A bright sunny day today with occasional gusts of chill wind to remind us it's still early spring even if Semana Santa is approaching rapidly. Just as I was setting out for my afternoon paseo, I received an email from Llandaff diocesan office announcing the death of two priests I knew.
Canon Harold Clarke, had been Vicar of St Martin's Roath, and in retirement attended St German's. Once he found standing at the altar for Sunday Mass too difficult, he would sit in choir, and at the end lead the recitation of the Angelus, and continued to do so until he was hospitalised. He was much loved by people there, and led prayers with a lovely serene smile.
Fr Erle Hastey and I trained in St Michael's Llandaff at the same time. He was a year older than me, and had left school to become a miner in his native Yorkshire. Once he'd tested his vocation, he was sent to Brasted Place, a pre-theological college which served the church of England by educating those who had missed out on suitable qualifications to enter ministerial training at school. The scheme was residential and contributed significantly to the spiritual formation of aspiring priests as well raising their educational level. Sadly such institutions are no longer affordable in a shrinking church, though thankfully catch-up education is now widely available while people are working.
Erle's years down the pit meant that he seemed older and wiser for his age than those of us who had been able to go right through schooling to University. He was incisive, witty and sometimes quite challenging of those he thought less than certain about the foundations of catholic faith, under the sway of liberal modernity, like me. I learned from our exchanges over late night tea or coffee to be more confident in what I had received of the faith growing up, and like him, not to put up with pious nonsense and hypocrisy. After ordination our ways parted, and we didn't meet for twenty years, until I was working for USPG and he was Vicar of Tonyrefail. Then another twenty years slipped by until we met in the Cardiff city centre street outside St John's, when I was Vicar, and just due to retire.
May both these admirable companions in mission and ministry rest in peace.
There were groups of young people on Playa la Malagueta in swimming costumes, sunning themselves and playing games. I could hear French and German being spoken as well as Spanish. Some braved the coolness of the sea for a swim. For them, term is ended I guess, and it's time to chill out - literally in the case of an energetic few.
Canon Harold Clarke, had been Vicar of St Martin's Roath, and in retirement attended St German's. Once he found standing at the altar for Sunday Mass too difficult, he would sit in choir, and at the end lead the recitation of the Angelus, and continued to do so until he was hospitalised. He was much loved by people there, and led prayers with a lovely serene smile.
Fr Erle Hastey and I trained in St Michael's Llandaff at the same time. He was a year older than me, and had left school to become a miner in his native Yorkshire. Once he'd tested his vocation, he was sent to Brasted Place, a pre-theological college which served the church of England by educating those who had missed out on suitable qualifications to enter ministerial training at school. The scheme was residential and contributed significantly to the spiritual formation of aspiring priests as well raising their educational level. Sadly such institutions are no longer affordable in a shrinking church, though thankfully catch-up education is now widely available while people are working.
Erle's years down the pit meant that he seemed older and wiser for his age than those of us who had been able to go right through schooling to University. He was incisive, witty and sometimes quite challenging of those he thought less than certain about the foundations of catholic faith, under the sway of liberal modernity, like me. I learned from our exchanges over late night tea or coffee to be more confident in what I had received of the faith growing up, and like him, not to put up with pious nonsense and hypocrisy. After ordination our ways parted, and we didn't meet for twenty years, until I was working for USPG and he was Vicar of Tonyrefail. Then another twenty years slipped by until we met in the Cardiff city centre street outside St John's, when I was Vicar, and just due to retire.
May both these admirable companions in mission and ministry rest in peace.
There were groups of young people on Playa la Malagueta in swimming costumes, sunning themselves and playing games. I could hear French and German being spoken as well as Spanish. Some braved the coolness of the sea for a swim. For them, term is ended I guess, and it's time to chill out - literally in the case of an energetic few.
On the quay, retailers are moving in and stocking up the white painted wooden cabins which are the basis of the Spring/Easter market, ready for this weekend's trade, when visitors flock in for Samana Santa. Over on the Alameda, a collection of large seating stands, assembled offsite I guess, have been delivered, ready set up for use. They are wheeled, and so can easily be moved into place, but for the moment they are bunched together in spare open space, looking like a chaotic traffic jam. All down the Calle Marquesa de Larios stacks of twenty odd wooden chairs have been delivered, ready for the labour intensive task of laying them out.
Old Town visitors, shoppers come and go as usual. Even the Living Sculpture guy, dressed in a news print suit and reading a newspaper, was setting up for the afternoon when I passed by. I dropped in to La Casa Invisible free community arts centre for the first time and had a coffee. They are selling tee shirts with their branding printed on it at the moment for five euros, and announced a special offer. A beer and a tee shirt for six euros, except that in larger print above was written 1000 pesetas, which I think was the equivalent to six euros. There's still a certain amount of conservative sentiment in Spain for the old currency, and there are still retailers whose till receipts and price labels show both. But this is a radical/liberal arts centre, so this promotion was very much tongue in cheek!
I returned to the apartment by a route which led me past the Cathedral. I was surprised to discover that the scaffolding in the street between the Cathedral and Bishop's Palace had disappeared. I had thought it might be for the benefit of TV cameras, but evidently not. It must have been there for some maintenance work on one of the buildings.
I returned to the apartment by a route which led me past the Cathedral. I was surprised to discover that the scaffolding in the street between the Cathedral and Bishop's Palace had disappeared. I had thought it might be for the benefit of TV cameras, but evidently not. It must have been there for some maintenance work on one of the buildings.
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