shotleyfieldsforever

After a glorious April and a good start to May in comes June. Wet, Windy and Wearisome. But on June 22nd. The longest day plus one there is a great event planned at St Andrew's, the first parish church now in the care of The Churches Conservation Trust. We are calling it a Son et Lumiere. The very name itself is an act of faith. Plus we applied for a grant from the wind farm fund which was turned down because the building is 'inaccessible'. A slight erring from the facts of the matter. Yes it is across a bridge. Over a field and up a Hill. But inaccessible? No! Not at all. So far there have been two events this year, a walk up to the Church on Good Friday and a Dawn Vigil on Easter Sunday. Both events supported by over forty people, so 'inaccessible'? No! It will be great event. There will be music especially composed by a local musician, the Church band from the current parish church, there will be drama as people imagined from the past history of ...

The results are out and it is scary. It is very scary. It is very scary indeed. It is, I think, now beyond the skills of the average pundit to make any sense of what is happening to our politics or indeed to our national life. As was observed as we joined the queue for the Theatre last week, the British still queue patiently whereas of course no other nation does, especially the nations of Europe. The fact that we were queueing to see a play about a Greek Island, set in the second world war, simply added irony to the observation. Having pushed a wheelchair around a number of locations in Europe including ferry terminals, train stations and theatres over the years, I can say that, largely, it is the case that Europeans queue too and having been escorted to the front of a number of queues and indeed, in the Louvre, invited inside the rope barrier in order to get up close and personal with the Mona Lisa my general experience is that European queues are more polite. Indeed i...

Hares have been the theme of the week. Not that Hair is something that I rejoice in or miss, but we have wigs, not for me, I hasten to add but for the event we are planning at St Andrew's on Grey Mare Hill on June 22nd. My poem on Hares is coming along. On my last visit I saw two Hares in the woodland on the approach to the church. I immediately thought of R S Thomas' poem about stumbling across the still warm 'form' of a Hare (A form is a nest where a Hare will bear its young) and reading into it the idea of a God who is always going before you but whose image you become conscious of. Even though S/he has gone there is a sense of a presence. But my Poem is more narrative and tries to tell the tale of how the Hare has become almost a mythological figure But since moving to Snods Edge and Shotley Fields Hares have become familiar neighbours. Opening the bedroom curtains last week there were five Hares in the field opposite standing, running and yes ... boxi...

Walking is good for the soul. I walked with a group linked with the parish last week. Most of the group had known each other for years either as school friends or work colleagues so it was quite a privilege to be invited. Walking with a group allows conversations to flow sometimes in pairs or threes and there were quite a few conversations some of which I was up to speed and some of which I could understand with the help of a little guidance or a pointer or just a clue. It was at times a little 'Last of the Summer Wine' but all taken in good part and finishing with a very well kept pint of real ale. My friend Syd and I did a lot of walking together. A few years ago we retraced some of our walks it was an exercise in nostalgia and to remind me he sent me a Birthday card when I was 70 showing three old gadgies walking: One comments: 'It's windy today'. The reply: 'No it's Thursday'. The third response: '`So I am I, let's stop for a p...

The Church of the Holy Ghost, the Chiesa Anglicana, Genoa gathers a congregation, many of whom are from North Africa seeking refuge in Italy.  Christian men and women gathered to Celebrate their faith despite the hardness and risks of their lives! This Sunday we read about the raising of Dorcas from the dead. Dorcas would be a very welcome member of the craft group that meets in Snods Edge every Wednesday. When her friends gather round to mourn her death they are wearing the clothes she has woven for them. Parables are sign posts and the miracle of Dorcas' being raised from the dead by Peter points us toward the spread of the Gospel to the Gentiles. A Gospel that was gossipped along the trade routes from the Mediterranean to Europe. The 23rd Psalm which we read this week reminds us of the good shepherd, Jesus, who is also the lamb. This week I was  was asked by a son who had just lost his father how I have kept my faith despite the losse...

I guess I enjoy a game of football as much as the next person. But I am a watcher not a player. In fact I have occasionally commented that I am a Manchester United supporter like many are supporters of the Church. I never attend their matches but I am always pleased when they win. Over the years I have been encouraged/persuaded to watch a match in the pub, indeed on one occasion in Barcelona I was watching a Manchester United match on a small screen in the bar, whilst the large screen was showing Barcelona it wasn't until near the end of the game when United equalised and I cheered that I realised the whole pub had gone silent and my cheering suddenly became very audible and was followed by a gentle hum of Catalonian laughter at this strange Englishman. My support for Manchester United arose partly because I was, and still am, a Mancunian even though I am now part of the great Mancunian Diaspora but also and mainly because my Uncle was a Manchester United supporter. I ...

I finally turned the last page of my most recent book with a deep sense of sadness. The book was a reading of the Odyssey as seen through the eyes of a College Lecturer but seen through the lens of his relationship with his own Father. Odysseus and Telemachus. Separated when Telemachus was only recently born and then reunited when Odysseus was an older man and Telemachus himself fully grown. The Professor and his own father had issues but his father sat in on his class teaching The Odyssey commenting on Odysseus usually negatively. In the end the book closes with the note that sons have much to learn from their fathers who are always older and bring more experience to the relationship. I closed the book with such a strong sense of sadness because, as I thought of my own father I also thought about my Son. When my father died, his ashes were brought from Australia and as I read the words, my Son William lowered his ashes into the grave alongside my Mother and my Grandfath...