A struggle to put community at the heart of regeneration

Owain was up bright and early this morning, getting ready to leave, and by eight fifteen we were at the bus stop outside waiting for the number three to estacion Maria Zambrano. I accompanied him as far as there, and we parted company at the metro entrance gates. I walked back to the apartment and collected a copy of the free '20 minutos' newspaper on the Alameda. 

It's the same simple tabloid format as the equivalent distributed in Switzerland, albeit with different language and local content. Designed for consumers whose average reading age is below the level required for 'quality' news reading, grammar constructions are somewhat simpler. That means I can now read the Spanish version with almost as much ease as the French, although I needed to look up half a dozen recurrent words I didn't recognise, mostly with dramatic or violent connotation, which goes with attention grabbing bad news items.

There were the usual domestic tasks and some shopping to occupy the morning, including clearing the detritus of the pigeon's nest from the air conditioner enclosure on the balcony, a job I've been putting off since this year's offspring flew the net over a month ago. Pigeons are still roosting in the canopy above the balcony, which isn't totally closed, its mechanism needs overhaul, so the sound of billing and cooing continues, as does the occasion deposit of nest twigs and droppings, but that job is a bit beyond me. But at least it looks pretty clean now.

I spent much of the rest of the day writing, including preparing a farewell sermon for next Sunday. The evening's paseo revealed no new cruise ships in port, and the Old Town wasn't as crowded, but Monday tends to be a quiet day anyway, with some establishments having a closed day. Talking of which, a visit to La Casa Invisible over the weekend revealed that the bar and kitchen are currently closed, the Ajuntamiento having withdrawn its license, though it's still open as a meeting place, and you're invited to bring your own food and drink with you for the time being. 

As a counter cultural community arts and action centre it's been fighting for its life, with protest rallies and a publicity campaign for the past few years, as regeneration plans for the barrio propose other things for this site and its buildings. The latest news is that community organisers are trying to raise €150,000 from crowdfunding to pursue their own alternative regeneration plan, which I believe is a compromise aiming to solve the problems of a pretty decrepit building which in many ways isn't fit for purpose, although it carries a vigorous programme of events despite this. 

It reminds me of my early involvement with starting the St Paul's Area Community Association, as it took over redundant school and church buildings on the former St Barnabas Parish Church Bristol site in the early 1980s. It's great to find such collaborative ventures still persist, outside the range of established politics and institutions. Living communities cannot really be themselves and develop in pursuit of their best interests without tensions with the established order whose primary aim is preservation of the status quo. Dialogue between the establishment and its critics is never easy, and usually seems to require some kind of confrontation before constructive listening occurs. Let's hope there's a successful outcome in this case. 

Remembering departed colleagues

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.

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.