End of life for the United Services Mess

It took me a while to figure out how to attach the cardio monitor securely to my pyjama trousers last night. Once I got used to it and settled down to sleep, the night was no more broken than usual by getting up to empty my bladder. I have to be sure to drink plenty of water when I get up or I feel terrible. It's not easy if I get distracted. Clare had a saxophone lesson after breakfast which drove me back upstairs to recover in bed. I'm supposed to make a note of symptoms like dizziness or palpitation and their timing. My heart rate rises when I get up at night, but it doesn't stay high for long, and I've not had anything nearly as scary as the palpitations which returned me to A&E a second time after the stroke. I'm exercising moderately avoiding stressful situations as far as possible and hopefully this keeps my blood pressure from going high for long periods.

I went for a walk around the streets before lunch. A couple of teenagers in school uniform accosted me with questions for a social survey they're doing about Pontcanna for a school project. They were sounding opinions about quality of life and available amenities in the area. I'm not sure if their teacher designed the survey or if they did. An interesting project. I wonder what they will learn from it?

I slept for an hour after lunch. I felt as if I could have slept for longer. When I woke up I sent an email to Sir Norman Lloyd Edwards President of the United Services Mess, to say that I had a stroke and wouldn't be fit and well enough to deliver the Mess Grace at this year's Remembrance dinner.

My afternoon walk in Thompson's Park was hard going, not least because of the chilling wind that gusted from time to time. I took my TZ 95 camera out with me for the first time since the stroke, as it wasn't dull, but clouds with sunshine and occasional sprinkles of rain. I only took a few pictures of trees turning colour and the autumnal carpet of yellow and brown leaves.

When I returned there was a reply from Sir Norman to say there would be no more Mess Remembrance dinners, as the 116 year old institution had voted to close down for lack of membership and income. So it turns out that I was the last Hon Chaplain to say Grace and speak the traditional words from the hymn 'O Valiant Hearts' used in the Mess Remembrance ceremony during the meal.

Tranquil you lie, your knightly virtue proved / Your memory hallowed in the land you loved.

There's an old saying among military veterans, taken from a parody of a hymn: 'Old soldiers never die, they just fade away'. The same is true of their institutions too. British armed forces have down sized and are less visible in public life, except on ceremonial occasions. Many soldiers commute to work rather than live in military bases, their patterns of socialisation are different from the way they were in times past. Originally, the United Services Mess provided a meeting place in the city for those stationed at Maindy Barracks or a naval unit on the coast, or St Athan Aerodrome. This doesn't work socially for modern professional soldiers. Post 1945 generations of service personnel eventually became veterans themselves. numbers slowly diminish and Mess members are not being replaced, so it's no longer sustainable, as a social organisation.

On occasions during my time at St John's the church was asked to take custody of a veteran's association banner, when there were no more members of the organisation left to parade with it. It was suspended from the wall of the side chapel, silently telling a story of past generations of servicemen, now part of the nation's past. St John's city parish church has commemorative plaques to honour fallen USM members, but there never was a banner to be paraded at annual services or laid up at the end of its life. I wonder how the story of the Mess will be remembered at St John's in times to come?

This evening I wrote a biblical reflection on the phrase 'Keep alert' in the light of my stroke experience. I'll publish it on the Parish What'sApp Daily Prayer thread, when I think it's ready.

Valued invitation

A cold sunny day after a better night's sleep than my less than smart Fitbit tells me. It simply can't cope with reverting from summer time to GMT and stopped recording time at rest (whether awake or sleep) an hour before I woke up and looked at the time on it. I recall this happening last year on this day too, and a few other times in the year for no reason, losing 2-4 hours recording time. It fails to synchronise with the phone app too, even though it says it's bluetooth connected. 

I woke up at approximately my usual time to judge by the rising sun, now a quarter to seven instead of a quarter to eight. After an early breakfast I went for a walk in park for half an hour before church, to take advantage of the sunshine. The Sunday Park Run crowd were out on Llandaff Fields putting on some kind of running activity for children - a good hour before the Sunday morning sports training tune up. Physical activity is the new secular society substitute for Sunday School and churchgoing, I reckon.

There was no Sunday School at St Catherine's in any case today as it's half term, so there were thirty of us for the Eucharist, celebrated by Fr Rhys, as Fr Sion and Catherine are in Bologna, visiting their daughter, studying there at the University. The church hall is still disguised for use as a film set, hired out for two weeks to a TV company shooting a children's series. The back room annexe is off limits at the moment as it's filled with film set props and lighting equipment. At coffee time we were allowed a peep into the room to satisfy our curiosity.

After lunch, I was relaxing hoping for a snooze when the phone rang. It was Sir Norman Lloyd Edwards, ringing on behalf of the United Services Mess to find out if I'd be willing to officiate at the Remembrance weekend Mess dinner in two weeks time. In years past, the previous Mess secretary Tony Lewis rang me a month or so beforehand to book me in. It's a duty I've performed most years since I became Vicar of St John's, except for a few years when I was on autumn locum duty in Spain. I wondered why I'd not heard, and admitted it was possible a new Mess Chaplain had been appointed. 

Until a few years ago the Mess was a gentlemen only organisation, the exception being women on active service. The only women guests were the Mayor, Lord Lieutenant or High Sheriff. None of the three women clergy who followed me at St John's were recruited as Mess Chaplain, so I remained by default, a sort of legacy Chaplain unless this had changed and I'd not been informed. I was wondering about calling the Mess to check this out in case it had been overlooked. Coming to the night accidentally without having a Chaplain on board wouldn't be looked on favourably. Military folk follow meticulously their traditions and necessary formalities. Most may be non-religious, but respect for the status quo is part of respect for each other. Informality and comradeship still have a secure foundation in customary observance. 

Sir Norman, through his office as retiring President of the Friends of St John's was able to obtain my contact details from church rather than Mess records. It seems the new committee didn't inherit them. As he was in charge of assigning top table places, including the Chaplain and the banquet Master of Ceremonies, he spotted the omission and made the call, while I was still thinking about checking this out. I'm happy to accept for perhaps the twentieth time. It's an honour to be in the company of veterans as well as serving members of the armed forces, despite never having done so myself.

Clare was still snoozing when I went out for a walk in the afternoon sunshine. She called me an hour later, we met in the park and went to Coffee#1 for a drink before returning home before sunset, for a change. It's completely dark before six now with the sun setting at six minutes to five, and that's on a sunny day. After supper, I watched an episode of 'Lolita Lobosco', set in sunny Puglia, with some lovely romantic stories running alongside a series of dark criminal investigations. Serious, but also laced with good humour and spiced with wisdom or quotations from the Classics. It helps keep at bay the autumnal darkness we now have to live with for the next four months.

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!

Once a warrior ....

I woke up in time for 'Thought for the Day' and posted today's prayer video link to WhatsApp. By the time I'd caught up with myself it was too late to go to the St John's Eucharist so I retrieved and edited the text for the Grace to say at the United Services Mess dinner tomorrow evening. I started preparing lunch early, then with time in hand, and wanting to be sure what I'd written was appropriate for the resumption of this veterans' dinner, the first since 2019, I caught the bus into town to visit the Mess building and consult Mess chairman Tony Lewis. Once I had his approval, I returned home to continue with lunch. A split pea stew was on the menu. Although it tasted fine, the split peas were undercooked. They would have been better after ten minutes in the pressure cooker. Ah well, we live and learn.

After lunch I listened again to Rachel's new recording, and wrote a few short verses for her to try speaking as a voiceover to accompany the music as an experiment. I wonder what she'll make of this? Then I started preparing next week's Morning Prayer video slideshow before realising I'd not yet recorded and edited the audio file, so I did that before going out for a walk as it was getting dark. After supper I watched the last episode of 'SAS Rogue' heroes. 

A remarkable series about ruthless, determined, anarchic violent cut-throat characters directing all their energies to the strategic aim of defeating the Nazis, no matter what the cost. Although anachronistic, the desert warfare scenes depicted to a high octane punk rock sound track. Appropriate for rogue heroes. The SAS played a pivotal part in sabotaging Rommel's North African campaign, preventing his advance right through southern Europe. Their methods were unconventional, militarily speaking, resembling fast moving guerilla warfare, but better resourced. 

Their leader Major David Stirling was captured and spent the rest of the war on active service as a POW in Colditz Castle, where he was instrumental in four escape attempts from the impregnable Saxon fortress, responsible for gathering intelligence and transmitting it by means of a secret radio. A remarkable patriotic warrior, of what would be considered far right persuasion today. In later life he was architect of a plan to launch a military takeover of the government if Britain's leadership ever fell in into what he thought of as the wrong hands. A minor media furore at the time, changing nothing. He died in 1990. I can't imagine him being anything other than a brexiteer, but how would he have coped with covid, or Boris, I wonder?

Autumnal opera season begins

After breakfast I has a phone call from Tony Lewis of the United Services Mess inviting me to serve as chaplain at the annual Remembrance Day banquet, as I have done many times in the past twenty years. The banqueters are mostly armed service veterans. This is the first to be arranged post-covid. I do hope there'll be rely good turnout.

I completed next week's Morning Prayer video and uploaded it to YouTube, then I walked into town, while Ann and Clare walked in the park. Having decided to travel to London with Ann on Monday to see my sister June I needed to buy a train ticket. I was lucky enough to reserve a set next to her. Monday off peak trains are not so busy, apparently.

We drove to the Millennium Centre after tea for the evening's performance of Janacek's opera 'The Makropulos Affair', one we've never seen before. It was an unusual story, about a law suit and a 300 year old opera diva kept alive and young by a magic potion, set in the early 20th century.

The music and singing was immaculate as ever. The production was unusual and innovative, making use of evocative video projection during the overture and one act. Then during a long scene changing interlude, one of male singers came on stage and explained entertainingly to the audience the complexities of the law suit. A brilliant innovation.

Janacek isn't as popular as many other opera composers, and the auditorium wasn't packed, as it is usually. Those who didn't chose this show missed a treat. It's unusual in another way worth experiencing.

It was like a stage play with dialogue and actors singing not speaking. The music, full of dissonant harmonies served like a sound track in a movie. It was rich with emotional content, sustaining the drama. One thought provoking statement from the 300 year old diva, was how intolerably lonely it was live so long, a sentiment often expressed by those who live beyond ninety and lose spouse, friends and sometimes offspring. For such loneliness, when nobody is left who shares your life experience, there's no cure.

Remembering in different ways

I went to the Eucharist at St John's yesterday morning, and spent the rest of the day writing, until it was nearly sunset, before going out for a walk. Once I get started, with new ideas and characters it's hard to stop. Perhaps I'm not confident of being able to remember where I'd got to, and picking up the threads again later. Anyway, I got a few good low light and night shots with the HX90 in Pontcanna Fields, so it was worth taking the break.

Today, an idea that's been brewing for a while about another story related to the St Paul's riots came into focus, so I dared to put my ever lengthening story writing project on hold, and see what I could produce. It was a story about one of the characters, a larger than life woman, who was confirmed at St Agnes the night of the riots. Once I started it, memories of that time, thirty nine years ago presented themselves, as I was telling the story. Four hours later, it was complete. I was pleased with the result, and so was Clare.

I also had a Sunday sermon to write in the afternoon, before getting ready to go and join two hundred and twenty veterans and serving military personnel at the 104th annual United Services Mess dinner at the Angel hotel. Just before we went on holiday, I received a call from Tony Lewis, the secretary of the Mess, and organiser of this unique affair, to ask if I would be free and willing to attend say Grace and share in the evening's ritual of Remembrance. It was something I did regularly when I was Vicar of St John's. The Mess building is in the city centre close to the church, and customarily the Vicar is Mess chaplain. I continued for a year or so after retirement until locum duties in Spain prevented me.

There's a Mess member who was retired RAF Chaplain, and he became the honorary Chaplain in my place. Being ten years older than me, it's got to the stage was he's unable to attend now due to illness, which is why Tony called to ask me. After I retired, three successive female clerics were appointed at St John's, with lots on their individual agendas to make their ministries matter to the city. As there are no Mess members among the regular congregation, this ministry was easily overlooked.

There had been an annual Mess service but attendance dwindled as parking near the church became increasingly impossible. In addition, the Mess had been a 'gentlemen only' members club for a century. Debate on admission of women members was already under way, with the growth of female service personnel, but this took seven years to reach a decision, and now the annual dinner is a mixed affair. And the conservative military social tradition of the Mess hasn't really suffered. The new normal has quickly been accepted without tantrums.

There were many people attending who welcomed me like and old friend. It was heart warming. I wrote a special table prayer for the occasion, and two people went out of their ways to express their appreciation for the thoughtful relevance of what I'd written.

The food and the service were excellent. The after dinner speaker was a front line senior General, commanding the Army's third division, also Colonel of the Royal Welch. He had some interesting things to say about partnership between British and European forces in Eastern Europe in a complex and ever evolving political situation. At every level, it was an evening I enjoyed, including the walk home along the west bank of the Taff in the dark. Just what I needed after an intense day of writing.