Images of memory and tradition

A return this morning to St Marychurch ourside Cowbridge for my first Eucharist of the day. The service register told me that my last visit was on Trinity Sunday last year. How time flies, and the people are as friendly and welcoming as ever, with a cup of coffee and a chat after the service to send me on my way. A good repair job has been done on stonework of the church tower facade since I was last there. Thirty thousand pounds worth. Unusually, the masons didn't didn't use native pennant sandstone, but something darker I couldn't identify. Different maybe, but it adds an interesting feature to the story a 700 year old edifice has to tell to future generations, and better documented than any other changes in its long life.

I went from there to Llansannor to celebrate the Eucharist for the second week running, but that wasn't the end of the morning's duties. I'd had a call on Thursday to stand in for Fr Mark, performing a baptism in St John's Canton at twelve thirty. With a thirty five minute journey into the city from Llansannor, there was a risk that I'd be delayed, so the baptismal party was forewarned. Despite a succession of red lights on my journey, I arrived with five minutes to spare, and was home by one fifteen.

Father Mark is on leave, recovering from a recent attempt on his life made by someone with a grudge who drove a car at him, and near missed, hitting the garden wall instead.  The downside of our liberal humane society where traditional values are optional, is tolerance to the reality of ill-will that permits the devil ' who walketh about as a roaring lion seeking someone to devour' to target Christ's ambassadors. Assaults even murders of serving clergy and church workers are symptomatic of dysfunctional society.

After lunch we went out to Dinas Powis to the home of Russell and Jackie who were holding a fund raising garden party with strawberry tea in aid of the Steiner school. I was rather tired after my intense morning, and went to sleep on a rug in a shady spot, while most went off for a woodland walk. It meant I was ready for tea when it arrived. I sat and talked with Fran Whiteside, a local artist and school trustee who's been learning to paint in the eastern Orthodox iconographic tradition, and has exhibited her work. She is thrilled to be embarking on a part time degree course in iconogaphy, which has come to birth as one of the outcomes of an initiative by Prince Charles aimed at promoting and teaching traditional arts and crafts.

We went to nearby Cadoxton-juxta-Barry on our way home to see Auntie Ivy and cousin Gareth who isn't in good health these days. His mum at 102 is in somewhat better shape despite sight and hearing loss. Thankfully they get good support from carers. I was thinking as we drove away that I first visited that house over sixty years ago, the same house Gareth has lived in since he was born. His brother Alan has moved around as I have, worked mostly in Europe and spent much of his life in the South of France. Just twelve hours before we arrived he'd returned there from a family visit. We met a couple of times when I was working in Monaco, but I don't remember us all being together under their roof since I was five years old. I still have a vivid memory of the terrapins they kept in a fish-tank, as I'd never seen anything like them before. And I remember the sound of Alan practicing the piano, way back in 1950.