shotleyfieldsforever

Well the hens have settled. Poor bedraggled things rescued from a Battery Farm after a life of sheltered, serial laying, they have taken to Vicarage life a treat for them and a treat for us. On the pre inspection visit with the Archdeacon, as we looked into an out house, he enquired about the large cartons, it's a Hen Coop, I replied, A hen coop, he queried, and where's that going? In the Orchard I replied. The Orchard? He asked, why isn't this the Archdeacons House? Diocesan policy? I thought. But now the hens are in their element, fine feathers, an Orchard of their own and two bird tables. The bird count does get  longer. Christmas guests were as keen to see the Greater Spotted Woodpecker as we were to show him off, but over Christmas he stayed away. They drove away on the day after Boxing Day and we sat down for our morning coffee, enjoying the peace before the next visitors arrived and Woody the Woodpecker was there again enjoying his food as much as we...

The Sunday School rehearsed the play that was the centrepiece of the carol service. The final rehearsal however, on the Sunday before Christmas included writing a series of rather special cards of welcome and greeting for the new priest in charge. Reassurances that worries were not necessary because we are all on the same 'teem' were reassuring, as was the encouragement that it would be a 'fun' job. In Sophie's opinion I am joining a wonderful team who will make me feel 'right at home' Christmas greetings were offered with 'good luck' as a reminder that the congregation would be having a 'good look', (I am pretty sure that was and will continue to be true), a final card had me driving in like Santa in an open top sports car.  My MG TF had obviously been spotted! The lay reader had expressed a view that this might be a difficult conversation because the Children's Nativity play was meant to be a secret, (shh!) but the Child...

In September of this year I was living for a short while in Taormina in Sicily as Chaplain to the Chiesa Anglicana dedicated to St George and the ex pat congregation there. Taormina is a multicultural, multilingual community, a place where visitors from many nations intermingle on the edge of the Mediterranean. It is a beautiful place with Roman, Greek and Italian history literally underfoot and around wherever you travel. Mark Knopfler of Dire Straits fame wrote a lovely song: The Lights of Taormina. There’s laughter in the darkness Music floating in across the bay He’s half listening and wondering How he could have let her slip away So long ago but still he wants to know If anyone has seen her And he’s sitting out in the night Looking down upon the lights of Taormina Well now I have swapped the lights of Taormina for the lights of Consett. Looking out from the rear of the Vicarage the lights are in the near distance but on a clear night above them soars a specta...

My morning walk was later than usual but as I passed through the woodland opposite the house, possibly once upon a time a Christmas Tree Plantation, I startled a deer who kicked up her heels and dashed into the denser part of the woodland pausing only to offer a brief glimpse of her white tail. The mix of weathers following Saturdays ice storm has left the ground underfoot somewhat wet, muddy and slippery but the deer was much more sure footed than I was as she headed in the direction of the Church across the fields. Yesterday started well until a Crow decided to drop in, literally a flying visit, down the chimney and into the living room, fortunately apart from the shock for Elizabeth, there was little damage other than some Christmas decorations that were dislodged and a few cards sent tumbling. Recovering her presence of  mind quickly Elizabeth opened a window and the Crow was ushered out back to where it belongs. But the day recovered and soon we were preparing ourselv...

Married now to a seasoned am dram thespian, I was nervous beforehand but, Elizabeth had to admit that she was impressed. Like the Beatles in Hamburg the CofE can sure ' Mak Show '. The service of Licensing and Installation at Snods Edge on Sunday, whilst not Rock and Roll, combined high drama, a great sermon, a lot of emotion, excellent singing, appropriate symbolism and a power cut. Of course being at the edge of wind, weather, ice storms and snow, people were prepared and the service ended with light generated by torches, although the kids were alright because they were the first to light the Bishop's path with their 'phones. The bunfight by candlelight was so cosy and warm and the conversation flowed so much that a united cry of disappointment rose as a single voice when the lights flickered back into life. So here I am on Tuesday of week one of a new, post retirement job. All my secular jobs began with a meeting. The Church does things differently, ce...

For many people a sacred space is a place, a house maybe or an Art Gallery or a Church where they have a sense of homecoming a place that speaks to their soul and makes them feel complete. ' A sacred space focuses attention on the forms, objects, and actions in it and reveals their religious meaning. Symbols within the space can provide a means of access between the human world and divine realities'. We happen upon sacred spaces, on occasion we stumble across them accidentally, a favourite pub, a restaurant, a beach, a forest glade. But we can also go in search of sacred spaces. I recall visiting the Ypres Salient for the first time. Tyne Cot Cemetery where so many of those brave men who fell during the First World War were laid to rest. I recall that during my visit a group of school children arrived in a  school bus, they tumbled from the bus in high spirits, laughing and  joking, but then as their teachers organised them into line they began their pilgrimage to l...

Birth is a wonderful experience. I don't recall my own as Freud might have observed I was probably to traumatised. Sadly I missed the Births of my first three children. The first I was ordered out of the Hospital by the Mid-wife, it was like that in Yorkshire in 1971. The second I was busy looking after the first child. The third I was busy looking after the first two children. But the fourth, well by the fourth, new house, new baby as the old wives tell it, we lived in Newcastle and we had a network of support, so the girls were dispatched to friends and I was in the hospital and he was born. There was much laughter, encouragement and rejoicing and his mother observed, 'if it was always like that I could manage one a year'. I can only imagine the Birth in Bethlehem. Joseph defending Mary's honour. Seeking a place to stay. Worried about the imminent Birth. In my new house there is at the back of what we call the Garage a stable, there is a room above ...

I failed my GCE English Examination four times. This repeated failure to dot my i's and cross my t's began to cause me a problem because the selection board for the Church of England's ministry required five GCE passes including English. I signed up and paid for my fifth attempt, returning to my Alma Mater despite the Headmaster's last words to me, 'Smith, it would benefit neither you nor the school for you to remain here a day longer than necessary'. I had only recently read and enjoyed A J Cronin's novel The Keys of the Kingdom. As it was fresh in my mind faced with the requirement to write an essay as part of the examination, I resorted to creative writing. I wrote an essay in which I, tactfully of course, pointed out to the examiner that my whole future career as a Priest and a Missionary was entirely dependent on passing the examination in hand! When the result was published, 46%!, I breathed a sigh of relief, only 1% wasted effort and I was ...

A Liturgy for a Canny Lad William Joseph Smith 19 th July 1980 – 3 rd December 2018 William died as graciously and bravely as he lived. We will miss his presence enriching our lives with wisdom, humour and grace. The souls of the beautiful are in God’s hands. Their dying looks like disaster. Their leaving like annihilation. But they are at peace. Amen. Here we are back in this beautiful place less than a year later to say farewell to my son, who was also brother, brother in law, uncle, nephew, cousin, friend, and partner. A year ago William carried his mother’s casket to her resting place and now he is to lie next to her enfolded in her love and sharing her peace. As his friend expressed it he was ‘the best wing man anyone could have’. And as other friend’s tributes suggest, his humour, commitment and loyalty were celebrated: one comment summed him up: ‘ A modest, kind person, with a very cheeky glint in his eye’. William enjoyed l...