Connections in sorrow

My Sunday duties took me out as far as Cardiff International Airport this morning, to the Parish of Porthkerry with Rhoose in which it lies. Being only a dozen miles from the centre of Cardiff, it has developed as a commuter village in recent decades. The church of St Curig at Porthkerry is 13th century, has a ring of six bells and seats forty. It was the second church I visited, with a congregation of just a dozen, and an old Prayer Book service. It's been restored recently, so the Google Street View doesn't do it justice. It's been lime-washed a brilliant white and now looks as it would have been prior to zealous efforts by Victorian restorers to strip the surface and reveal its stonework. They didn't understand that the limewash exterior was an ancient means of waterproofing the building. Many places paid dearly with ingress of damp as a result.

My first service was in the village of Rhoose, which before it grew substantially used to be served by the incumbent of Porthkerry in the 'tin tabernacle' of St Peter's mission church. It has been replaced by a modest brick building in recent years, which has skilfully re-cycled wooden classing from the old interior of create storage space in the roof. There is a lively Sunday school meeting during the service in a hut squeezed into the small space beyond the east end of the church, pending the addition of a permanent building extension, much needed by an evidently lively Parish community.

There was a congregation of over forty adults and a dozen children who worshipped with vigour and enthusiasm. When I had finished, the church warden beautifully de-briefed the children about their Sunday school activities. I had the lingering feeling this was something I should have done, but it worked so well there was no need for me to be up front. The leader of the teen group is Dave, a Cardiff postman. He did a funny sketch with the group about the frustrations of his busy round, in which he always felt under pressure as he served others. Then he dropped a sombre reflective note into his talk. Karina Menzies the mother of two killed in yesterday's van hit and run was one of the people to whom he delivered mail on his round. "I wish could deliver her mail again this week, like last week." he said movingly.

On the way home along Cowbridge Road West at lunchtime, I saw a crowd of a hundred or so on the forecourt of Ely Fire Station, one of the places where the hit and run driver had struck. There were TV cameras as well, and later it was reported on the news that an impromptu memorial gathering had taken place there. Jan had an evening service at 'the Res', and was interviewed several times. I remember what that was like from the time of the St Paul's riots - simply exhausting. I feel for her.