Well, I managed seven hours sleep, but could have done with more. I drove to Benalmadena for the first celebration in honour of St Matthew, Apostle and Evangelist, and thence to Los Boliches for the second. This weekend was the first in which I presided as a priest at the Eucharist, at St Andrew's in Caerphilly, one that brings back fond memories of friendly supportive people in a mining community, back in the days when there were still three collieries producing coal in a three mile radius of the Parish where I served my title, six miles from where I was born.
From one of them, Bedwas pit, my Great Uncle Will was recruited aged 40 to serve in the army he'd quit fourteen years earlier, possibly to join a team of military miners working on the Western Front. He disappeared at the second battle of Paschendaele. Nothing is known of how or why. His wife never recovered from not knowing anything about his end. This week, grand-daughter Rhiannon is going on a school trip to the battlefields of Flanders. I wonder how much she knows about this side of family history?
The coast road is a lot quieter now and I had no problems with traffic or parking. The weather is somewhat cooler too, and that too eases the pressure. I was glad to have nothing else to do for the rest of the day, apart from meals, siesta, late afternoon paseo, and a Skype session with Clare and Owain to end the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment