Haircut, Football and Church

 

I sauntered up the road this morning after waiting for the Royal Mail van delivering my parcel.  He raced by which meant he did not have it, so out I went.  I headed for the barbers shop and wondered why no one was waiting outside.  Other barbers had queues of several people huddled from the chilly wind.  The reason, this was a shop big enough to seat several inside.  Not that social distancing was too perfect here.  Eventually a young lady sheared my gray locks and charged me £9:50 plus tip, for the pleasure.  It was a weight off my mind, indeed the head no longer feels like I am wearing a hat!

 

My saunter afterwards took me across the park.  The cold air contrasted with the bright sunshine, except when clouds decided to appear and spoil it!  And while the crossing is a short one it is good to walk among trees and grass with an occasional bird in the air around you.  

As I opened the door I was suprised to find that Chris the postman had already been, he usually arrives around 12:30.  I was also surprised to find a red ticket telling me he had my parcel!  Bah!  I sat at the window watching the park for a while, drinking tea and eating chocolate buttons, my diet has gone haywire again, watching to see if I could catch Chris as he returned across the park from his final drop. I never saw him.  Either he finished very early or is still with one of his women across the park.  So my packet will not be delivered until Thursday now!  Bah!  I used to wander to the sorting office to collect them but that is too far to walk at the moment.

 

 

As Chris had not appeared and as the bag of chocolate buttons appeared near the end I took it unto myself to get out and cross the park once again.  The sun had returned, people were enjoying the air and I just had to get my stiff knees out there.

I crossed slowly and at the Congregational Church decided to venture into the graveyard, where I have often been before, and found myself taking pictures of the names on the stones once again.  In the past I have looked up the names where I can and found some interesting (to me) stories of people who lie there.  I hope to investigate some later.  The wildlife is found here but is very scared of movement. Today only a wood pigeon or two were faffing around.  

I hobbled back home, slouched for a while, ate chicken from Sainsburys, and later attempted to watch Dunfermline playing Dundee.  This (very poor) game began at 6 pm, but I also had to watch the Curate getting made a Vicar on Facebook at 7:30 along at St Johns.  While Covid rages churches are adapting to social media!  This involved digging out the aged laptop, setting it up early, with much swearing and faffing around, before it was usable.  Then, settled in my bed, I also had to call a friend (my second family) on her 80th birthday while watching the football and preparing the other laptop for the church event.

This was all very confusing.

Eventually a very tired me got it all done, very badly, saw the poor game, spoke, or rather listened, to my friend, watched Vicar Colin in his robes, wondered about much of this event, especially the submitting to the Queen bit, and was glad he was at last, after 8 and a half long years of trying, now at last a vicar, and that over 5 churches!

Good Lord!

 

 

Victorian Door

Sadly as I passed the other morning the sun was shining on the other side of the street.  This is unfortunate as I would rather this door stood out a bit brighter than it does.  It belongs to what was once the vicarage, and Victorian vicars were very important indeed.  Powerful in the world around them their houses reflected their importance.  To obtain such a 'living' was something to be sought, although whether they cared  about God or not is debatable.  Anthony Trollope spoofed the Anglian church of the mid century in his book 'The Warden.'  It was so good even I read it!  Today things are somewhat different. large vicarages, rectories and deaneries have now been sold off, turned into flats, demolished or like this one put to a variety of uses.  Here we find offices and living accommodation together I believe,  and I do know a lass born here when dad was vicar, and that must have been around the time of the second world war.  How times change.

                                   

like so many others the vicar would merely cross the road to his church and begin his work, although he ought to have been working before this I say!  His church has stood on this site since the 12th century, possibly following on from a Saxon construction and even a Roman cemetery.  The town was a mere fifteen miles from the Roman garrison in Colchester, a days march and this may well have been a regular stopping point.  Certainly a small hamlet of some sort was erected here.  Lots of bits have been found from that time.

As the vicar crossed the path to St Michaels church he would possibly note this niche on the back of the church.

In times past as pilgrims made their way across to various shrines, there was St Edmunds in Bury St Edmunds, and another at Walshingham in Norfolk, they would make use of such niches where some form of blessing could be found.  Sadly I cannot remember all the details and I have no info to hand.  I could spend time on Google but my chips are beginning to burn so I will let you ponder on the blessing received b y the neds empty beer bottle and KFC bag instead.  

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Remembrance

I attended the Remembrance ceremony at the local memorial this afternoon and was somewhat surprised by the turn out. I expected a few dozen and possibly a thousand or two were there. As expected the local dignitaries, mayor, leading men, armed forces representatives and British Legion personnel attended, prayers were said, and wreaths laid.  A march to the church followed and we all went home. A few individual servicemen were there and I wondered what they thought of such memorials?  After all one day they might appear on them?  Perfect respect was made by the people, and as I glanced at the ages of civilian men wearing medals from recent actions I wondered how many were remembering comrades who have died and remain real to them today.  The vicar gave a few words, and I found it somewhat grating when he talked of the men fighting for 'righteousness,' that may well have been for some but not for all. There appears to be an unwillingness to talk honestly at such services, platitudes appear to be the thing to do.  Behind him are the names of around 200 men who fell in the Great War he could at least have mentioned one or two by name.  False religion does not convey truth to the people and I was disappointed with this.


Remembrance like this began with the loss of 750,000 lives during the Great War, around 300,000 still missing after all these years. Humans require a place to mourn their dead and the Cenotaph in London and the Stone of Remembrance in Edinburgh became places for mourning, both private and official.  Within ten years memorials were to be found throughout the UK and well attended each Armistice Day. No 'jingoism' is found here, and today many remember enemies as well as friends during such meetings. Whether those who fought the 'taliban' feel this way is open to debate, but that will come in time. Predominately we mourn or commemorate our own but all war dead, worldwide, can be remembered at times like these. War will always occur, and peace is not possible for humanity but we can do our best to avoid war and if not we can at least remember those who fall.


Those who fell are often known to have sacrificed themselves for others.  The pilots who kept an aircraft in the air why the crew bail out, the few who hold to the last man a position to allow their comrades to withdraw, the small escort sloop which turns towards an enemy battleship to protect a convoy are said to have  'laid down their life for their friends.' Such self sacrifice is not uncommon in war, and not always from those we would expect to be 'hero's.'  Most are just men, young men at that, who respond to a situation and give themselves for others.  No wonder we remember such men, even if they receive no official reward. What sort of man lays down his life for another?  Duty, comradeship, are at least to reasons and I suspect those who act this way do not do so because they have planned such an end.  Jesus at least knew his end when he offered his life for his friends.  Duty and pure love made him lay down his life for us all, and we were, and still are some of us, all enemies of him, yet he gave himself anyway.  This thought always comes to me at such remembrances.  It is easy to die for comrades some would say but it is another thing altogether to love your enemies and give yourself for them.  That is worth remembering.

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