I spent ten years teaching English as a foreign language during the years when there was mass immigration into the North of England. To begin with we encouraged Asians to come. They were willing to do the jobs we were not prepared to do. It was mostly the men to start with and as they earned enough to buy homes they sent for their wives and children.
When the realization hit the indigenous populations that in some places they were being out numbered, racism took hold.
The children I taught were a pleasure to reach. They wanted to learn, were never rude or difficult. I talked to them about my religion. They told me about theirs. I went to theirs weddings. They came to my house for tea.
I took the girls swimming and taught them about sex with the permission of their parents. None of them were in any way militant to start with but as they faced abuse and often physical violence from racist thugs masquerading as political parties they became more self aware and assertive.
Anger breeds more anger. we could see it growing and could do nothing to stop it.
These children held British passports. Their parents were entitled to vote. Once, several teachers from the school stood outside the polling booth to give safe passage through a howling mob.
I was subjected to abuse both verbal and physical and once I was spat at..and called a Paki lover.
These Muslims were not militant then, it happened as result of the way they were treated. It had already started to happen when I left Rochdale in the eighties.
On my leaving day they made me a feast. Food was brought, songs were sung and dances danced. It was lovely. At the end the Imran came to say goodbye. He told me I was too good to be British. I wept then and now at what had caused those sentiments to be uttered.
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Sunday, 31 July 2011
Saturday, 30 July 2011
Step into my world.
Reading has always been a major pleasure for me. Its not just the acquiring of knowledge which is important, or the insight into other people's worlds..its being able to enter into a story, of moving through a plot with the author and of identifying with the characters...
Fiction is a wonderful way of telling the truth without revealing the actuality . So I tell a lot of stories... both when I preach and when I write. I console myself with the thought that if Jesus worked best with parables then its alright for me to as well.
Recently I 've discovered a new delight, the audio book. I suppose anyone brought up with Children's Hour in the 50's would find listening intently to a novel very easy and slip back into the delights of childhood.
I recently listened to a book read by one friend and written by another. This was a great treat . Two people I know well taking me on a journey into the unknown and yet familiar territory of post war Lancashire.
Making friends on Face book or Twitter with people I don't really know is now adding a new dimension to my reading . In the last week I have downloaded onto my iPad two very different books.
One by Maggi Dawn is about the growing of faith and is lovely to read and respond to.
Another is by the person on Twitter known as the Quiet Riot Girl.
It is compelling if very explicit sexually but its detail reveals more of the author than she may be aware of.
Finding and reading two very different books from two totally different people has been absorbing.
I have never met either of them and don't expect to but I do feel that I know them now and that is I suppose what all good books are for, to reveal yourself and to maybe encourage other people to step out of a their comfort zones and to experiment with other peoples views.
There are now so many ways of reading.....the printed paper page, the spoken book, and the E book, all easily accessible and all magic in the true sense of the word....leading us into a deeper knowledge of the world we live in and the people we are or may grow into. Thanks to all who contribute.
Fiction is a wonderful way of telling the truth without revealing the actuality . So I tell a lot of stories... both when I preach and when I write. I console myself with the thought that if Jesus worked best with parables then its alright for me to as well.
Recently I 've discovered a new delight, the audio book. I suppose anyone brought up with Children's Hour in the 50's would find listening intently to a novel very easy and slip back into the delights of childhood.
I recently listened to a book read by one friend and written by another. This was a great treat . Two people I know well taking me on a journey into the unknown and yet familiar territory of post war Lancashire.
Making friends on Face book or Twitter with people I don't really know is now adding a new dimension to my reading . In the last week I have downloaded onto my iPad two very different books.
One by Maggi Dawn is about the growing of faith and is lovely to read and respond to.
Another is by the person on Twitter known as the Quiet Riot Girl.
It is compelling if very explicit sexually but its detail reveals more of the author than she may be aware of.
Finding and reading two very different books from two totally different people has been absorbing.
I have never met either of them and don't expect to but I do feel that I know them now and that is I suppose what all good books are for, to reveal yourself and to maybe encourage other people to step out of a their comfort zones and to experiment with other peoples views.
There are now so many ways of reading.....the printed paper page, the spoken book, and the E book, all easily accessible and all magic in the true sense of the word....leading us into a deeper knowledge of the world we live in and the people we are or may grow into. Thanks to all who contribute.
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Prayer or gossip?
I do believe in the power of prayer...I also believe that prayer is two way and that as well as sending we should also be on receive. Hearing the voice of God for me can mostly only be done in quietness. I value my silent times enormously.
Its also true that where two or three are gathered in the name of Christ there He is in the midst of them. So several people praying at the same time for the same thing can be a power house of good.
I acknowledge all of that...so why do I have such a problem with prayer circles?
It goes back to my days as a worship leader I think...My vicar asked me to chair a midweek group who met once a week to pray together. I was delighted. It was something dear to my heart.
The problem was it was an established group and they had already decided on the best way to do it so after the opening prayer they sat and gave updates on the subject of previous prayers and then went on to add others that had cropped up during the week.
The period of discussion was at least half an hour...sometimes longer and after two or three weeks I realised that for many of them it was the highlight and the purpose of their attendance.
It had at some stage turned into a gossip shop.
Ooo she didn't did she?
Well I never...terrible situation.
Well they have to do something about that.
I always knew it wouldn't last
That man needs help.
The conversation flowed along well trodden lines every week.
They did pray but it was almost an after thought. I explained all this to the vicar who I suspect already knew most of it.
I am ashamed to say I didn't stay long with them....I found it too negative.
For me it had degenerated into a gossip shop and a way of finding out what was happening in the village.
I have similar problems with prayer cards. A colleague of mine sends out cards to all the churches every month. On them are the names and details of people who need our prayer. Twice I have found the names of people who have specifically asked me not to announce their names in church.
Once you have prayed publicly for someone you have announced that they are in trouble . I think you are duty bound to respect peoples need for anonymity if thats what they ask. .
We are trusted with all sorts of details of health upsets, marital problems, brushes with the law. This is a sacred trust between them and us and has to be respected at all times I think.
I will continue to pray but more often than not the names of the people involved will be between me and God.
Its also true that where two or three are gathered in the name of Christ there He is in the midst of them. So several people praying at the same time for the same thing can be a power house of good.
I acknowledge all of that...so why do I have such a problem with prayer circles?
It goes back to my days as a worship leader I think...My vicar asked me to chair a midweek group who met once a week to pray together. I was delighted. It was something dear to my heart.
The problem was it was an established group and they had already decided on the best way to do it so after the opening prayer they sat and gave updates on the subject of previous prayers and then went on to add others that had cropped up during the week.
The period of discussion was at least half an hour...sometimes longer and after two or three weeks I realised that for many of them it was the highlight and the purpose of their attendance.
It had at some stage turned into a gossip shop.
Ooo she didn't did she?
Well I never...terrible situation.
Well they have to do something about that.
I always knew it wouldn't last
That man needs help.
The conversation flowed along well trodden lines every week.
They did pray but it was almost an after thought. I explained all this to the vicar who I suspect already knew most of it.
I am ashamed to say I didn't stay long with them....I found it too negative.
For me it had degenerated into a gossip shop and a way of finding out what was happening in the village.
I have similar problems with prayer cards. A colleague of mine sends out cards to all the churches every month. On them are the names and details of people who need our prayer. Twice I have found the names of people who have specifically asked me not to announce their names in church.
Once you have prayed publicly for someone you have announced that they are in trouble . I think you are duty bound to respect peoples need for anonymity if thats what they ask. .
We are trusted with all sorts of details of health upsets, marital problems, brushes with the law. This is a sacred trust between them and us and has to be respected at all times I think.
I will continue to pray but more often than not the names of the people involved will be between me and God.
Wednesday, 27 July 2011
Divine intervention?
The world just got crazier! I don't know whether to be impressed, disconcerted or worried by the recent communication from my bank.
The phone rang and a voice informed me that it was a mechanised automatic check by the bank for Reverend Jean. I was instructed to disconnect immediately if I was not Reverend Jean. There were at least two voices used in the one sentence and Reverend Jean was spoken in a deep sinister sounding voice which was decidedly alien.
I was then informed that they were not going to ask me for any pin numbers but they had to check that I was indeed Reverend Jean. I passed that bit , confirmed that I'd paid off my MasterCard this morning and they then went through yesterdays spending. Money spent at a grocery store was followed by money spent in a bar! They managed a note of scepticism and disapproval here. They went all the way back to last week!
I know they are doing this to protect me. When ever I was abroad they always rang my son to make sure that it really was me spending all that money. It reminds me of the old days when if I bought my husband a present he always knew about it by the time he got home. Someone on the staff always let the bank manager know what his wife had been spending her money on!
After he had died I went out to buy my first computer. The man in the shop rang the bank for clearance. He looked up and said.
"She wants to know how your husband is? "
I took the phone off him. It was one of Davids old colleagues who knew perfectly well that he had died. We chatted for a few moments before she told the man in the shop it was Ok I was good for the money even though my husband would not have approved!
I got used to having my spending monitored from afar...but this new automated call really did sound very weird.
Good job I'm not easily spooked or I might think its David the first checking up on me from the second cloud on the left, whilst he plays the harp and adjusts his halo!
The phone rang and a voice informed me that it was a mechanised automatic check by the bank for Reverend Jean. I was instructed to disconnect immediately if I was not Reverend Jean. There were at least two voices used in the one sentence and Reverend Jean was spoken in a deep sinister sounding voice which was decidedly alien.
I was then informed that they were not going to ask me for any pin numbers but they had to check that I was indeed Reverend Jean. I passed that bit , confirmed that I'd paid off my MasterCard this morning and they then went through yesterdays spending. Money spent at a grocery store was followed by money spent in a bar! They managed a note of scepticism and disapproval here. They went all the way back to last week!
I know they are doing this to protect me. When ever I was abroad they always rang my son to make sure that it really was me spending all that money. It reminds me of the old days when if I bought my husband a present he always knew about it by the time he got home. Someone on the staff always let the bank manager know what his wife had been spending her money on!
After he had died I went out to buy my first computer. The man in the shop rang the bank for clearance. He looked up and said.
"She wants to know how your husband is? "
I took the phone off him. It was one of Davids old colleagues who knew perfectly well that he had died. We chatted for a few moments before she told the man in the shop it was Ok I was good for the money even though my husband would not have approved!
I got used to having my spending monitored from afar...but this new automated call really did sound very weird.
Good job I'm not easily spooked or I might think its David the first checking up on me from the second cloud on the left, whilst he plays the harp and adjusts his halo!
Tuesday, 26 July 2011
Funeral story.
A post from Fr David has reminded me of a rather grisly funeral I attended during my placement before ordination. My tutor was almost silent en route to the crem. This was unusual. There were just two of us there plus the staff from the crem. It had all been paid for by the council we were told.
We said the prayers and the committal and watched as the coffin rolled into place.
"I hope you're not charging the full price for that" said my tutor to the crem people. This was also unusual. We drove back in silence and slowly the story emerged.
The deceased woman had lived on her own. She had no relations or friends. She also liked a glass or three. One dark cold winter evening she had been sitting close to her coal fire. An empty bottle of Scotch was found later. When her chair caught fire she had been unable to get out of it. Her remains had been collected but there weren't many of them, the entire room had been demolished.
My tutor Julia wept as she told me this. She had tried but had failed to find any family or friend of the dead woman. We were all she had in death. We never discovered her story. There was just no one who knew it. We had done our very best for her. I hope she is now at peace. God rest her soul.
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We said the prayers and the committal and watched as the coffin rolled into place.
"I hope you're not charging the full price for that" said my tutor to the crem people. This was also unusual. We drove back in silence and slowly the story emerged.
The deceased woman had lived on her own. She had no relations or friends. She also liked a glass or three. One dark cold winter evening she had been sitting close to her coal fire. An empty bottle of Scotch was found later. When her chair caught fire she had been unable to get out of it. Her remains had been collected but there weren't many of them, the entire room had been demolished.
My tutor Julia wept as she told me this. She had tried but had failed to find any family or friend of the dead woman. We were all she had in death. We never discovered her story. There was just no one who knew it. We had done our very best for her. I hope she is now at peace. God rest her soul.
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Monday, 25 July 2011
Family quarrels.
My brothers wife. Liz or Betty? She started off in life as Betty but became Liz at some stage. So when the phone rings on Monday morning and it's Liz it takes me several minutes before I know who I am talking to.
I lost touch with my brother for quite a long time during our lives. I was cross with him for several good reasons and when we moved I failed to give him my new address. My mother was still alive so I knew we could all get in touch eventually. Then my mother died whilst I was out of the country and he moved and there we were lost to each other for years.
I still thought about him though and my anger subsided. So the year I was going to be ordained I set out to find him.
It took me just an hour on the Internet and he cried when I rang him. He and Betty came to my ordination and we were friends again. Thank God for that as he died of a brain tumor a couple of years ago and we had made our peace properly just a day before he died.
Family relationships can be fraught with many problems but if you can't managed to sort them out you feel dreadful after death takes one of you away.
We had grown up in Lancashire. That's where I started looking for him but as it turned out he lived about an hour away in Devon.
My sister in law Betty is retired but she is now running various groups in her village and tomorrow is bringing a coach party of OAPs to Truro. Could I meet them at the Cathedral? She's told them all about me. I think that's code for, please wear your dog collar.
It will be a great pleasure.
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I lost touch with my brother for quite a long time during our lives. I was cross with him for several good reasons and when we moved I failed to give him my new address. My mother was still alive so I knew we could all get in touch eventually. Then my mother died whilst I was out of the country and he moved and there we were lost to each other for years.
I still thought about him though and my anger subsided. So the year I was going to be ordained I set out to find him.
It took me just an hour on the Internet and he cried when I rang him. He and Betty came to my ordination and we were friends again. Thank God for that as he died of a brain tumor a couple of years ago and we had made our peace properly just a day before he died.
Family relationships can be fraught with many problems but if you can't managed to sort them out you feel dreadful after death takes one of you away.
We had grown up in Lancashire. That's where I started looking for him but as it turned out he lived about an hour away in Devon.
My sister in law Betty is retired but she is now running various groups in her village and tomorrow is bringing a coach party of OAPs to Truro. Could I meet them at the Cathedral? She's told them all about me. I think that's code for, please wear your dog collar.
It will be a great pleasure.
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Location:Truro,United Kingdom
Sunday, 24 July 2011
St JUst church poem
I got to church this morning to find a real life organist playing. The lady who we now refer to as our deputy organist plays the karaoke machine for us and this morning she had a treat waiting for after the service. She had set a poem to music and was singing it beautifully. I recognised the words. The poem was written by a Polish lady whose daughter still lives in the village.
Here it is.
St Just in Roseland by Zofia IInska
This is the place where the dead are moored
To everlasting buoys beside the boats
The Creek is everywhere. The church floats
Like a sea bird whose neck is the tower
Flight of the herons to Turnaware
Bird country. Boat country
This is the place where the boats are moored
Beside the Churchyard in green canvas dressed
The dead sleep feet pointing East.
The seagull cries, voices wet and windy
Growth, vegetation, stillness, beauty
Sea country, water country.
The church is the Ark. I am NOah
Here I would save the seabirds first The Hill
leans back, dark free ,wide open,
never full
Although for centuries, layer on layer
Cornishman, foreigner are laid here
Cormorant country, curlew country
Patterns of line assail me, the vertical
as the line of life, masts, trees, I
still vertical, perpendicular. Boats lie
Like bodies of the dead. Horizontal.
Correct posture for sailing off to eternal
Time country. God country.
Sorry for the length. It gives a picture of the church as it still is....beautiful..
Here it is.
St Just in Roseland by Zofia IInska
This is the place where the dead are moored
To everlasting buoys beside the boats
The Creek is everywhere. The church floats
Like a sea bird whose neck is the tower
Flight of the herons to Turnaware
Bird country. Boat country
This is the place where the boats are moored
Beside the Churchyard in green canvas dressed
The dead sleep feet pointing East.
The seagull cries, voices wet and windy
Growth, vegetation, stillness, beauty
Sea country, water country.
The church is the Ark. I am NOah
Here I would save the seabirds first The Hill
leans back, dark free ,wide open,
never full
Although for centuries, layer on layer
Cornishman, foreigner are laid here
Cormorant country, curlew country
Patterns of line assail me, the vertical
as the line of life, masts, trees, I
still vertical, perpendicular. Boats lie
Like bodies of the dead. Horizontal.
Correct posture for sailing off to eternal
Time country. God country.
Sorry for the length. It gives a picture of the church as it still is....beautiful..
Saturday, 23 July 2011
Drink taken
Got in from a wedding exhausted. I felt as though I was pushing through treacle all the way. The rehearsal did not go well. They had drink taken in rather a big way.
Today was no better. The coach was parked over the road to the church and by the time I got it to move they were whooping it up inside. The noise of slightly hysterical girls followed me into the vestry. I finally went to remind them that they were in a church. Didn't help a lot.
The bride looked wonderful and had about 20 little girls throwing confetti at her as she approached. They were all children she had taught. That was the best bit!
The girl doing a reading demanded a Bible and ordered me to put it in the pulpit. She said she thought I was staff.
The bride and groom were lovely and there were lots of locals there, many of whom I had either married or Christened but by five in the afternoon they were all tired and emotional.
The end came when the couple started off down the aisle. The organist played" The entrance of the Queen of Sheba. "The CD player rang out with "Another one bites the dust!" The wrong Queen won!
The problem here was I think they thought they had hired a venue. It being a church had rather escaped them. It was very lonely saying The Lords Prayer.
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Today was no better. The coach was parked over the road to the church and by the time I got it to move they were whooping it up inside. The noise of slightly hysterical girls followed me into the vestry. I finally went to remind them that they were in a church. Didn't help a lot.
The bride looked wonderful and had about 20 little girls throwing confetti at her as she approached. They were all children she had taught. That was the best bit!
The girl doing a reading demanded a Bible and ordered me to put it in the pulpit. She said she thought I was staff.
The bride and groom were lovely and there were lots of locals there, many of whom I had either married or Christened but by five in the afternoon they were all tired and emotional.
The end came when the couple started off down the aisle. The organist played" The entrance of the Queen of Sheba. "The CD player rang out with "Another one bites the dust!" The wrong Queen won!
The problem here was I think they thought they had hired a venue. It being a church had rather escaped them. It was very lonely saying The Lords Prayer.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Lovely prayer
Talking about the Kingdom of God in this weeks sermon has reminded me of a beautiful prayer given to me by an ancient priest who was my spiritual director leading to ordination.
Here I am before your eternal presence, simply to be with you in silence. Give me a candle of the spirit as I go down to the depth of my being. Take me beyond the hidden things, the creatures of my dreams, the storehouses of forgotten memories and hurts, beyond my failures and shames. Take me down to the spring of my life and tell me my nature and my name. Give me freedom that I may become that self the seed of which you planted in me at my making.
It says everything I want to say in much fewer words.
Friday, 22 July 2011
Achieving the dream
Once you've been a teacher certain days during the year still have great significance for you. The last day before breaking up for six weeks was always wonderful.
In the morning we had end of term assemblies, followed by tearful good byes to school leavers, and then in the afternoon we played rounders. Staff versus children. It could go on all afternoon with much shouting and excitement all round.
Then it was home to the caravan which I'd left already packed with food and clothes for us all before going to work. The children gave me just enough time for a brief sit down and a cup of tea and then we were off along with thousands of others to join the queues along the motorways .
Our designation was Cornwall and it was a long drive from Lancashire so it took several hours of driving. I marvel now at the woman who could teach, play rounders and then drive most of the night but the adrenaline kept us all going.
Some times we slept at service stations for an hour but often we got there early. Once we slept on the beach at St Agnes, tired but happy that we'd achieved the dream kept going for a year during the darker days of winter.
Cornwall was always our dream and the little church at St Just in Roseland was a place we visited every year. Its beauty and its peace always overwhelmed us.
Had anyone told me then that I was to become a priest right there in that church I would have laughed and yet here I am.
The memories of by gone ends of term are bitter sweet since my daughter died.
We always wanted to come to live here but it was one of those day dreams that seemed destined never to be fulfilled...
Yet here we are. My son lives in the next village. My daughter's grave is in the graveyard near to where I shall be marrying people tomorrow.
Safe journey to anyone travelling later...if you are coming to Cornwall we shall welcome you all , now we have achieved the dream.
In the morning we had end of term assemblies, followed by tearful good byes to school leavers, and then in the afternoon we played rounders. Staff versus children. It could go on all afternoon with much shouting and excitement all round.
Then it was home to the caravan which I'd left already packed with food and clothes for us all before going to work. The children gave me just enough time for a brief sit down and a cup of tea and then we were off along with thousands of others to join the queues along the motorways .
Our designation was Cornwall and it was a long drive from Lancashire so it took several hours of driving. I marvel now at the woman who could teach, play rounders and then drive most of the night but the adrenaline kept us all going.
Some times we slept at service stations for an hour but often we got there early. Once we slept on the beach at St Agnes, tired but happy that we'd achieved the dream kept going for a year during the darker days of winter.
Cornwall was always our dream and the little church at St Just in Roseland was a place we visited every year. Its beauty and its peace always overwhelmed us.
Had anyone told me then that I was to become a priest right there in that church I would have laughed and yet here I am.
The memories of by gone ends of term are bitter sweet since my daughter died.
We always wanted to come to live here but it was one of those day dreams that seemed destined never to be fulfilled...
Yet here we are. My son lives in the next village. My daughter's grave is in the graveyard near to where I shall be marrying people tomorrow.
Safe journey to anyone travelling later...if you are coming to Cornwall we shall welcome you all , now we have achieved the dream.
Thursday, 21 July 2011
Reading hunger.
Yet again this morning I am marveling at the new world I find myself in. Currently downloading on my laptop is Lion. It's a new system from Mac to make everything simple and easier to read. It says here!
As a little girl I lived first with my grandparents and then with my parents when I was seven. We were poor. I had no access to books apart from Victorian tracts and the Bible in my grandparents house. I devoured them with real hunger.
My parents didn't even have those. Women's Own, the Dandy and Beano plus the News of the World were available on demand. My hunger to read extended to sauce bottles and cornflakes packets.
The saving grace came when my dad went on nights. He slept during the day but needed books too..remember there was no TV in those days.
I was dispatched to the coop library at least twice a week to get books for him but whilst I was there I found some for me too. I read every book in the children's library by the time I was ten. So I then started on the grown up books. At last my hunger was appeased.
This morning I downloaded before breakfast a new book onto the iPad kindle. I read the first chapter immediately The contrast between then and now is stark. I am so glad to have seen the way our lives have been reshaped by modern technology and been able to use it.
My only problem is that three social net working sites might be hard to juggle. But I'll give them a try. The new system will help when it finishes downloading.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
As a little girl I lived first with my grandparents and then with my parents when I was seven. We were poor. I had no access to books apart from Victorian tracts and the Bible in my grandparents house. I devoured them with real hunger.
My parents didn't even have those. Women's Own, the Dandy and Beano plus the News of the World were available on demand. My hunger to read extended to sauce bottles and cornflakes packets.
The saving grace came when my dad went on nights. He slept during the day but needed books too..remember there was no TV in those days.
I was dispatched to the coop library at least twice a week to get books for him but whilst I was there I found some for me too. I read every book in the children's library by the time I was ten. So I then started on the grown up books. At last my hunger was appeased.
This morning I downloaded before breakfast a new book onto the iPad kindle. I read the first chapter immediately The contrast between then and now is stark. I am so glad to have seen the way our lives have been reshaped by modern technology and been able to use it.
My only problem is that three social net working sites might be hard to juggle. But I'll give them a try. The new system will help when it finishes downloading.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, 20 July 2011
Corruption starts slowly .
Having spent most of yesterday glued to the television I am now trying to be dynamic.! I have been striding through the long grass muttering to myself but my mind keeps returning to the events in Parliament. I am told its all being televised again today and I will find it hard to concentrate on anything else.
After the karate blow delivered during yesterday's hearing I fear that nothing will come up to that moment but unless Cameron really does grasp just how much trouble he is in then I fear we may be subjected to some appallingly banal moralising.
The bottom line here is surely that the police, the journalists and regrettably some MPs have been corrupted by huge wealth. The promise of sumptuous holidays, of houses in the country, of classic cars have all been too much for them to resist. Corruption is pervasive....it carries before it all those who imagine that they might just as well jump on the gravy train since everyone else seems to be doing it.
It is a matter of great personal regret that some of those who were found guilty of fiddling their expenses were people known to me...and it illustrates all to clearly just how easy it seems to be to fall from grace.
And it can creep up on you very slowly at first.
When I was a teenager I was pressed into being the treasurer of a club I was in.
There never seemed to be the right money in the pot and getting my money and their money mixed up was very easy indeed...I constantly made up the missing amounts when ever I had to show the accounts. That one experience has prevented me from every getting involved with finances in any organisation since.
So paranoid am I about this that since entering the church I have never claimed expenses of any kind..after having had an incumbent who claimed mileage for a ten mile trip to the next parish, I could see the dangers looming all too clearly.
It is all too easy to get it wrong almost by accident...and if you then succeed after making the first mistake the temptation to go on doing it must be enormous. I can imagine that the path to absolute corruption must be a slow but inevitable progress, adding a little here, feeling that you are following a well worn path so it must be Ok until one day you wake up to find that you are in the thick of it.
I try never to judge any of them...but its hard not to after all the revelations we are being treated to right now.
Must get back to the TV....
After the karate blow delivered during yesterday's hearing I fear that nothing will come up to that moment but unless Cameron really does grasp just how much trouble he is in then I fear we may be subjected to some appallingly banal moralising.
The bottom line here is surely that the police, the journalists and regrettably some MPs have been corrupted by huge wealth. The promise of sumptuous holidays, of houses in the country, of classic cars have all been too much for them to resist. Corruption is pervasive....it carries before it all those who imagine that they might just as well jump on the gravy train since everyone else seems to be doing it.
It is a matter of great personal regret that some of those who were found guilty of fiddling their expenses were people known to me...and it illustrates all to clearly just how easy it seems to be to fall from grace.
And it can creep up on you very slowly at first.
When I was a teenager I was pressed into being the treasurer of a club I was in.
There never seemed to be the right money in the pot and getting my money and their money mixed up was very easy indeed...I constantly made up the missing amounts when ever I had to show the accounts. That one experience has prevented me from every getting involved with finances in any organisation since.
So paranoid am I about this that since entering the church I have never claimed expenses of any kind..after having had an incumbent who claimed mileage for a ten mile trip to the next parish, I could see the dangers looming all too clearly.
It is all too easy to get it wrong almost by accident...and if you then succeed after making the first mistake the temptation to go on doing it must be enormous. I can imagine that the path to absolute corruption must be a slow but inevitable progress, adding a little here, feeling that you are following a well worn path so it must be Ok until one day you wake up to find that you are in the thick of it.
I try never to judge any of them...but its hard not to after all the revelations we are being treated to right now.
Must get back to the TV....
Tuesday, 19 July 2011
Caught in a trap?
I have been taught a lesson today....to try not to be funny when interviewing nervous wedding couples.
I met one such couple a couple of months ago...and they were very anxious about all sorts of things so I went out of my way to reassure them that all would be well for them on their big day. I told them some funny stories about previous weddings here. We do a lot. My wedding total is in the several hundreds now so we are talking a lot of weddings. Every one has its own story.
One wedding was for a young man who was in the navy and spent most of his life at sea, so all of our communications were by e mail...We spent some time sorting out the order of service and the hymns during the months leading up to the wedding and I found them an organist. One email told me that the organist would not be needed for the going out music. The groom was bringing a CD.
Fine I had no problem with that.
At the rehearsal the bride told me with some embarrassment that she was pregnant. I had no trouble with that either...
The rehearsal went well, until we got to the end. The groom had given the CD to his best man.
Cue music! There was a pause whilst the groom looked at me and the bride closely.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked us. The music started and it was Elvis Presley singing "Caught in a trap" Hmmmm
The bride fortunately laughed. and so the next day did the congregation.
This was the story that has inspired the next couple getting married on Saturday. They rang me up to make sure I was all right with it. What could I say? They are going out to "Caught in a trap"
That's a lesson to me to keep my mouth firmly shut in future.
I met one such couple a couple of months ago...and they were very anxious about all sorts of things so I went out of my way to reassure them that all would be well for them on their big day. I told them some funny stories about previous weddings here. We do a lot. My wedding total is in the several hundreds now so we are talking a lot of weddings. Every one has its own story.
One wedding was for a young man who was in the navy and spent most of his life at sea, so all of our communications were by e mail...We spent some time sorting out the order of service and the hymns during the months leading up to the wedding and I found them an organist. One email told me that the organist would not be needed for the going out music. The groom was bringing a CD.
Fine I had no problem with that.
At the rehearsal the bride told me with some embarrassment that she was pregnant. I had no trouble with that either...
The rehearsal went well, until we got to the end. The groom had given the CD to his best man.
Cue music! There was a pause whilst the groom looked at me and the bride closely.
"Are you ready for this?" he asked us. The music started and it was Elvis Presley singing "Caught in a trap" Hmmmm
The bride fortunately laughed. and so the next day did the congregation.
This was the story that has inspired the next couple getting married on Saturday. They rang me up to make sure I was all right with it. What could I say? They are going out to "Caught in a trap"
That's a lesson to me to keep my mouth firmly shut in future.
Monday, 18 July 2011
No power.
We are now on the second Monday without electricity. No one has told us why. Again this morning we vacuumed early and I got a meal in the oven to be eaten rather earlier than usual. This afternoon you can imagine my joy on finding a man in a bright citrus jacket standing in the next field looking skywards.
He looked a bit nervous when the dog barked but I reassured him and then tried to get some info out of him.
He denied all knowledge of electricity. He pointed to his logo. It was an Open reach logo.
"Oh good" I said brightly. "Are you going to get us some fibre optic thingymums ?"
He was dazed. He then denied all knowledge of thingymums !
So I pressed on hoping to find some reason why a man in a psychedelic jacket was walking round a field on a wet July day.
He said he was only looking at the pole. There is a large telegraph pole between us and Falmouth.
"Will that come down?" I asked.
He went back to being dazed.
"Oh no "he said. "I don't think so. "
It was a surreal conversation held in a howling gale in the middle of the field.
I have still no idea what he's doing here. Or when the power will come back on. But I don't think he does either.
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He looked a bit nervous when the dog barked but I reassured him and then tried to get some info out of him.
He denied all knowledge of electricity. He pointed to his logo. It was an Open reach logo.
"Oh good" I said brightly. "Are you going to get us some fibre optic thingymums ?"
He was dazed. He then denied all knowledge of thingymums !
So I pressed on hoping to find some reason why a man in a psychedelic jacket was walking round a field on a wet July day.
He said he was only looking at the pole. There is a large telegraph pole between us and Falmouth.
"Will that come down?" I asked.
He went back to being dazed.
"Oh no "he said. "I don't think so. "
It was a surreal conversation held in a howling gale in the middle of the field.
I have still no idea what he's doing here. Or when the power will come back on. But I don't think he does either.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone
Location:Falmouth,United Kingdom
Sunday, 17 July 2011
Karaoke?
Singing to a karaoke machine is not a skill I ever expected to learn so late in life. I did once get dragged into attempting it on holiday when clearly the ouzo had been too well imbibed . But I found it difficult to pitch the note properly so obviously sounded either flat or sharp. Either way it was not good. A promise was made to my dearly beloved.....no more karaoke honestly. I could not put him through that sort of embarrassment again.
However here I am using one most Sundays. I would still obviously prefer an organist...a real live one who makes beautifully sound emerge from the machine that we can sing lovely hymns to and which welcomes us and waves good by with beautiful music.
However organist are now in this place, a protected species....they are very thin on the ground, either having moved away, retired, or metamorphosed into a sub species of prima donna en route.
The machine has been borrowed and a willing technician pressed into service. She is learning the archane knowledge required to get it do what we want it too. For instance some hymns have more verses than others. She insisted this morning that I tell the congregation that she can make it go slower or faster but not line by line...
She took us through the idiosyncracies of the tunes till I reminded her gently that it was not a concert but an act of worship.
She did however come up with a brilliant line which sums up the whole thing.
"The karaoke machine is our inflexible friend" Works for me and my skills as a karaoke singer improve weekly!
However here I am using one most Sundays. I would still obviously prefer an organist...a real live one who makes beautifully sound emerge from the machine that we can sing lovely hymns to and which welcomes us and waves good by with beautiful music.
However organist are now in this place, a protected species....they are very thin on the ground, either having moved away, retired, or metamorphosed into a sub species of prima donna en route.
The machine has been borrowed and a willing technician pressed into service. She is learning the archane knowledge required to get it do what we want it too. For instance some hymns have more verses than others. She insisted this morning that I tell the congregation that she can make it go slower or faster but not line by line...
She took us through the idiosyncracies of the tunes till I reminded her gently that it was not a concert but an act of worship.
She did however come up with a brilliant line which sums up the whole thing.
"The karaoke machine is our inflexible friend" Works for me and my skills as a karaoke singer improve weekly!
Saturday, 16 July 2011
Photographic evidence
file:///Users/revjeanrolt/Pictures/Photo%20Booth/Photo%20on%202011-07-16%20at%2010.40.jpg
Hair dryers for geeks.
And now for something completely different! In the past I have had the odd moan...mostly about banks but this time it is to report wonderful service.
Boots sent me an email last weekend recalling my hair dryer. It was apparently dangerous. Would I please return it to the shop ASAP. Well erm no. I rang them up explaining that the nearest Boots was quite a long way away and that was why I always order everything on the net. There was no chance of my getting into town this week or next week. Was it still alright to keep using it?
There was a hurried discussion at the other end. Then the perfect solution was found. Go on line and order another dryer. They would refund the money for the first one. When the new one arrived I was to place into the box the old hairdryer and use the returns form to take it back to the Post Office. Simple! All this was done yesterday and today was the first try out for the new fangled machine.
It is a geeks delight. On its dark body is an area that lights up in use, telling you the temperature, the ions being used and the thrust, in fact everything a girl needs to know when trying to tame hair. It has several speeds and using it is easy and it changes colour according to the temperature being used.
Well done Boots for a pragmatic simple solution . Well done the new hairdryer which promises hours of fun to come! I'll no doubt get used to it in time...and in the meanwhile the punk vicar will start to write the sermon!
Because now I have hair that is dry, sticking right up like a punk rockers and the brush is finding it hard to deal with it. I would take a picture and post it but I don't want to frighten the horses.
Boots sent me an email last weekend recalling my hair dryer. It was apparently dangerous. Would I please return it to the shop ASAP. Well erm no. I rang them up explaining that the nearest Boots was quite a long way away and that was why I always order everything on the net. There was no chance of my getting into town this week or next week. Was it still alright to keep using it?
There was a hurried discussion at the other end. Then the perfect solution was found. Go on line and order another dryer. They would refund the money for the first one. When the new one arrived I was to place into the box the old hairdryer and use the returns form to take it back to the Post Office. Simple! All this was done yesterday and today was the first try out for the new fangled machine.
It is a geeks delight. On its dark body is an area that lights up in use, telling you the temperature, the ions being used and the thrust, in fact everything a girl needs to know when trying to tame hair. It has several speeds and using it is easy and it changes colour according to the temperature being used.
Well done Boots for a pragmatic simple solution . Well done the new hairdryer which promises hours of fun to come! I'll no doubt get used to it in time...and in the meanwhile the punk vicar will start to write the sermon!
Because now I have hair that is dry, sticking right up like a punk rockers and the brush is finding it hard to deal with it. I would take a picture and post it but I don't want to frighten the horses.
Friday, 15 July 2011
Timothy Winters Amen
I am using this poem about Timothy Winters in one of my services this weekend. Written By Charles Causley its from another age but its still true on several different levels. Amen, Amen, Amen.
Timothy Winters by Charles Causley
Timothy Winters comes to school
With eyes as wide as a football pool
Ears like bombs and teeth like splinters
A blitz of a boy is Timothy Winters
His belly is white, his neck is dark
And his hair is an exclamation mark
His clothes are enough to scare a crow
And through his britches the blue winds blow
When teacher talks he wont hear a word
And he shoots down dead the arithmetic bird
He licks the patterns off his plate
And he’s not even heard of the welfare state
Timothy Winters has bloody feet
And he lives in a house on Suez Street
He sleeps in a sack on the kitchen floor
And they say there aren’t boys like him any more
Old man Winters likes his beer
And his missus ran off with a bombardier
Grandma sits in the grate with a gin
And Timothy’s dosed with an aspirin
The welfare worker lies awake
But the laws as tricky as a ten foot snake
So Timothy Winters drinks his cup
And slowly goes on growing up
At Morning prayer the master helves
For children less fortunate than ourselves
And the loudest response in the room is when
Timothy Winters roars “amen”
So come one angel, come on ten
Timothy Winters says “Amen`
Amen amen amen amen
For Timothy Winters Lord
Amen. AMEN
Thursday, 14 July 2011
An old ladies story.
Just to get some balance here is a story from the lips of a very old lady.
When I was an ordinand I was on placement on the north coast of Cornwall. My tutor used to send me out visiting quite often whilst she got on with more pressing things. I had the time to listen.
This lady was sitting in her arm chair. She refused communion because she just wanted to talk! That was fine I was more than happy to listen as her story poured out.
As a young woman she had been a volunteer with the Mission to Seafarers. She had helped to deal with several people who had been involved in shipping accidents off this coast. One day she was introduced to the full time official for the area. He was also young and went everywhere on his motor bike. Her eyes shone as she told me how wonderful he looked as he rode his bike along the cliffs. Their courtship was short and they married about three months after their first meeting.
Six weeks later he had a terrible accident. He came off his bike and although the hospital worked on him for a day he died. She wept whilst she told me the story.
After his death she went on working for the Mission...it was her way of feeling close to him and she had been happy to take up his work and make it hers. She was then in her seventies.. And had been a widow for 50 years. I asked if she had ever wanted to marry again. It was simple. She never stopped loving him and God and just wanted to be useful as she knew they would want her to be.
She had never had children and there were no relations..both of them had been only children...there was no one left at all in her family.
I talked to her about the people she had helped in the course of her life but she kept returning to her husbands story...he was the sun in her life and had stayed bright through all the lonely years...
I made her another cup of tea and prepared to leave her. At the door she spoke..."God sent you here today. Thank you.".
I left intending to go back soon. She died about an hour later, still in her chair and the tea untouched. she had just needed one other person to hear her story.
She was one of the unsung heroines of this life, a true child of God.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
When I was an ordinand I was on placement on the north coast of Cornwall. My tutor used to send me out visiting quite often whilst she got on with more pressing things. I had the time to listen.
This lady was sitting in her arm chair. She refused communion because she just wanted to talk! That was fine I was more than happy to listen as her story poured out.
As a young woman she had been a volunteer with the Mission to Seafarers. She had helped to deal with several people who had been involved in shipping accidents off this coast. One day she was introduced to the full time official for the area. He was also young and went everywhere on his motor bike. Her eyes shone as she told me how wonderful he looked as he rode his bike along the cliffs. Their courtship was short and they married about three months after their first meeting.
Six weeks later he had a terrible accident. He came off his bike and although the hospital worked on him for a day he died. She wept whilst she told me the story.
After his death she went on working for the Mission...it was her way of feeling close to him and she had been happy to take up his work and make it hers. She was then in her seventies.. And had been a widow for 50 years. I asked if she had ever wanted to marry again. It was simple. She never stopped loving him and God and just wanted to be useful as she knew they would want her to be.
She had never had children and there were no relations..both of them had been only children...there was no one left at all in her family.
I talked to her about the people she had helped in the course of her life but she kept returning to her husbands story...he was the sun in her life and had stayed bright through all the lonely years...
I made her another cup of tea and prepared to leave her. At the door she spoke..."God sent you here today. Thank you.".
I left intending to go back soon. She died about an hour later, still in her chair and the tea untouched. she had just needed one other person to hear her story.
She was one of the unsung heroines of this life, a true child of God.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Wednesday, 13 July 2011
Another old man story
Following my post of yesterday about listening I am following it up with an amazing story about Uncle Cyril. Uncle Cyril was not in fact any relation. He was an old boy I used to walk past with my dog most mornings. I realized how lonely he was after his wife died and invited him for a meal. This became a regular thing. He would come once a week and terrorize the children. He wanted to watch things on the TV they hated so talking to him started as a way of keeping him away from the kids.
I soon realized that there was an interesting story there. His father had been a convicted murderer and spent 30 years of his life in Broadmoor.
Uncle Cyril had visited him every month till he died. He told me, often weeping about the way the inmates were kept and treated. It had left deep scars. Particularly as the person his father had killed was his mother.
Uncle Cyril had been in the army and had served in India. Whilst there he had taken an Indian wife. On his recall to this country the army wouldn't allow him to bring his wife back. But he did bring his baby daughter home.
After getting married again they had another baby and the two sisters were brought up as the children of the new mother.
When uncle Cyril died I met these two. One was suntanned. The other was pale. They had no idea of their antecedents and I never told them though I was tempted when the older woman revealed herself as a terrible racist!
They are all dead now so the truth can be told. But had I not listened over several months I would never have learned half of it.
I remember Uncle Cyril when I iron the hankies. I have a set of large white linen ones, still used with a C on them in one corner. His daughters gave them to me for looking after their father! It needed no reward. It was a privilege.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I soon realized that there was an interesting story there. His father had been a convicted murderer and spent 30 years of his life in Broadmoor.
Uncle Cyril had visited him every month till he died. He told me, often weeping about the way the inmates were kept and treated. It had left deep scars. Particularly as the person his father had killed was his mother.
Uncle Cyril had been in the army and had served in India. Whilst there he had taken an Indian wife. On his recall to this country the army wouldn't allow him to bring his wife back. But he did bring his baby daughter home.
After getting married again they had another baby and the two sisters were brought up as the children of the new mother.
When uncle Cyril died I met these two. One was suntanned. The other was pale. They had no idea of their antecedents and I never told them though I was tempted when the older woman revealed herself as a terrible racist!
They are all dead now so the truth can be told. But had I not listened over several months I would never have learned half of it.
I remember Uncle Cyril when I iron the hankies. I have a set of large white linen ones, still used with a C on them in one corner. His daughters gave them to me for looking after their father! It needed no reward. It was a privilege.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Tuesday, 12 July 2011
Listening to old people
I was reminded recently of my time living in suburbia. It's a far cry from my life now. Living in a fishing village in Cornwall is about as far away from my life in Essex as it's possible to get. We went to live in Chelmsford so that my husband could commute into the city every day.
Our house was a new one built on an old Victorian bottle dump. It flooded twice every year and the builders were called in to sort out the problem.
A lovely old builder arrived one day, said he could put it right and then settled down to tell me the history of the place.
Before the bottle dump it had been part of the park land but it's history went back a very long way. I had found fragments of tile and mosaic whilst I was gardening and he told me that the house was built on the original site of a Roman villa. It was the first fordable point of the river close by. Barrow loads of ancient oyster shells were still lurking inn the soil and everything the builders had found had been put back firmly into the ground so the work could continue.
I found this fascinating and he then went on to tell me that the local lane I used to cycle up regularly had contained the local gibbet....that gave me a very weird feeling the next time I went up it in the dark!
He was a truly interesting old boy and I was glad to have met him.
It's good to talk to old people and more importantly to listen. I often meet youngsters who are quite clearly bored by the old ones they come into contact with. But take the trouble to listen and a whole new world is revealed. We all have stories to tell and they are all worth listening to.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Our house was a new one built on an old Victorian bottle dump. It flooded twice every year and the builders were called in to sort out the problem.
A lovely old builder arrived one day, said he could put it right and then settled down to tell me the history of the place.
Before the bottle dump it had been part of the park land but it's history went back a very long way. I had found fragments of tile and mosaic whilst I was gardening and he told me that the house was built on the original site of a Roman villa. It was the first fordable point of the river close by. Barrow loads of ancient oyster shells were still lurking inn the soil and everything the builders had found had been put back firmly into the ground so the work could continue.
I found this fascinating and he then went on to tell me that the local lane I used to cycle up regularly had contained the local gibbet....that gave me a very weird feeling the next time I went up it in the dark!
He was a truly interesting old boy and I was glad to have met him.
It's good to talk to old people and more importantly to listen. I often meet youngsters who are quite clearly bored by the old ones they come into contact with. But take the trouble to listen and a whole new world is revealed. We all have stories to tell and they are all worth listening to.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Monday, 11 July 2011
No Electricity
Our electricity is going to be off for most of the day today. The National Trust is replacing our overhead lines with underground ones...because we are an area of outstanding natural beauty!
It has reminded me of the time during the Heath government when long cuts were an every day event. As a single mum with two children I was struggling to give them hot food after being out teaching all day so I made a straw oven! Every morning I would get up early, partly make a casserole and then leave it in the oven all day to cook. It worked a treat but there was an unmistakable taste of straw in everything!
I was also rehearsing for a play at this time. Blythe Spirit with the wonderful part of Madam Arcarti. When we had no electricity in the theatre we used candles very often and during the seance scenes it was particularly spooky! Every time I asked if anyone was there I always got a bang. No one believed it wasn't me causing the bang but I knew it wasn't.
Now we take our electricity very much for granted. This morning I charged up the phone and the pad and the lap top....just in case! There is a casserole in the Aga and the vacuum cleaning was done at an ungodly hour. It felt like a familiar routine... all in a good cause I am sure!
It has reminded me of the time during the Heath government when long cuts were an every day event. As a single mum with two children I was struggling to give them hot food after being out teaching all day so I made a straw oven! Every morning I would get up early, partly make a casserole and then leave it in the oven all day to cook. It worked a treat but there was an unmistakable taste of straw in everything!
I was also rehearsing for a play at this time. Blythe Spirit with the wonderful part of Madam Arcarti. When we had no electricity in the theatre we used candles very often and during the seance scenes it was particularly spooky! Every time I asked if anyone was there I always got a bang. No one believed it wasn't me causing the bang but I knew it wasn't.
Now we take our electricity very much for granted. This morning I charged up the phone and the pad and the lap top....just in case! There is a casserole in the Aga and the vacuum cleaning was done at an ungodly hour. It felt like a familiar routine... all in a good cause I am sure!
Sunday, 10 July 2011
Blessing the rings
It was a good congregation today with many visitors. At the end of the service a coach load arrived and were given coffee and biscuits. So the church was full. I saw a man and woman walk in not quite sure of their reception but they spotted my robes and headed for me with determined looks on their faces. They had something to ask me.
The woman took out of her bag a new gold wedding ring. She pointed to the thin wedding ring she was wearing and said her husband of 25 years had just bought her a new one.
She wanted to wear it but would I please bless it for her.
Of course I led them to the altar and blessed both rings whilst they smiled and beamed both at me and each other. Then at my suggestion he helped her put on the new one. They went then shining with happiness. Ten minutes later the woman came back alone.
She wanted to tell me why it was so important to her. The man, only 50 was in the first stage of Altzeimers. they had wanted to do it whilst he still understood.
I wept when I got home.
It was an immense privilege to be able to help. Thank you God.
The woman took out of her bag a new gold wedding ring. She pointed to the thin wedding ring she was wearing and said her husband of 25 years had just bought her a new one.
She wanted to wear it but would I please bless it for her.
Of course I led them to the altar and blessed both rings whilst they smiled and beamed both at me and each other. Then at my suggestion he helped her put on the new one. They went then shining with happiness. Ten minutes later the woman came back alone.
She wanted to tell me why it was so important to her. The man, only 50 was in the first stage of Altzeimers. they had wanted to do it whilst he still understood.
I wept when I got home.
It was an immense privilege to be able to help. Thank you God.
Names.
There are quite a lot of female priests by now. So why do people assume that a reference to a lady vicar is always the same person. I've now been asked twice if my husband has died. I said, he was alright five minutes ago and they laughed. I was not the lady vicar in question.
One of my female colleagues gets complimented on her sermons. She enjoyed this for a while until the penny dropped. It was always people she hadn't seen in church so it wasn't her sermon! She then had the good grace to pass the compliments onto me.
The term lady vicar is not that unusual. The names of people are also easy to confuse especially if they are all called David. My two husbands were Davids and that for all sorts of reasons is a good thing. But nearly everyone else I know is also called David. This can be very mystifying unless I explain which David it is!
Nomenclature can be tricky when you get older but at least I got the babys name right this morning. She's called Ruby. The one last week was Rose Saffron.The poor things have it all to look forward to!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
One of my female colleagues gets complimented on her sermons. She enjoyed this for a while until the penny dropped. It was always people she hadn't seen in church so it wasn't her sermon! She then had the good grace to pass the compliments onto me.
The term lady vicar is not that unusual. The names of people are also easy to confuse especially if they are all called David. My two husbands were Davids and that for all sorts of reasons is a good thing. But nearly everyone else I know is also called David. This can be very mystifying unless I explain which David it is!
Nomenclature can be tricky when you get older but at least I got the babys name right this morning. She's called Ruby. The one last week was Rose Saffron.The poor things have it all to look forward to!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Saturday, 9 July 2011
Freedom of the Press?
We get the Times so this morning I took time out to read articles from both the Guardian and the Independent because we were clearly not going to get an unbiased opinion on the recent events. My husband said he hoped that Matthew Paris would address the issue and he did. He said it had all been done before and what was all the fuss about (I paraphrase) Maybe I've not been paying sufficient attention but I had actually no real idea that one man had been allowed to get such a hold on the politics of this country.....and all for his own profit motive. No one comes out of this well. Both parties seem to have spent much time and effort going to the parties and courting the favour of the big man.
And Murdoch has got away with it till now. Only the absolute horror of tapping the phones of people suffering their own private tragedies has caught the attention of the media, though to be fair there have been many voices raised on the subject , largely unheeded. To allow Murdoch any more power would be to put the whole country at risk of losing its identity. Do we really wanted to have the BBC tampered with? It might be flawed but its the best we could hope for in any crisis.
We think we have the freedom of the press but what we really seem to have is the freedom of the press to tap phones, hack into accounts and use bully boy tactics if things do not go their way.
Its time to try to get some ethics back into our nation....do as you would be done by would be a good one to start with. Who would want to think someone else had been listening in to their conversations? I certainly felt shocked when it happened to me and I was only discussing mundane matters. Time for a few resignations and a rethink for all the parties with any luck.
And Murdoch has got away with it till now. Only the absolute horror of tapping the phones of people suffering their own private tragedies has caught the attention of the media, though to be fair there have been many voices raised on the subject , largely unheeded. To allow Murdoch any more power would be to put the whole country at risk of losing its identity. Do we really wanted to have the BBC tampered with? It might be flawed but its the best we could hope for in any crisis.
We think we have the freedom of the press but what we really seem to have is the freedom of the press to tap phones, hack into accounts and use bully boy tactics if things do not go their way.
Its time to try to get some ethics back into our nation....do as you would be done by would be a good one to start with. Who would want to think someone else had been listening in to their conversations? I certainly felt shocked when it happened to me and I was only discussing mundane matters. Time for a few resignations and a rethink for all the parties with any luck.
Friday, 8 July 2011
Where is the compassion?
Over the years I have had many dealings with social services. They have changed since they were first put into place. The need to care for and protect the disadvantaged in society has become for some over laid with with all the trappings of power.
Governments of every colour have slowly introduced laws designed to make sure that appalling events could never be repeated. The entire system now has become top heavy with so many rules and regs that its difficult to see the compassion which must underly it in order to make it work.
It is terrible that when ever a tragedy happens some social worker somewhere gets the blame and its often unfair that the lowlier members of the profession carry the can for those higher up in the pecking order. They are charged with the safety of children and are desperate to be seen to be taking all the measures at their disposal.
Today I was asked to sit in on a visit from social services to a family suffering a terrible loss.
The visit was brisk and was more like a warning from the local gestapo. They had power and were prepared to use it. The young couple had in their grief resorted to doing things that are not wise and possible harmful to others as well as themselves. They certainly had to be made aware of the consequences of their actions. But today I saw no evidence of any compassion or understanding of the circumstances that drove them to it.
The law was laid down, making them more and more defensive and finally aggressive.
No one was helped. Offers were made of support...but how do you trust someone with your problems when they first advise you that they can do dreadful things to you and that the law supports them in this?
I am horrified by what I saw this morning. The original concept of social work seems to have turned full circle and those who were put in place to protect and help have now become part of the problem and not the solution to it.
I am praying....
Governments of every colour have slowly introduced laws designed to make sure that appalling events could never be repeated. The entire system now has become top heavy with so many rules and regs that its difficult to see the compassion which must underly it in order to make it work.
It is terrible that when ever a tragedy happens some social worker somewhere gets the blame and its often unfair that the lowlier members of the profession carry the can for those higher up in the pecking order. They are charged with the safety of children and are desperate to be seen to be taking all the measures at their disposal.
Today I was asked to sit in on a visit from social services to a family suffering a terrible loss.
The visit was brisk and was more like a warning from the local gestapo. They had power and were prepared to use it. The young couple had in their grief resorted to doing things that are not wise and possible harmful to others as well as themselves. They certainly had to be made aware of the consequences of their actions. But today I saw no evidence of any compassion or understanding of the circumstances that drove them to it.
The law was laid down, making them more and more defensive and finally aggressive.
No one was helped. Offers were made of support...but how do you trust someone with your problems when they first advise you that they can do dreadful things to you and that the law supports them in this?
I am horrified by what I saw this morning. The original concept of social work seems to have turned full circle and those who were put in place to protect and help have now become part of the problem and not the solution to it.
I am praying....
Thursday, 7 July 2011
To get involved?
Better not to get involved! Bloody silly observation and too late! I got involved with things when I was 15. Age has not prevented me from feeling for those in need.
I had a visit this morning from someone near to total despair. I was still grieving my impotence to help when another visitor gave me the advice. Not get involved ? I know of no other way!
I got involved at 15 when working in what was then known locally as the cripple children's home, when parents failed to turn up at Christmas to visit their desperately sick children. My mother said I was too soft!
I got involved when children I taught arrived at school bruised and smelling of week old urine.
I still get involved when someone dies long before their time. I get involved all the time with people in need and know of no way not to. If I care for people then there is no other way.
When things get really desperate I still have the option of shouting at God! He hears.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
I had a visit this morning from someone near to total despair. I was still grieving my impotence to help when another visitor gave me the advice. Not get involved ? I know of no other way!
I got involved at 15 when working in what was then known locally as the cripple children's home, when parents failed to turn up at Christmas to visit their desperately sick children. My mother said I was too soft!
I got involved when children I taught arrived at school bruised and smelling of week old urine.
I still get involved when someone dies long before their time. I get involved all the time with people in need and know of no way not to. If I care for people then there is no other way.
When things get really desperate I still have the option of shouting at God! He hears.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
WiFi Etiquette
I was sent this in an email this morning and asked to mention it on my blog. Having read it I think its worth repeating. I am always delighted to find free WiFi in unexpected places but I have seen several misuses of it. If we want to encourage people to provide this for us then keeping to the rules as laid out below would help!
10 Rules of Public WiFi Etiquette
by admin on July 6, 2011
Public WiFi hotspots are becoming more and more prevalent and are being used as a value-added feature by many businesses. While the offer of free internet access is sure to attract customers, there are some limits to its cost-effectiveness. This has caused some retailers and coffee shops to institute policies or charges for the service. For customers who want to to continue frequenting that bistro with laptop in tow – and still be welcome to so – the following are 10 rules of public WiFi etiquette you may want to keep in mind.
- Pay Your Way – Remember that the goal for retail venues is sales, and that WiFi is a perk they are providing toward achieving end. Make sure you order something from the menu. For longer stays, make a purchase about once every hour.
- Sit at a smaller table and use one chair. Leave the larger tables for parties of more than one. Use one chair and make the rest available to other tables and patrons, or consider sharing one if no smaller tables are available.
- Charge up before taking your portable device to a public hotspot, thereby minimizing your need for external power. This is a hefty overhead cost for the WiFi host. An extra battery is also a good idea.
- Be a good tipper. Remember, if you’ve got a server, he or she is likely to be subsisting on tips, which are normally based on a percentage of the check. So if you’ve been nursing a latte for over an hour, guess who pays for your visit, Mr. Skinflint?
- Keep it Clean #1 – Be mindful of the websites you visit, and files you may open while in a public place. Avoid any potentially offensive material.
- Keep it Clean #2 – Police your area and minimize the work required to prepare your table for the next visitor. Bus your own table between orders.
- Don’t Hog Bandwidth – Keep the downloads to a minimum. Large file downloads when there’s a large group of users sharing bandwidth is a no-no.
- Keep it Down – Not everyone wants to hear your music or your videos or whatever other kind of audio you’re listening to. Use earphones or a discreetly low volume setting and give those around you a break.
- Mind the Traffic – If it’s none too crowded, then an extended stay to work from your laptop is probably OK. Once things start getting more crowded, though, it may be time to pack it up for the day.
- Obey House Rules – Some establishments have policies regarding internet access, like restricting use during peak business hours, or maximum usage durations. If the AC outlets are covered up, take the hint.
- Me speaking again. I cant get rid of the bullet points! BUT Its basic common sense as well as good ethical behaviour. Happy surfing!
Wednesday, 6 July 2011
Hacked off.
The revelations of phones being hacked after terrible events such as murder or the twin tower bombings are indications of just how low we can drop as a society I think. We have all these new toys to play with and so naturally some of us find ways of using them which are both immoral and illegal.
I have no idea of the technology which is needed in order to listen in to someone else's phone but I do know what it feels like to be on the end of it, even in a much less stressful way than the families involved in the recent revelations.
A few months back I was involved in a disciplinary hearing after someone had made abusive phone calls both to me and and another person. During the hearing I was stunned to hear the lady involved reading out a conversation I had had with my husband after the calls.
Everyone told me at the time that it was not possible to do that but since then I have learned of at least one device that does just that...used mostly by husband or wives trying to catch out their spouses!
The way the lady was able to relate what I had said to my husband after I had switched the phone off was for me not just an invasion of my privacy it gave me the creeps...it felt quite wrong, very unpleasant
How all the other people feel after losing a loved one I hate to even try to imagine.
This hacking is clearly more widespread than anyone imagined. If its against the law the perpetrators should pay the penalty.
We need to feel safe.
I have no idea of the technology which is needed in order to listen in to someone else's phone but I do know what it feels like to be on the end of it, even in a much less stressful way than the families involved in the recent revelations.
A few months back I was involved in a disciplinary hearing after someone had made abusive phone calls both to me and and another person. During the hearing I was stunned to hear the lady involved reading out a conversation I had had with my husband after the calls.
Everyone told me at the time that it was not possible to do that but since then I have learned of at least one device that does just that...used mostly by husband or wives trying to catch out their spouses!
The way the lady was able to relate what I had said to my husband after I had switched the phone off was for me not just an invasion of my privacy it gave me the creeps...it felt quite wrong, very unpleasant
How all the other people feel after losing a loved one I hate to even try to imagine.
This hacking is clearly more widespread than anyone imagined. If its against the law the perpetrators should pay the penalty.
We need to feel safe.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Internet creeps.
Each group develops its own rules and the games on the internet are no exception. You would expect the basic decencies to be observed and by many they are but sometimes I do actually despair.
I play Scrabble and on the Facebook version it's really quite civilised. You can choose how long your game might last and make real friends as you opt to carry on playing regularly with people. One of my friends interrupted the game last year to tell me she was in labour. We chatted as she got herself ready for the birth and have stayed in touch ever since. Two people I play with were friends long before Facebook emerged and its a great way of keeping in touch.
Backgammon however is different. Its not civilised. It's often dog eat dog, with screaming and shouting abuse and as much cheating as is possible. So why do I do it? There are times when I don't. I leave, vowing never to return. But the bottom line here is that I love playing the game. I don't mind if I lose if the game has been a test of skill.
I play on Fibs, and have made friends there from all over the world. One man from the USA is hoping to visit soon and to have a renewal of his wedding vows. Another man, who was mourning the death of his father asked me to light a candle for him. He was Jewish. Strange and wonderful things happen on Fibs. And then there are the cheats. The people who wait till your winning and then drop out.
They are preferable to the womanisers who seem to think that its reasonable to ask your age and sex before and during a match and get very abusive when you chose not to.
I used to chat politely . Now I don't. I've changed my name so no one knows who I am. Some names are just dreadful. Why would anyone want to play anyone with a screen name of swear words or racist attacks.
So I am careful. I don't talk I just play the game.
I can play with my son in the next village with out leaving home.
The world wide web, far from restricting me has brought me into contact with people and situations I could never have dreamed of.
I enjoy the contact with all sorts of different people enormously and count myself lucky to be able to have so many contacts with so many people. We often discuss our various religions when a real friendship has developed. We are not as different as people would like to think. The core of faith exists in most of us even though we may give it different names.
I play Scrabble and on the Facebook version it's really quite civilised. You can choose how long your game might last and make real friends as you opt to carry on playing regularly with people. One of my friends interrupted the game last year to tell me she was in labour. We chatted as she got herself ready for the birth and have stayed in touch ever since. Two people I play with were friends long before Facebook emerged and its a great way of keeping in touch.
Backgammon however is different. Its not civilised. It's often dog eat dog, with screaming and shouting abuse and as much cheating as is possible. So why do I do it? There are times when I don't. I leave, vowing never to return. But the bottom line here is that I love playing the game. I don't mind if I lose if the game has been a test of skill.
I play on Fibs, and have made friends there from all over the world. One man from the USA is hoping to visit soon and to have a renewal of his wedding vows. Another man, who was mourning the death of his father asked me to light a candle for him. He was Jewish. Strange and wonderful things happen on Fibs. And then there are the cheats. The people who wait till your winning and then drop out.
They are preferable to the womanisers who seem to think that its reasonable to ask your age and sex before and during a match and get very abusive when you chose not to.
I used to chat politely . Now I don't. I've changed my name so no one knows who I am. Some names are just dreadful. Why would anyone want to play anyone with a screen name of swear words or racist attacks.
So I am careful. I don't talk I just play the game.
I can play with my son in the next village with out leaving home.
The world wide web, far from restricting me has brought me into contact with people and situations I could never have dreamed of.
I enjoy the contact with all sorts of different people enormously and count myself lucky to be able to have so many contacts with so many people. We often discuss our various religions when a real friendship has developed. We are not as different as people would like to think. The core of faith exists in most of us even though we may give it different names.
Monday, 4 July 2011
Watering and praying
This glorious weather is wonderful. I am not complaining. Much.
However the drought situation is back in my particular bit of Cornwall. Whilst we were away it rained a bit. When we came home everything looked refreshed. The sun has shone non stop since. I have already lost several young trees and shrubs so watering has become an every day necessity. I leave it till late afternoon and then it takes a couple of hours. I don't use a hose because when I tried the dam thing got stuck, or knotted and I spent far too much time pulling it around. The garden is at least 100 yards long! So it's all done by hand from three large butts filled every day by my clever husband using a pump. Gallons of water I carry!
I really, don't mind watering. It's better than the alternative! But it eats into what used to be my prayer time.
So I can pray and water at the same time. And I do. I often burst into song at some point. The Magnificat can be heard at the next farm down the lane.
I don't worry too much about my neighbors. They already know they have a mad woman living near them.
Visitors can be a bit surprised though. Not sure how the cows feel.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Sunday, 3 July 2011
Wise woman or witch?
One of the great influences of my life was Bill Vanstone. The other one was my grandma. I lived with her till I was seven and she taught me day by day. I'm afraid that in the old days she would have been thought of as a witch but in fact she was a very wise woman. She was a herbalist and much of my childhood was spent in the fields with my gran, gathering. She made me a special pinny with lots of pockets to put in all the wild flowers we collected. She taught me how to dry and use them all and many more things as well.
She could read hands and that was one of our lessons too. So I can read hands. I have not gone through life admitting this very often to people. Being a fortune teller was never one of my ambitions.
I have though always looked at the hands of those I love. My children on the day they were born had their hands read!
I have always looked at my own hand and seen it reflecting the storms and set backs of life as I went. So you see the residue of belief is still there.. Looking at my hand is as normal to me as drinking a cup of tea. It makes me face up to the bad traits of my character. Knowing yourself well is vital for any sort of well being I think.
In the years since my priesting though I havn't really examined it much. Certainly never in public, though during the duller moments of church meetings I have been tempted.
This morning I arrived at church very early and had time to think quietly on my own in the vestry.
For the first time for ages I looked at my hand, thinking to glance away again when I saw something new had appeared. I have always had a teaching square. As I was a teacher that was to be expected. Now right in the middle of the teaching square is the cross of Christ, properly proportioned...
Amazing.
Two less compatible people than my gran and my priest you could never hope to meet. They never met. Until today on my hand. I dont hope or expect to convert any of you to palmistry or indeed any other occult practice, but although I have taken everything my gran taught me with huge dollops of doubt, some of it has stuck fast. There seems no reason now I am an old woman to discard any of it. I am as God created me!
She could read hands and that was one of our lessons too. So I can read hands. I have not gone through life admitting this very often to people. Being a fortune teller was never one of my ambitions.
I have though always looked at the hands of those I love. My children on the day they were born had their hands read!
I have always looked at my own hand and seen it reflecting the storms and set backs of life as I went. So you see the residue of belief is still there.. Looking at my hand is as normal to me as drinking a cup of tea. It makes me face up to the bad traits of my character. Knowing yourself well is vital for any sort of well being I think.
In the years since my priesting though I havn't really examined it much. Certainly never in public, though during the duller moments of church meetings I have been tempted.
This morning I arrived at church very early and had time to think quietly on my own in the vestry.
For the first time for ages I looked at my hand, thinking to glance away again when I saw something new had appeared. I have always had a teaching square. As I was a teacher that was to be expected. Now right in the middle of the teaching square is the cross of Christ, properly proportioned...
Amazing.
Two less compatible people than my gran and my priest you could never hope to meet. They never met. Until today on my hand. I dont hope or expect to convert any of you to palmistry or indeed any other occult practice, but although I have taken everything my gran taught me with huge dollops of doubt, some of it has stuck fast. There seems no reason now I am an old woman to discard any of it. I am as God created me!
Saturday, 2 July 2011
Decadent Saturday?
Today has a decadent flavor to it. It's never happened before so my head is taking a while to get used to it but it's Saturday and there's no wedding!
Not only that but my only service tomorrow is the BCP communion at which we don't preach so there's no sermon to write either.
In years gone by the Saturday after Henley has been fraught. For the last five years I have dashed home on Friday evening in order to marry someone on the Saturday.
On one year the couple rang me at seven in the morning to tell me that the massive storm during the night had blown away their marquee! We sorted it!
On those occasions a sort of dogged determination has carried me through in the hope that no one will feel let down by anything.
It is also of course the anniversary of my ordination when I gave my first sermon to the local church starting with the words,
"well who would have thought it? Positive proof that God has a sense of humour "
This Saturday has always been a fraught one for me.
During the period in this parish when I was the only priest for miles around due to death, illness, early retirement etc I still remember the Henley when I wrote two sermons in the car.
This determination to do everything has melted away now. We are not quite so thin on the ground thank goodness...
But it still feels very odd to get up on a beautiful Cornish morning with nothing urgent to do, no one to marry and in fact to be able to chill. Once I've brought the dog home and watered the parched garden!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Not only that but my only service tomorrow is the BCP communion at which we don't preach so there's no sermon to write either.
In years gone by the Saturday after Henley has been fraught. For the last five years I have dashed home on Friday evening in order to marry someone on the Saturday.
On one year the couple rang me at seven in the morning to tell me that the massive storm during the night had blown away their marquee! We sorted it!
On those occasions a sort of dogged determination has carried me through in the hope that no one will feel let down by anything.
It is also of course the anniversary of my ordination when I gave my first sermon to the local church starting with the words,
"well who would have thought it? Positive proof that God has a sense of humour "
This Saturday has always been a fraught one for me.
During the period in this parish when I was the only priest for miles around due to death, illness, early retirement etc I still remember the Henley when I wrote two sermons in the car.
This determination to do everything has melted away now. We are not quite so thin on the ground thank goodness...
But it still feels very odd to get up on a beautiful Cornish morning with nothing urgent to do, no one to marry and in fact to be able to chill. Once I've brought the dog home and watered the parched garden!
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
Friday, 1 July 2011
Henley's finest.
Henley is always going to be special for David. He was a rower and rowed in a winning team which qualifies him to be a member of Leander. He and his team used to meet here every year for many years until they started dying off. There are only two of them left now..reliving old glories, nattering all day and drinking far more than is good for them.
The couture here is startling. Brightly multicolored blazers are topped with boaters. David's boater is very old, as are all his Henley clothes. Around his boater is an old college tie. Imperial college still has many good rowers and of course they get the full support of the ancients.
Sitting in the Pimm's enclosure today a man came up to chat. He had seen the tie and knew that David had been at at Imperial. Reminiscence was inevitable.
". We had a wonderful coach ." the younger man said,"Absolutely wonderful, got us through some great Henleys". David beamed at him. Suddenly the man took a closer look at him.
"It's you isn't it. ?". He realized then that he had in fact found his old coach. He kissed David who was an interesting mix of pride and embarrassment.
A certain amount of reminiscing took place then and I watched my dear old boy becoming young again. For a few precious moments he became again the great sportsman he had been.
I was very proud of him.
I am so glad it happened today because the decision has been taken that this would be the last Henley. No handkerchiefs needed. We left in a cloud of glory. Tears may come later.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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