Day 108, The Sunday “Rant”

I think for many folk during the lock-down which becomes increasingly watered down, the weekend can either feel quite lonely, or reasonably pleasant as more people begin to re-engage with pre-lockdown activities and routines. The virus is still with us, but with inventive measures exercised by the majority, we might one day be completely rid of this threat, and those over seventy years of age who, at the moment, play by the rules, will once again be able live normally without having to interpret the recent incomprehensible and often contradictory legislation from those on high, which is also seen to be disobeyed by “those on high”. Not so long ago, I considered buying a house in Barnard Castle, a pleasant none-too-big dwelling which was in our family for a while. It would have been a sound investment; the chief advisor to our revered prime minister also has a place there, set in acres! Whereas he could drive up there during the height of lockdown, if I had chosen to do exactly the same, I would now have a police record among my treasured possessions!

This morning, I took my sister’s advice and tuned into Radio 4 just before 8.10. Sure enough, there was a fine act of worship which, this week, came from The Baptist’s College in Cardiff. Why this programme came under the heading of “Today’s Papers”, I can only guess that “The Establishment”, while having to broadcast such a church service, makes it as inaccessible as possible to deter “listenership”. And why so early? except that traditionally worship does commence early in the morning. I remember those early “offices” at Ampleforth where if I remember rightly, the first service was at 06.15hrs. There was no excuse, an almighty great bell would shake one from his/her slumbers up to ten miles away!

In the 1773 words of William Cowper (and others) “God works in a Mysterious Way His Wonders to Perform”. I am told that he penned this hymn during a period of deep depression during which he decided he had had enough. He hired a horse-drawn cab and requested of the driver, “London Bridge, please”. The Thames, he thought, was as good a place as any to terminate his mental agony. On the way, a thick fog descended, completely confusing the cab driver. For a long time, they searched for the Bridge, but eventually, the driver had to give up. The fog was what was once would be referred to as a “pea-souper”. William Cowper descended from his cab, initially, completely lost, and perhaps rather thankful of a divine stay of execution. Who knows? He crossed the road, only to find himself right outside his front door. It was this strange coincidence that inspired what would become Hymn 373 in Hymns Ancient and Modern. It was this, which this morning’s R4 church service brought to mind…the theme of this morning’s worship being “The Parable of the Sower”.

One of the first parables I became familiar with was that of The Sower which as a schoolboy was compelled to learn off by heart. At Speech Day, a chosen pupil of good voice and Queen’s English would be selected to recite a written explanation of the excerpt, which I believe is from Matthew chapter 13. When, in various sermons since, the preacher has delivered a clear, unquestionable and comprehensible interpretation of said parable, I have felt decidedly uncomfortable. I can identify with the seed that fell among the rocks and the thorns, but see little evidence of 5 fold, let alone a hundred! But I liked the service, and part of me wished that I had been brought up as Baptist…the music is good there, too, as well as at the higher end of the Church of England.

School days were recalled, along with Mrs. Hamlins discordant attempts at playing the hymns at School Assembly. I remember the Headmaster’s well intentioned ambition that during Assembly, bible readings would start at Genesis, with a view to eventually, the whole Bible being read over, what one would assume, be many years! That was in 1960; Mr. Hamlin passed away in 1963; I don’t recall how far the Bible readings had, by that time, reached. Mr. McEvoy (Algebra and English) once lamented, “school days are certainly NOT the best days of your life”. How very right he was! I didn’t hate school; the were many (among those with whom I struggled), inspirational teachers. My favourite (‘though the feeling wasn’t mutual) was Mr. Norman Bird whose passion for proper English was one I would try to emulate in later life. Pre-fixing “unique” with an adjective would have resulted in corporal punishment, Saturday detention or both, as would the misuse of the word “iconic”. Complain these days, and you are told, merely, that is how language evolves.

Yesterday, I lamented, “where has summer gone?” Today summer has returned and I can sit out in the garden and enjoy the iconic distant vista of Hoffman’s Quarry over to the left and the landscape leading to a very unique Axe Edge further away to the right!