Armistice Eve banquet

Last night I went to bed early and slept late, after switching on the radio for 'Thought for the Day', then falling asleep again, so I benefited from a good long night's sleep. Again, rain at night, dry with the odd shower all day. I spent the morning re-writing a sermon for Remembrance Sunday around the readings for the day. based on ideas first expressed six years ago on Remembrance Sunday in Mojacar, but in need of adapting to quite a different setting and time. 

Sometimes it's easier to start a sermon from scratch, but these are dark times. Back then it was possible to reflect in a more positive way on how the impact of war on society has changed during my lifetime. Still terrible numbers of casualties, but a tenth of the number lost in the great World Wars in the years since the UN was founded. 

Yes, it's not good enough, but the key to preventing wars is in just and equal treatment for all people. If there's mutual prosperity, resentments don't breed in the same way and lead to violence. It's a simple lesson, which prophetic scripture points towards. But the lessons still haven't been learned or accepted universally. The more we invest in tackling the rich-poor divide, aiming at equality, the more peacemaking will bear fruit. Conflict in the Holy Land is an example of the rejection of this understanding. Undoing the physical, moral and spiritual damage of this war is going to take a very long time.

Clare went out to the Optometrists for a vision checkup this morning and didn't return until early afternoon so I made myself a lightweight pasta with veggie sauce for lunch, to prepared for the evening's banquet. I went for an hour's walk before taking time to get into my formal evening dress kit in order to leave on time for the United Services Mess dinner at the Angel Hotel in town. 

The scheduled bus at ten past six didn't come, so I walked to Cowbridge Road and caught a 17 from then. In the queue in front of us as we left the stop, was the next 61 bus, arriving at Cowbridge Road East at much the same time. The printed timetable on the stop bears no resemblance to reality, and can't be relied on, especially in the evenings.

I was about ten minutes late arriving for the pre supper reception, and met Cardiff's Lady Mayor, and a number of familiar faces from previous dinners, before we were ushered in to the banqueting hall to the customary ritual hand-clapping. Our guest of Honour  and after dinner speaker was Air Vice-Marshal Ian Townsend with general oversight of Britain's military establishments and training programme. He was raised on a Bristol housing estate and flew fast jets on active service for most of his career, being raised through the ranks meanwhile for his leadership ability and thinking. A remarkable story of one entrusted with key roles in the continuing evolution of Britain's defence capability. Interesting to learn at the reception that in his down-time he's a sports referee.

His speech was impressive in painting a big picture of the armed forces in which all participants are to be equally valued. Mutual interdependence in the duty of serving the country is at the core of military strength.  True also in the life of the church, though this often seems to be forgotten. He observed that from the defence perspective there's more than meets the eye to be concerned about in the condition of civil society than wars in Ukraine and Palestine. I think he was talking about terrorism, but he didn't elaborate. The food  and wine (Chilean) was good and plentiful, the food for thought even more so.

Saying the Grace I composed earlier in the day, for 150 diners raised a loud Amen. It occurred to me that it's one of the biggest congregations I've ever prayed with! For the first time in twenty years I think, I spoke the venerable memorial stanza from the hymn 'O valiant hearts' in the dark from memory with confidence without fluffing my lines. Quite a personal achievement for me. 

I didn't stay on for a nightcap at the Mess, but walked along the route of the 61 bus and picked one up that got me home before eleven, after an enjoyable evening, performing the traditional Mess Chaplain's role in the company of a fine bunch of men and (these days) women. An honour and a privilege.

Night of Remembrance

This morning after breakfast, I took out my formal dress suit and shirt, immaculately preserved, thanks to Clare, ready to wear. I was relieved to find that it all fitted perfectly. I've not had occasion to wear it since November 2019, so this was a relief. It needed the accompaniment of a bow tie, cummerbund and braces, so I had to find them amongst the assortment of socks, a night cap and a yarmulka (ready for my next visit to a synagogue) and inspect them to ensure they were fit for purpose. All was well. 

Then I made a slide video of my twelve best photos since my cataract op, accompanied by 'cello music from Rachel, to send as a thank you to eye surgeon Andrew. Twelve out of the sixty taken since the op!  When I spoke with him yesterday, I didn't realise how many I'd taken in three and a half weeks. It's a third of what I might normally take in that time, but that wasn't what I remembered. It's just wonderful that my sight is now so much better, even with a second eye to get done eventually.

I prepared lunch - leftover split peas for me and prawns for Clare, with rice and veg for us both, but not too much for me with a five course banquet on tonight's horizon. Then I wrote my Remembrance Sunday Sermon for St German's and printed a copy of my table blessing prayer for tonight. 

Then there was time to head for the park to walk for over an hour before dressing up and going for a convenient 61 bus just ahead of the drinks hour before the Mess dinner with top table guests. I met some interesting people, including the first female captain of HMS Cambria, the local naval reserve shore establishment in South East Wales, and her colleague from HMS Dragon, the equivalent establishment in Swansea, who was my table companion. I found out he was an Anglican, well read with an enquiring mind, so our conversation over the meal was unusually interesting. 

On the other side I was seated next to John Wall, who has been Master of Ceremonies for this banquet and a key person in liaising with the Angel Hotel staff for as long as I have been invited, nearly twenty years. Both of us much the same age and conscious of the passage of time. The Mess is now in its 105th year and has survived the decimation of covid, despite an ageing membership, thanks to its dedicated core members. I felt honoured to be invited yet again to share in this unique military social occasion, saying Grace and taking part in the Act of Remembrance. 

When I stood up to say my lengthy table prayer, John couldn't work out how the microphone worked so I had to deliver it in my best stage voice to a room with over two hundred diners. I put heart and soul into delivery and the Amen at the end told me that I'd been heard. Several people afterwards said how they appreciated what they'd heard. I was grateful to think I'd got it right for this special crowd of people including the Lord Mayor of Cardiff (who arrived late) and Lord Lieutenant (who was on time). 

A splendid evening, and I was fortunate enough to catch a 61 bus home without waiting too long. Back home by eleven twenty. Gone are the days when I would go back to the Mess for the after dinner party. No longer do I have the stamina or the digestive system to cope. Late to bed for me, but not that late!

Short commemoration

How quickly the past couple days have gone by, punctuated by spells of heavy rain with temperatures dropping to near freezing. It tends to slacken off later in the afternoon, which means going out for a walk as it's getting dark, and sometimes that can be hazardous with so many cyclists using routes through the park. Most use high intensity LED headlamps which dazzle unpleasantly. For the most part they notice walkers, though occasionally there are near-misses and outbursts of mutual cursing.

Yesterday morning, the cleaners came early. I was already up finishing breakfast, and once they left I set out early to do the week's food shopping and cook lunch, as Clare had gone to the gym. While I was standing in the Coop, the in-house network radio channel called for people to stop for a minute's Armistice Day silence. Not everyone caught the message, so some staff and customers carried on banging around. Were all the staff briefed? Some evidently didn't notice, and the radio certainly wasn't very loud. One minute? A discount offer? 

Apart from my daily walk, and a modest amount of TV after supper, I spent several afternoon hours adding to my short story turned into a novel. It's still yielding surprises as a write. Clare wants to read it, so I have sent her a sharing link, and it's not nearly ready to print out a draft for correction.

Today, I spent even longer hours being absorbed with writing. Fortunately, I remembered early enough that it's Jasmine's birthday. She's 13 today, so I Whatsapp-ed her a happy birthday audio greeting, and after lunch had an audio reply!

I walked into town while it wasn't raining this afternoon, to inspect the latest technology offers to see if there's anything new of interest. There wasn't. The rain held off so I walked back as well, and took a few lovely sunset photos of the Taff, glowing pink with reflections off the clouds.

The bus station construction site is showing more signs of activity now, presumably laying drains and preparing to dig foundations. The last vestige of the former Saint David's House building, a solid concrete access ramp at the West end, in front of the Media Wales building is finally being rooted out, in readiness for laying the foundations of whatever is to be built on that site over the next couple of years, to complete the Central Square redevelopment. I don't know why it's taken so long to get started. It's a different company, different lease I suppose, but it may be due to the requirement to let archaeologists examine the site before work begins.

Armistice Day on Parade, then underground

I drove to Aljambra again this morning earlier to preach at an Armistice Day service with the Royal British Legion Albox branch, one of several in the region, indicative of the strength of the population of expatriates, and Armed Service veterans among them. There were forty present, but I was told this was half the number attending just two years ago, and that was a disappointment to the church team that had turned out to welcome them. There are all sorts of possible reasons for the change. Sickness, infirmity, holiday absence, or return to the UK among them, the branch itself has been less active until recently. One thing is certain, military veterans wherever they are stay loyal to their annual remembrance-tide commitment, and that is most honourable.

After the service, I was invited to lunch at John and Ann's house, together with Duncan and Jean, the other side of the Almanzora Valley from Albox, in a hamlet not far from the village that gives its name to the river and valley. Their house has to be reached by driving on a rough track across the dry river bed where the Arroyo Albánchez joins the rio Almanzora. The house stands above the arroyo itself, which is covered with almond and citrous trees. It's a deeply rural area where shepherds still walk their flocks or sheep or goats out to pasture on the steep slopes above the valley floor. 

It also has history of mining, like the villages in the Sierra Bédar, though not on a huge industrial scale. The ruins of the building from which the work was managed can still be glimpsed at the base of a ravine, near the valley road, but the iron-rich hillside above present no obvious sign of industry. There are dry stone terraces, and these have supported orchards. Some may be very ancient, local hearsay reckons they go back to Roman times. Some of those terraces are where mine working entrances can be found, not they are not visible from down below. 

We had a splendid lunch, preceded by a drink on the patio in full sunshine. Too hot to eat outdoors on November 11th! This is a steep sided valley, running south to north, so the sun rises late and sets early. Temperatures change dramatically once the house goes into shade. It was a peasant farmer's house, with door arches wide enough for a pannier laden donkey to be brought indoors with produce for unloading. The outside door wasn't hung on hinges but pivoted around a pole. A narrower entrance was called for during renovation. Using the ornate wrought iron attachments from the old one, John made a substantial door to fit the new space. The quality of the ironwork which he restored has him wondering about their origin, as they seem seem rather sophisticated for such an originally humble dwelling.

After a brief post-prandial pause we drove up the mountain road to spot where it was possible to park and then scramble down the upper reaches of the ravine from where several jagged rocky apertures about a metre and a half across could be seen on the slope opposite. We reached a terrace which had an entrance tunnel to the workings, driven through the hard iron bearing rock. It was obstructed by a heap of stones a metre high, possibly from a collapsed section of terrace above. There was enough clearance for us to climb over and into the entrance tunnel without difficulty. 

After about fifteen metres, the tunnel opened out into a cavern. It wasn't dark at all, but illuminated by sunlight, pouring in from the holes in the roof above and to the side. On closer inspection these other holes glimpsed from the outside showed signs of being man made, or a widening of natural fissures. In parts of the cavern, columns of stone had been left in place as roof supports, and there were signs that other tunnels had been started, following seams of minerals wherever they went. There was a great mound of rubble below these tunnels, suggesting a work in progress had been abandoned.

We found remains of boreholes in a few rocky surfaces made by the drills of shot-firers, as the teams of explosives experts were called when I was a boy. I can remember seeing holes like this in large slabs of coal delivered to our house, and in shale rocks on the spoil heap where I used to play and hunt for carboniferous fossils. This was the only visible evidence of 19th-20th century mining as there were no remnants of equipment or fixations anchoring equipment into the rock. The cavern, like the external terrace, was so lacking in evidence of recent industry, that we could have been standing in mine workings a thousand or two thousand years ago, as basic mining technique used was the same. 

Only the ruined building at the bottom of the ravine spoke of the existence of mining in this area in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, right into the civil war era. I wondered if this was a modest kind of cottage industry, using traditional techniques in an area deemed unfit or too expensive for expansion or modernisation. There's so much to learn.

Rather than go straight back to the house, we drove on over the top of the mountain and down into the next valley and paid a brief visit to the small valley town of Cantoria. The Moors had established a fortress and a hill village on a high rocky promontory to the south west of the town, and after the Moors' sixteenth century insurrection both were demolished and the sites left bare, A new town was built on the valley floor next to the rio Almanzora. It's one of a few towns of this period laid out in a classical grid pattern, such as the Romans used, and Napoleon revived later.

We re-traced our steps from here back to the house, following the rather rough track of the railway line which ran through this region to the coast, which closed in the early sixties. Quite apart from offering an interesting perspective of the valley and a few tantalising glimpses of birds I couldn't recognise, John took us back this way, to show the approximately 10km detour which must be taken from home to Albox when there's there a mighty deluge of rainwater that fills all the dry river beds to overflowing, and makes them impassible. It only happens sporadically, and who knows what will happen in future as extreme weather events get harder to predict, and likewise their impact.

I was most annoyed with myself, to have left both cameras behind, with so many sight to photograph, but Ann came to the rescue with a Sony point 'n shoot, of the same kind that I used to document the city centre redevelopment work when I was at St John's. The card slot on neither of my computers will take a Sony Memory Stick, but the connecting cables were still available. I was able to take fifty photos, transfer them to my computer, edit and upload them to the web for sharing with great ease. I was most disconcerted when I started getting notifications that people were viewing them, but I couldn't get them to display on any device. 

After a while the penny dropped. I hunted down the array of albums stored, and found them hidden at the bottom, filed in date order. The camera's operating system was still at its default date setting, 1st Jan 2008. I sorted that out, and then went through the uploaded photos altering the metadata file for each to show the proper date and time. Picasa wouldn't let me do this on originals, but Google Photos editor makes this easy and convenient. Normally I don't have a good word to say about this Picasaweb usurper, but this is one undeniable positive. All that now needs to be done is to find a simple app which will do the same on the originals on the PC. But not tonight.