Mooning...

 I really consider it's time they moved the moon over a bit.  Here is me, late at night, squeezing through the wee window in the kitchen, attempting to take a photograph of the 'Harvest Moon,' while knocking assorted items, 'Fairy Liquid' bottles, pans, cups and a fork or two into the sink.  All the time attempting to remain quiet so as not to disturb the neighbours.  

Considering the brute is always positioned in the wrong place, tonight I hoped to catch it alongside Jupiter, but Jupiter had moved too far away, and the edge of the window frame kept coming into focus. I wonder how others get such good shots?  I suppose they have gardens, and sheds they can stand on.  Or windows that are not obscured by the tree line that appears so worthy during the sunny days but a nuisance when seeking planets or moons.  

I certainly will not get a shot tonight, I am about to rush of slowly and attend the SPAM meeting at the club.  Here, the intelligentsia (no women) of the church meet to discuss items of great moment.  As the football that matters, at 6 pm and 8 pm, does not begin until tomorrow, I can take a night off from straining my eyes and enter the half light of the club and meet the bright sparks of the congregation.

London's Most Splendid Churches

Gormless Shopper...

This miserable repast is what counts for lunch today.  There have been many mistakes made in recent days, the major one being daft enough to stand on the weighing machine early in the morning, screaming "It's broken, I need a new one!" and discovering it was not broken after all.  The lack of exercise is taking it's toll.

Therefore, action was instigated, less fattening stuff eaten, fruit much used, and no difference recorded.  There are other problems however, as this eating regime does not supply sufficient nutrition to the brain and therefore results in strange effects.  

Here is an example of this.  Today, as the sun was waning at lunchtime, I crossed the park seeking exercise and whisky.  Our curate has at last found a church (five actually, all under him!) to accept him as Vicar, and we are all pleased about this.  Crossing the park, avoiding others, I made my way to Tesco and acquired a special whisky and a bottle of sherry.  I thought if he is a Vicar soon he will need to have a bottle on the table so he can offer this to those who do not drink, charity and thrift you see, all in one.  The queue was long at each checkout, so I headed to the self-service machines, which we love!  Now whisky in boxes (even if on offer as here) means you collect an empty box, thus detering thieves and making you wait while someone gets a box with a real bottle inside for you.  I got to the machine, it spat at me, I think I must have used this one before, and began the long operation of filling a bag.  First I gave the young chap the box to fill, then put the sherry through the machine and into the bag along with all the other stuff.  When he returned I thanked him, added the whisky and pressed 'Pay.'  Naturally it all went wrong.  Eventually, with a young lassies help, I paid, left and headed out.  As I left the shop the magic alarm bells rang for theft as I wandered through the door!  I carried on, all things being well and nobody responded.  Glad my fight with the self-service machine over I headed home for what you see was a substantial lunch.  

It was later that I realised a problem.  Around the sherry bottle was a large tag!  It appears that being concerned with the whisky, being malnourished, and being gormless, all at the same time, I had not noticed the electronic tag on the bottle, one which a checkout girl would have removed.  That explained the alarm bells when I left!  

What an idiot!

Back home I tried to undo the tag, this is not possible, and after several poor attempts I decided to leave it, drink the blasted stuff myself and get the man a bottle via the checkout later.  

Anyone for nutritious sherry....?        

Football, Church Women and Holidays

Life has been much enhanced lately, yes Friday night football is back, and today the Heart of Midlothian are slugging it out with Aberdeen as we speak.  I will watch the delayed broadcast on BBC Alba at 6pm.  What a great use of a TV station!  No more Friday evenings wondering what to do, no more Friday evenings staring out the window watching people without TV football wandering about bereft.  At last life has returned to some normality.  
I have lost BTSport however, I could obtain it via Plusnet but this will cost £10 a month, and that is not on, I went there to save cash, anyway BT have BTSport only for this season then it moves to SKY.  This season I may take a 10 month ticket with Now TV to enable me to see Scots football on Sky, along with English rubbish.  I might be able to afford that.  
Of course after Brexit all these English players will be returned home, Trump fashion.  Then what will happen to English football?  A collapse at the top level is on the cards and Boris and his strange backers will line their pockets and run I expect.

 
At church this morning I noticed the three 'old' women gathered together again offering a view of a female 'Last of the summer wine.'  I began to imagine the kind of adventures they would become responsible for.  

'The Guild & the Missing Communion Wine.'  
Nobody knows what happened to the Holy bottles of QV Sherry procured from the Co-op but it was noticeable at the 'Bring and Share' Sunday they girls would not allow the children to drink the raspberry cordial on their table.  It remains unknown as to whether this played any part in their dancing on said table later in the day.  
The curate was later found in the vestry, tied up with string and with an offering bag over his head. 

Sometimes I laugh when folks talk abut little old ladies.  The impression given is of weak and not too bright women.  I remember being in a room full of ex-missionary women, their husbands, those who had one, had all died long before, and feeling more unsafe than when I was in some football grounds.  These women had had to succeed in difficult and often dangerous places, the Belgian Congo was one where many missionaries died, and in inhospitable habitations far from help.  These were not women to men with!

These summer days make me wake early each morning, usually so early that by 10 am I am back in bed!  I am surrounded by people telling me that they are off to Spain, Iceland, Majorca or some far off land while I mention my trip to Chelmsford to by sausages.  This does not seem right to me in some way.  
I keep asking for a pretty young lass who speaks French to drive me around the battlefields in France and Flanders but have so far met with little in the way of encouraging responses.  One or two have been specifically unresponsive I must say!  There again I have little desire to go where others go.  Spain for the sun, especially for those with kids sounds good but would be boring for me.  Iceland might be interesting but expensive and would mean eating a lot of fish!  For Majorca, sitting reading books sounds good but why go there.  If I go somewhere, if the knees let me, I would wish to see something!  Why g abroad to lie about all day?  What a waste.  The old battlefields would be interesting, foreign nations with a history far from tourists might also satisfy, but lounging about amongst lager louts can be done cheaper at home.  Not for me thanks.

 
 

Day Trip to the 'Grove.'

The train arrived around about noon at Liverpool Street.  A peaceful journey for a Saturday, one with no rail engineering on our line to hinder us, somewhat unusual at the weekends.  The sun shone, the hottest day of the year they say.

Grabbing a couple of quick shots of the crowds milling around the station and remembering the grime covered building of the not too distant past I grabbed the 'Oyster' card I had been given and headed for the 'Tube.'

  
The London Underground, the smell of er the Tube, the rush of air as trains arrive or leave, the squeal of wheels,the panic to board before the doors close, always someone just too late!  No-one notices.  The sudden increase in speed as the train rushes from one station to another, the jerk as the connection fails, bodies swinging from side to side, not so much swinging during commuter rush hour obviously.  The lack of air, yesterday the oppressive heat, voices talking in unknown languages, women, usually Spanish, talking very loudly, all creating an atmosphere difficult to replicate.

 
Notting Hill Gate, nothing like the film which somehow managed to avoid any black people appearing, but does on Saturdays gather together the tourists and the show-offs, dressed to kill, to the market.

Being lunchtime the pubs and trendy overpriced restaurants were full, I hesitated to think what price a pint would be around here, and struggled through the mass of tourists desperate to see the sights so long read about in tourist guides and seen on foreign TV shows.  My cynical years tell me such sights are not what are presented by well paid er, presenters, but still we go and they come and get in the locals way, hindering traffic and hopefully spending their money as if it meant nothing to them.  
I spent nothing.

As you know the top end of Portobello Road contains a row of little houses like these.  One is available for you at a mere £3 million ono.  I liked the plants growing around the house here offering a little protection from the tourists although many were photographing the houses and fantasising their next 'never to happen' move.     

George lived a few doors down from this house at one time.  He did get around, Empire serving in Burma was it? Paris, the Outer Hebrides, and this house which I suspect he rented as folks did then.  I wonder if people knock on the door and request a peek around?  I suspect I know what the answer would be...

This sign has intrigued me for years, only now do I realise it is carved into the wall which explains its long life.  I had a quick look for info but so far have discovered nothing re the man, the 1851 census has not show anything so I will have to look further.  In 1851 I suspect this road was still a muddy path to the farm at the far end, certainly pigs were being kept in Westbourne Grove at this time by those living in hovels, not buildings such as this.

Not much has changed down Portobello since I was here last  The 'Pink Fairy' selling Afghan coats in 1970 and silver jewellery in the 80s has long since departed.  Most shops look the same but owners have gone and new ones have come, prices remain devious.  'Alice's' once sold ex-army dress uniform to trendy types in the 60's yet has survived the slings and arrows of outrageous governments and remains the same colour as before.  The expressions on view have not changed either.

 
This end of the road has always been where the expensive stalls are found.  It is the far end where folks such as I looked for bargains.  In between came the fruit stalls with their crooked owners, often slappers I found, ready to overcharge for spoilt fruits.  At the far end we could see the stallholders who know their business scouting for bargains to take back to the top end, once burnished up they would offer a decent profit.  I looked for things I needed, but often it was possible to find things cheap that you cannot live without, even if you don't need them.  Too far for my knees today so we remained at the top end among the fancy people.  The lead soldiers on display were once popular with the middle classes children, others could not afford them.  Today these would be banned as dangerous for kids.  I shoved through the crowd to get a picture as a voice spoke at the far side "No, not Russian madam, 'Prussian' you see he has a Picklehaube helmet."  I did not hang around to hear the fantasy price he was going to ask for.

  
'Finch's' on the corner, a pub I once spent time in around 1971.  The place usually had a fiddler, a box player, sax or trumpeter or whatever jamming in the corner.   A hazy smell would often appear and the barman was desperate to clear it out before the 'fuzz' crashed in killing his profits.  We arrived one night when A large Black African was arguing with a small Asian man, both known to us.  We gently interfered and ended the slagging match before the wee man got dealt with. "I say what I think," said the Asian, "I don't care what he says, I say what I think."  His face was a mass of bruises, a cut here and there, a plaster, a bruise.  I heard myself mutter "Sometimes tact is required."  It was a great wee place then in the far off days of yore.  A bit ordinary now I suspect.  

That year I began as a volunteer shifting folks from one flat to another.  The charity owned several of these buildings, I doubt they do so now, and the people we moved usually went from the 5th floor in one building to the 3rd floor in another, or vice-versa.  I remember the ease in which we carted large objects up and down stairs then!  I also stayed for a while in the basement, sorry 'garden flat, of the last house in the picture.  I suspect it would cost £500,000 today.  There again the previous tenant to us had painted the front room black and left a skeleton image hanging behind the door.  Hmmm I wonder what went on there...  Opposite on the shop wall someone had scrawled 'Get high on dynamite!'  Graffiti that remained there for many years.

As London expanded in the second half of the 19th century these buildings appeared and Westbourne Grove was a shopping centre of high repute.   These 'Upstairs, Downstairs' houses were popular but they did not go much further north at the time.  The wealthy stopped about here and further north the lower classes were moved in.  Until recent gentrification it remained that way.  An entire building might be available for sale but usually these flats go from between £500,000 to double that and above.  It appears however the market has reached a point where it can no longer sustain such prices.  I will wait until it falls considerably.

  
By the 1880'sthe area was at its height, the  streets flowed with well dressed women annoying badly paid shop girls everywhere while trawling from one shop to another on their way to leaving their 'carte de visite' at the home of someone of importance.  A bit more elegant than a text I think.  The shops today I note are no less expensive and 'exclusive.'  The prices are made to make you think you have made it when you pay over the top for run of the mill clobber.  People of course fall for this, increase the price and people think it of a higher standard, life is often deceitful.

Now if you have followed so far you, like me, need a break!  Here it is.

Now, back to work...

These shops have stood here for well over a  hundred and odd years.  While the Post Office is now something that I could not understand and the shop that once sold art nouveau lamps has gone there are many places where the silly girl can look her best and pay through the nose for it.  The lamp shop had many exquisite young ladies, dressed, or usually undressed, in Edwardian or 1920's style.  These usually were lamps of some sort but for the girls sake it is nice to know it is cooler in the shade.

I eventually reached my destination, to the great pleasure of my knees.  I spent many years in this church building.  Eventful years for the most part with several difficulties.  God was there and much happened.  In time all that ended and a new thing happened, many moved on and God continues his work in a new way here.  The building was renovated giving a huge collection of rooms, large and very small.  The ministers wife's training as an architect helped with the design.  Tremendous use of rooms and the two showers installed.  On Mondays street people get a tea and biscuit and a shower, for many it is the only one they will get.  Advice is offered if anyone can give it and a chance to just meet people of the street.  On Saturday it was the monthly 'Lobby Lunch' something they have done for many years.  Street people, and others, come to tea and sandwiches, to chat and lonely folks from the area drop in, London as you will know is a very lonely city. 
The church spaces are also used for art exhibitions and Chris, the minister, had some of his work on show and that was the purpose of my visit.  The one time staircase turrets were put to good use making spaces to show pictures or spend time alone in prayer.  There were several of these and other cubby holes around the building as well as office spaces and larger halls, it had been very well designed and a huge development considering what the place had been like before.  At least now there was no more need to personally paint doors, walls, or any other running repair.  How many doors I painted in past times.  On the top you can just make out the pricey flats that have been built in to pay for it all.  Great views from up there.
Only two of the girls working the kitchen, that's what women were made for surely?  Only two of them I knew, Rosie spoke with all the keenness of someone wishing she was elsewhere and Rosemary did not recognise me.  l did not think it worthwhile explaining as it had been 23 years since I was there, few remember.   

Going around the exhibition and wandering up stairs and through doors I forgot to take pictures of the art on show.  It is not a massive show but when he tells you how he took the pics it takes time!  His eye is better than mine and he sees pictures everywhere.  This pic is taken after 'Lobby Lunch' was cleared up and the last guest was chatting about some problem.  It shows the space in this first hall, vestibule I suppose, and as I sat chewing on the last piece of cake they cleared away the 8 tables and this man and the other regulars sorted things out.  In spite of the vast wealth in the area there are normal people around also.  rich or poor they all have similar problems and the 'up and outs' need help as much as the 'Down and outs.'  This church is willing to cover both in a manner Jesus wishes them to.

Here is the boss admiring his work through the window into one of the tower spaces.  At the rear is one of his offerings.  At night the picture shows up clearly to the passer-by but the reflection spoiled the show today somewhat.  It will run until the end of June and the church is always open these days unlike in the past.  One complaint was the doors were always shut but when open these grumblers did not enter, now it is open daily but do they enter? 

Chris and I then went 'just around the corner' about a ten mile hike for my knees, to a cafe where we sipped coffee while he ate apple strudel.  My diet forbade this, and all the other delicacies spread along the counter which my greed longed for.  It is many years since we had met in the real world and it was good to hear how satisfied he now is with the church building, the 'programme' if that is an acceptable word, and the staff, all part time, who help run the place.  The congregation is small as is the case in such churches, while around 50 attend on a morning over a three years period that 50 will vary with time and over a hundred may have been regulars.  London life brings people in and chucks them out at a great rate.  He needs to bring in some of the media types from round about.  They of course hate Christianity because it exposes their sin, not to public scrutiny but to themselves and this they fear greatly.  Don't we all hate knowing what we are?
It was good to know he is where he ought to be and the church is facing the right direction.  I was glad he is content with his lot, especially as he has so many troubles each day, often new ones to surprise him, and Jesus takes him through them.  His success revealed clearly my failure.
One thing was clear this is not the 'Grove' I remember.  Not just because of the building work but because the people have changed, most were not born when I was last here, and the outlook is while similar to the past very different also.  God reaches out to what is there now, not what was there then.

 
It was time to shake off the cafe and head for the 'tube' again.  Once more I saw sights I had forgotten while pushing through chattering tourists oblivious to others sharing the planet with them.  I avoided the young thing tempting me with T-shirts claiming 'I have been to Portobello Road' and ignoring her and avoiding death on the road by using the zebra crossing and almost getting killed as the driver could not see past the tourists crowding the roadway I headed home.

This row of shops was at one time shrouded in the fragrance, if that is the right word, of the 'joss sticks' that one of the Hippy shops burnt daily.  Looking at what is there now I wish the Hippies were back again.  "Peace!"  Anyway I must push through this crowd and make my way down all those steps to catch the next train.

 Blast, Missed!

This will do.  I just have to keep awake and avoid ending up at Hainault, wherever that is.

I slunk around the station, usually I jump on the first train and head for Chelmsford and change there.  If anything happens and a delay occurs I can change to the bus and get home easily enough.  Today I just could not be bothered and instead searched W.H.Smiths for a cold drink.  Eventually I found a tin of something cold, I was too tired to care to read what it was called and it was one of the few actually cold drinks in the fridge, and with only 'self-service' in the shop, the staff to lazy to take the cash, I paid £1:89 for whatever it was.
As I left the shop the Somali (?) security guard asked which team I was supporting in the evening game.  Neither I said and wished I had expressed my real thoughts that it would be a poor game with few goals and a waste of time.  However I said little.  He asked what team I supported, I explained and he looked blankly at me.  "Scottish team," I explained.  "Oh," said he, "Scottish."  He let the word roll around his head as I moved off while he tried to work out what "Scottish" was.  England does not know Scotland, London knows it even less.

 
I greedily guzzled the cold drink, it had claimed 'energy' on the tin but I saw little of that, and slouched off up the long platform to the front end of the train, one of the newer replacement ones for the old out of days trains.  At this time of night I considered it could not be busy and I was right.  However each one who boarded ensured they bumped into me until I moved to a safer seat.  

The journey takes an hour mostly dropping people off as opposed to gathering them on.  The sun shone through the window, the coach was quiet, four young kids got on and noisily off soon afterwards, they had the difficulty of explaining to one of their number he could not get on the train where he intended as the railway did not go there.  
I was not convinced he was joking.  
Home by 8 in time for some of the football and a plate of corned beef and chips.  At this point the sight of the cafe specialities lined along the counter returned and caused me a deep moment of jealousy.  That cafe did not exist while I lived there, hopefully he will move out here one day.
The dinner was woeful, the football so woeful I played with the pictures instead.  My knees were woeful and wished me to know this, my tiredness was woeful and as I remembered clambering up 5 flights of stairs carrying furniture all those years ago I wondered if it was all a dream?  
Soon I was dreaming and even sooner it was 5:15 am and I was awake again....

  

Easter 2019

The Easter eggs have for the most part gone the way of all chocolate.  The unbelieving public have eaten themselves sick, travelled to family elsewhere, visited the zoo, museums, old houses, parks and gardens, or sat by the sea while turning lobster red.  
The faithful gathered en masse (but not en masse in evangelical circles) to give thanks and worship and distribute eggs.... at least I gave away a few Cadbury's cream eggs to the little hooligans, none of whom refused.  Neither did the women when offered bar one who is banned from eating them by the doctor.  I will have that one later.
Easter was not observed after Jesus died, it does appear to have been around in some places by the end of the first century as I read somewhere John mentions this as to be observed at the Jewish passover.  It was certainly around by the mid second century.
Christians ought to celebrate this daily, not annually.
I note the government has taken time of from Brexit to support Jeremy Hunt's attempt at being Prime minister to protect Christians worldwide.  Jeremy, who as health secretary attempted to privatise the NHS by the back door, has been touring the world recently talking to the main world leaders and has mentioned such problems as Christians suffering persecution with many of them, not the Chinese or Indians as far as I can see however.  I wonder why?  
With the news of over 200 people Christians and tourists being killed in Sri Lanka by suicide bombers Theresa May has spoken of her feelings on the issue.  It is clear the Conservatives are attempting to get back the church vote they have lost over the years.  Quite how they will do this while Brexit is trundling along and they have given us austerity leading to an ever increasing use of Food banks throughout the land is not clear.  It would be terrible if some preacher was to read the Book of Amos to Theresa while she is in church being photographed by the media.  She might get a shock.
Easter is over, although it is not over, Christ is risen and is moving in his world, speak to him tonight, he might surprise you...

Fire!

I found it quite strangely hurtful to watch Notre Dame burn yesterday.  Strange as I have never been there but I suppose it was because of the long history of the building and the billion euro's it will cost to repair.  All that history lost in a few moments.
Already both the men renovating the building and a variety of Muslim groups have been unofficially blamed for starting the fire, the source of the blame having no evidence for any blame at any time naturally.  Far too early for anyone to know the reason for the fire although firemen will have quickly worked out where it began and possibly how.  We await the first evidence led report.  This however will not stop alt-right groups blaming Islamic types and if evidence shows otherwise cries of 'whitewash' will follow.
The loss of such buildings brings a variety of reactions, not least from the media who love such disasters.  Those 24 hour rolling news station have much to talk about, and repeat endlessly, all day and all night while waxing lyrical about the findings thereof.  There has been sentimental guff flowing from many sides, much desire to see the 'Crown of Thorns' made safe alongside other treasures from the museum.  Whether the thorns are indeed genuine I know not, if they are I would burn them before people worship them rather than Jesus.  One report emphasised the image of the golden cross above the altar gleaming in the mirk as the firemen posed at the door.  This was given heroic status while at the same time ignoring the real meaning of the cross, that would not sell to the public in the same manner.  
I like and dislike such buildings.  As interesting places to visit they are great, as history they tell us a great deal, especially when you follow the timeline down the years.  However rarely are such places real churches!  Ecclesiastical types who end up running these large buildings often have less interest in God than in ecclesiastical position.  Bishops can indeed know their God but too many are so far from them they ought to be deposed.  Such buildings are more heritage than Christian and a glance at the material sold in the church bookstall usually reveals where the church leaders stand. 
I have been round Westminster Abbey, a marvellous building with many national hero's and kings buried therein but is it a church or a national institution?  Durham Cathedral, where I had a short visit in the 90's is a tremendous sight, the columns just reach up into the heights and give a strange impression when you stare up at them.  If only I had a camera then?  Durham also contains the tomb of Bede the historian and Cuthbert the monk.  Both are worth visiting but are they true churches?  I doubt it.  In the 80's the new Bishop of Durham made clear he did not believe in most biblical doctrines, the Virgin Birth was one given much publicity at the time, yet he was appointed because of his academic talents.  This tells us much.     

Like many Abbey's, cathedrals and churches in the UK this one reaches back probably to a Gaulish pagan site which over the years has had a small church erected upon it, as here a larger then even larger building is erected until in the 1100's this great Cathedral was begun.  This would be dedicated no doubt to the glory of God but in truth such buildings are reflections of power, the Norman's rebuilt wooden Saxon churches in stone for this reason and vast stone cathedrals arose to impress upon the natives that they were the boss.  Most natives would of course be impressed yet their lives would change little, sow, reap and suffer was always their lot.  
As you know during 1185 Heraclius of Jerusalem called for the third crusade from the cathedral, and in 1481 Henry VI of England was crowned King of France here.  Happier news in 1537 James V. King of Scots married Madeline of France while in 1558 Mary, Queen of Scots married the Dauphin, that turned out well.  In 1804 Napoleon had himself crowned emperor by Pope Pius VII though I believe he took the crown and laid it upon his own head.  1831 the Victor Hugo novel about the hunchback was published creating a great interest in the building and leading to restoration work.  This would have included the bells had he stopped swinging on them. 
The vast number of people, clerics, congregation or workers who have passed through the building always impress me.  Some came for God, some obediently, many in desperation, many in anger.  The building has been the target of reformers and extremists with bombs, it has fans worldwide and cynics there also.  The poorest in France will wonder at the millions to be spent on a building while they continue to live as they do.  This building has seen many such societal differences!

History in Film

The year is 1902and this short film taken outside St James Church, Hull, is full of interest.
The year 1902 saw the end of the Second Boer War and the British Army adopt Khaki Serge instead of Red Coats, Vladimir Lenin was spending a year at the British Museum reading room, a man named Harry Jackson was convicted this year on fingerprint evidence, the first man to be caught this way.  During that year the Royal Navy introduced its first submarine HMS 'Holland,' a device some thought ungentlemanly,  then too Arthur Balfour became Prime Minister for a short while, his education act enabled local councils to build and run schools while Elgar's 'Land of Hope and Glory' had its pompous premier.  That year saw Hibernian win the Scottish Cup and failed to win it again for 114 years, and the Ibrox disaster occurred when wooden planking gave way and 25 were killed falling through the gap with over 500 injured.  A new King was crowned at much expence, Edward VII became monarch after many years of waiting but I suspect he did not give up his many other women just because of the job.  The citizens of Hull would have flown flags and banners, decorated the buildings and had a party to celebrate this great event, and drink a great deal I expect. 
This appears to be a well populated church with those from all classes in attendance.  In 1902 people dressed in their best for church and it is clear many here have the funds to dress well.  Many 'top hats' sit on heads, only the higher classes wore these while the middle class managers wore bowlers or similar.  Note how long it took all those to dress in the morning!  Service at 10 or 11 must have meant getting up at least three hours beforehand for the women.  Just think of the fuss in the morning as they struggled to get ready.  
Vast numbers of children tumble out, all as obedient as kids today I note, each one desperate to be in front of the camera.  Again it appears they are very middle class but behave as all young ones do.  I wonder how many were to read Kipling's 'Just So' stories that year or possibly E Nesbit's 'Five Children and It.' 
Almost all the men wear waistcoats with watch chain showing, some carry sticks, useful in rough areas, but all also wear those itchy 'Long Johns' and 'Granddad' vests as well as shirt, tie, jacket and overcoat!  How comfortable in the sunshine was that?  Most also had moustaches or beards, the 'Gillette Safety Razor' had only recently seen the patent application applied for and would not arrive for four more years.  Some say it was his success in supplying troops during the Great War that saw these razors become standard, most men in the picture would have used an open blade while shaving, hence the beards!  
Would these upright people have read Arnold Bennett's 'Anna of the Five Towns,' or Sherlock Holmes adventure 'The Hound of the Baskervilles?' 
The church was full but how many were there because of social convention?  How many were true believers?  Social pressure ensured full churches and the teaching, if good, affected the way society behaved.  The churches were less full after the Great War when faith was tested to the nth degree.
The church itself was demolished in the 1950's.
How interesting to look at people who no longer exist!  I wonder if they ever saw the film of themselves, what did they make of this new contraption that captured you on film moving about?  The young ones were all interested at the novelty, some old ones clearly disapproved of being filmed, was there a fascination with the wonderful new inventions that kept arriving in those days?  Did they see the future of the world as a glorious experience?  Could they imagine it all going wrong a few years later?    

The Blurb on YouTube is this:-

 

Gy Jones.

This is a congregation leaving St. James Church in Hull, England in 1902. A rare view right into the turn of the century (most of the films from this time are in extremely murky condition). Set at a natural speed with some added sound ambience to give it the feel of a looking through a time machine. The film is from the Mitchell and Kenyon collection.

 

 

Lazy day...

The dank mist hung around this morning worrying the birds as they sought breakfast.  I watched from the safety of my bed until breakfast for me dragged me sleepily into the kitchen where for once plenty was to be found.  
However tiredness would not leave and instead of going out to change the world, buy needful things and potter around I soon went back to bed which turned out to be the best idea.  Quite why I got up in the first place has puzzled me ever since.

I returned to enquiring re churches.  I had an email from the museum concerning a man who is researching churches of old.  This had me searching for books, most of which I could not find, and will force me to search the library, not very good, to see if any books there can help.  
Some churches go back to the days of the Saxons, the man requesting information has all info on that he says and I now have to look for the info that I canny find.  I keep finding things he probably knows, but will get again, and will have to dip into history for the growth of churches since the reformation.
This could take time...
Otherwise I have merely attended to the disappointing football results and will then return to bed where my mind lies...