It was cold and cloudy when I left after breakfast to drive to Ty Mawr Convent for the first time in about five years. The Vale of Usk was wreathed in mist as I drove up the A449 to Monmouth, I drove through and out of it on the ascent to Penallt and the convent, though the sky wasn't altogether clear.
Sister Gillian Mary, the last of the generation of Sisters whom I go to knew well when we lived in Chepstow, died on Easter Tuesday aged 82. A wonderful woman, whose ecological vision for the acres of land around the convent, which the community still owns, has led to a landmark rural conservation project. It includes re-planting hedgerows, restoring the pond fed by the spring which was the original water supply for the convent, and planting more trees. Especially apple trees.
In the basement of the fine Victorian house which is the convent's main building is a cellar with built-in trays for storing apples, pears and other long lasting fruit. It was an amazing discovery when I was staying there on retreat, as each of the storage trays was labelled with the name of the particular variety of fruit. This was an indication of the variety of trees planted in the convent orchard. Over the many of the trees had got damaged by the weather or died of old age, but at some stage in the past decade, someone else had realised that this unique horticultural asset could be restored with new trees. I don't think all the trees that were in their original positions on the lawn to the side of the house have been replaced, but better than that a new site in an adjoining meadow in front of the house has been planted out with new trees honouring the old fruit varieties. Such a joy to behold!
There wasn't time to explore the development of the conservation project today. A return visit is needed, in due course. Today was about honouring the life for Gillian and saying farewell to her. I had to park my car on a track at the side of the field leading up to Michaelgarth the guest house, along with about fifteen others. The front of house spaces were reserved for people who couldn't walk or who needed to make a quick getaway after the service.
Dominic, a previous Bishop of Monmouth, the community's episcopal visitor presided at the Requiem Mass, another previous Bishop of Monmouth Archbishop Rowan preached a beautifully poetic homily reflecting of the holiness of belonging to a particular place and called to flourish there and enable it to flourish. He quoted from two of Gillian's poems which had been included in the order of service. I didn't see Richard the last Bishop of Monmouth there, but Cherry the current Bishop was in the congregation along with another Bishop I didn't recognise. That's a lot of Bishops in one service, and it testifies to the many friendships that characterised Gillian's life and her leadership ministry in the community. She did a long stint, perhaps twenty years as Reverend Mother.
It was Requiem Mass in Eastertide, serene and joyful, sung with simplicity. After Communion, everyone processed across the old orchard lawns to the Campo Santo the Sisters' burying ground, sheltered by a huge oak tree, with a bronze representation of the crucified body of Christ nailed to it, and over decades being slowly enfolded by it. The lawn is alive with spring flowers right now. Flowers bedecked the edge of Gillian's grave, ready to welcome her body, and the congregation circled round after the Committal and dropped twigs of rosemary on to her coffin. And the sun peeped through the clouds.
The community prepared a feast of a lunch for over sixty guests. I enjoyed a plate of cous-cous with a spicy veggie sauce, and then took my leave, as I'd promised to return as soon as I could in order to take the mixer back to Currys. It wasn't so easy, however as there were half a dozen cars parked in front of me on the track and it took another half an hour before the owners took their leave and unblocked the path to the lane outside the grounds. I was home by twenty to four, so we loaded the mixer into the car and went to the store on Newport Road.
At the store the man on the returns desk checked the contents and initially realised why we we certain the blender wasn't the correct piece of kit, but he realised something we didn't. The interface attaching the blender to the machine is different in the way it works from the one on the machine we've had for twenty five years. The mounting is spring loaded and requires a clockwise twist to lock before use. The machine's instruction booklet has an inaccurate diagram without textual description. The diagram shows that it needs a quarter of a turn to lock, but in reality it requires only a tenth of a turn, and only when it is at that thirty six degree angle can the blender fit on to the body of the machine, if and only if you realise that you have to press down as it's spring loaded. The staff accepted this and payment was refunded. Now Clare is going to order one on-line which is exactly what she wants rather than almost. One that was not available in store.
When we got home Clare warmed up the lunch I'd missed to have for supper. Afterwards I uploaded the few photos of the day I'd taken and watched another episode of Inspector Ricciardi before bed. It's very good in its portrayal of life in Naples in the era of fascism with blackshirt thugs patrolling the streets pretending to impose law and order, and courtship rituals of the era.
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