Prince of Muck

Another warm and sunny Spring day with occasional showers. I went to the Eucharist at St Catherine's this morning with eight of us present. During the day I exchanged emails with chaplaincy representatives in the Costa del Sol, sorting out flight reimbursements and briefing me about Sunday services. There was the veggie bag to collect before making lunch and the Beanfreaks grocery order to collect afterwards with only a short walk around the park late afternoon.

In the evening I watched this weeks edition of 'The Repair Shop' containing a significant item for the team to restore - an ornate Jewish prayer book which had survived. along with its owner, the horrors of the nazi concentration camp at Treblinka. The flyleaf contained the signatures of all who came out alive when it was liberated, such a powerful and cherished family heirloom. The moments of handover of cherished family mementos are often moving occasions, but this one, exceptionally so. Members of the team were equally moved at the response of its owner and the privilege they'd shared in helping conserve a historical document of such significance.

Then a documentary film called 'Prince of Muck' about the Laird of the Hebridean island of Muck, a man in his mid-seventies called Lawrence McEwan, whose great grandfather bought the island which Lawrence inherited over fifty years ago. His life's work has been dedicated to continuing the island's traditional way of life, while accepting technical innovations that improve life for everyone and encourage inhabitants to stay, or if they do go away, to return. 

His son now runs the family farm, but he still has his own small herd of free ranging cattle and looks after them himself. Being a life-long diarist, he read to camera from his journals over the years, and reflected on the changes he's seen in his life while he went on his daily round of chores. He took us to the graveyard where he wishes to be buried alongside other islanders, not in the Laird's exclusive islet Viking burial ground. "There are no walls or fences here." he explained. "My cattle will be able to visit me and walk on my grave."

It was a beautifully made film about a beautiful place and an old man at the end of his days, bearded, bent over, using walking sticks, remembering with love all that mattered most to him. If found that as a contemporary of his, it was easy to identify with him. When the credits ran at the end, it announced that he'd died just before it was shown on BBC Four. I wonder if he saw the finished product and approved of it?