideas on how we might get better. The boys thought that a higher percentage of males would improve matters, but the girls were far from sure that this was such a good idea. Perhaps Pippa’s memories of being the only girl among six boys a few years back had something to do with that. You’ll have seen that Quest returns to its upper room in the Memorial Hall after coming to the altar for a blessing or communion, and there were various suggestions on how we could use that time better. It’s intended as a period of calm, reflection and prayer, but it doesn’t always work out that way. One idea was that we could use it to think quietly about the bible reading that we had been studying – an excellent suggestion that could apply much more widely than just to Quest.

If you have thoughts, comments and suggestions about Quest - why you like it, why you don’t - and how to make it even better, do write them in a letter to the Magazine editors, or just have a word with the Quest leaders. And if you’re a young person of ten or over, and want to find out more about what we do, you would be very welcome to join us. We meet most Sundays at 10am in the upper room of the Memorial Hall, next to the church; anyone in church can tell you where it is. We can guarantee a warm reception and (we hope) some fun - and some things to get you thinking, too. Edmund and Roberta

Late passions and delights As I get older (now nearing eighty-five) I have a number of priorities in my life. Number one is memories of sixty years with my Margaret, secondly the activities of our four progeny and their 13 progeny, and their one (so far, but watch this space) progeny; thirdly, an interest in “proper” jazz, and fourthly – words. Let’s look at the last of these. I have an acquaintance (of the female persuasion) who tends to get a bit muddled. She once told me of a local problem she was encountering and she was going to have to “lyonnaise” with her neighbours in order to resolve the matter. Again, on a walk with her through quite a prosperous area, she thought people must be quite “effluent” to own such houses. In a recent letter to The Times, a correspondent thought that the vicar of Putney, having told

Quest’s latest art work

his secretary that he was “out on parish work”, when in fact he was playing golf with his Catholic opposite number, was being “ecumenical” with the truth. There is a very good romantic ballad entitled “What is this thing, called love?” An inexperienced presenter, faced with announcing this tune for the first time, said: “What’s this thing called, love?” Think about it. And what about the heart attack victim who had to be “resurrected” twice on his way to hospital in the ambulance, and the diabetic patient who was “insulated” twice a day. And then there was one of my many grandsons who, when asked, thought his final degree result would probably be “a

Desmond”. “What on earth is that?” “Grandad, you’re supposed to know about church people – it’s a Two Two!” In fact, he got a two-one, so well done, sunshine.

And finally, pet hates. When I hear on my wireless “any way, shape or form” or, even worse, “at this moment in time” I switch off and pour myself another glass of chardonnay. And so it goes on. More to follow, God willing. John Green

A restored relic; John at the grave of his great-

grand mother who served with Florence Nightingale

John XX111 (Pope from 1958—1963

John Roncalli, friend of sinners, Prisoners, outcasts on the fringe - Stopgap pope of God’s own people Opened wide the Church’s windows Brought hope, fresh air throughout the world.

There you lie in wax reposing Benediction in your face: Every dimple, crag and wrinkle Bears a blessing far and wide.

Come on lads, we’re here together We’re strangers in an alien land, It’s Christmas Day—our Saviour’s birthday Th’ eternal God stoops down to meet is In Lady Mary’s infant Child

John the Twenty-third we’re grateful Your Christ-like deeds refresh our souls Actions filled with inspiration — You opened Rome to all the world.

This poem was written by Michael Wetton following the parish pilgrimage to Italy in 2002. Verse three refers to Pope John’s Christmas visits —meetings between equals.