Old Chapel Tenby Initiative

Another overcast day, waking up just in time for 'Thought of the Day'. After breakfast I went with Clare to the pool for her daily dip. Yesterday evening I took photos of my recent drawings and discovered that with Google Photos editing facility it's possible to intensify the lines and to some extent the colours drawn on paper. It would take a lot longer to do this by hand, assuming I had the right quality of coloured pencils to use. Admittedly it's possible to allege this is cheating, but it's my art work, I'm free to do whatever I like with it. If I wanted to make prints this would make for a better quality image in the end. It's all part of the creative learning process after all. And great holiday fun as well.

Neither of us felt like going out this morning. We had an early lunch and then went out, with the intention of walking on South Beach, after exploring side streets behind the town wall, but there were strong gusts of wind and this deterred us from going further. We made our way back along Upper Frog Street, a name which sticks in my memory as one of my contemporaries at St Mike's lived in this exotic location when he was sent to Tenby to serve his first Curacy. My attention was caught by a church building with a hanging sign outside saying 'The Old Chapel', a Christian bookshop and coffee shop. There are several eye catching notice boards on the wall either side of the entrance ,indicating that it's still a place of worship as well, but presenting itself as a far from conventional religious building. 

We went in and were delighted to discover a welcoming colourful decorated interior, whose south wall is lined with bookshelves, and other walls are lined with a variety of posters, banners and bric a brac. Near the door is a counter laden with delicious looking cakes, serving coffee and tea. The floor space is given over to sofas and armchairs in circles, like a collection of colourful comfortable domestic sitting rooms, arranged for relaxing and conversation. Above this warm and welcoming place of hospitality is a worship space, where a communion service is held on a Sunday morning and a preaching service in the evening, plus a ministry to children and bible classes, branded as 'The Upper Room'. 

A community of missionary entrepreneurs running this initiative describes itself thus: "We are a non-denominational, independent gathering of evangelical Christian believers who have received grace from God, and who aim to show grace to one another." Who they are and where they come from is another story to be discovered another time. I learned from chatting to a few people that the chapel was originally sold on for use as a children's soft play centre. When this didn't work out, it was sold to a small group of believers who wanted to reclaim its Christian identity, but in a fresh imaginative way. 

Whoever had the vision certainly has design and marketing skill to place at the service of the Gospel. This is such a lovely people friendly place. Volunteers are a mixture of believers and non-disciples of all ages. Apart from worship, teaching and hospitality, there's a ministry to children and a food bank operating at Old Chapel. Such a refreshing and engaging offer of Christian service, not bound by historical institutionalised norms but by desire to be authentic and creatively free according the the values of early Christian fellowship and mission.

As an Anglican missionary priest, with rare exceptions, I dedicated my life in ministry to work within an historic church in an effort to reform and renew its offer to the world. It doesn't seem to have worked, but I still don't believe it can be dispensed with. Its witness to stability, orthodox doctrine with high standards of disciplined critical thinking about the meaning, purpose and value of life together as human beings on planet earth, thanks to the teaching and self sacrificial life of Jesus of Nazareth, are indispensable as far as I'm concerned even if its institutions leave much to be desired. The Gospel message of Jesus offers space to return to biblical essentials and re-think in creative ways the way the call to faith in God is made. 

In the beginning the church was no more than a collection of self supporting groups sharing a new found faith in God. The Apostles helped these groups to network with one another and develop shared teaching and values, and a heritage of organisational structures evolved from those simple beginnings, adapting to different cultures as it developed. But this has not been the only way in which Christian community and organisation has developed. 

From early on there were independent thinking groups regarded as sectarian, heretical, toxic. Monastic and missionary communities developed with a life of their own without becoming disconnected from the mainstream of institutional life. In reality, the church evolved into an eco-system of communities sharing similar values and purpose. Not always good at recognising each other's authenticity however. 20th century ecumenism encouraged Christian groups to think differently about each other. Unity now doesn't mean uniformity, but demands respect and celebrating diversity. And how lovely it is to have come across one local creative expression of church in mission to rejoice in, not simply more of the same in disguise.

We walked back to Bryn y Mor after our visit, as Clare was feeling out of sorts. I needed to walk further, so I went in the opposite direction to the junction where we turned into the road where our apartment is located, then turned left and went downhill to reach the town centre by another route, making a circuit of a couple of miles to bring me back to where I started. I now have a better sense of the town's overall layout as a result.

After supper I made another sketch based on a photo I took of the view from up the hill behind Bryn y Mor with Caldey Island  in the distance. It wasn't easy are there was too much dark green in the scene and it was hard to emulate with the pencils I have to work with. But never mind, I enjoyed  making the effort again. First I must build confidence in having a go at a subject, regardless of how difficult it might be with so little technique to rely on. You can learn by doing, and accept with gratitude any advice you get along the way. I remember grammar school art classes, and learning to resent a teacher who was only interested in the few who had a flare for it and were quick learners. It was discouraging to have ones efforts ignored and never to receive comment, favourable or otherwise. It put me off doing any kind of visual art until I was old enough to take an interest in photography, thanks to my sister June's passion for it. In latter years I have spent hours scanning negatives and slides, building a digital library of lifetime's worth of her holiday pictures before she bought a digital camera. 

After an extra long walk yesterday, quite tired today, so early bed.

Fish fresh from the quay

A good long night's sleep but waking up to light rain and low cloud. Thankfully the sea reflects more light than any urban landscape, so it's not nearly as gloomy. As 'Bryn y Mor' has its own swimming pool, Clare booked herself a slot for herself at ten, after breakfast.  Not that she's allowed to exercise for several weeks apart from walking after her eye operation, but she can walk around in the water for the variety of muscle activity to mitigate the deterioration that comes with not being able to do vigorous exercise. Having said that, we walked seven miles yesterday, with no ill effect. The pool is in a modern annexe to the building with glass walls, and a sauna. It's uniformly four feet deep and twenty five feet long. Not an athlete's pool, but just right for old people and children learning to swim. I went with her and sat beside the pool and read the news on my phone. Half an hour was enough to start with, so a slot for each of the three days we have left was booked before we returned for coffee.

We walked into town and climbed up on to the promontory overlooking the harbour, where there's a statue of Prince Albert the Good as it says on the base, Queen Victoria's Consort. There's a great view from there of St Catherine's Island and Caldey Island, as well as the full extent of North Beach and Carmarthen Bay. It's got the town museum and the old Coastguard's house too. A lovely place to take photos too. We went to the fishmonger's small shop above the quary, with every kind of fresh fish caught in the area on display and labelled colourfully with the prices. 

Clare bought a couple of Dab fillets and a couple of pieces of sewin - sea trout fished near the river mouths along this coast. The back to Bryn y Mor for lunch: rice and veg with the Dab fillets. They are like a small version plaice, light and delicate, needing nothing added for just about any herb or garlic would spoil the taste. You'd really need a lot of them to make a full meal, but it was lovely to try something neither of us have had before. It's been an age since either of us have had trout, let alone sea trout, but that's for tomorrow.

Clare had a snooze while I uploaded and edited the photos I'd taken, then we went for a walk uphill on the old Amroth Road which runs under a canopy of trees and lined with hedges, parallel to the path into the cemetery. It then continues in a straight up to the top, in a gently winding way until it joins a newer metalled road at a bend. Next to the bend a new housing estate of luxury dwellings, perhaps on a piece of farmland sold for housing development to finance the family business. Who knows? It was a stiff climb but rewarding for its hidden beauty.

After supper, I took one of the photos from earlier in the day and made an attempt to draw it.The detail was even harder to reproduce than in the picture I drew yesterday, but it was great fun just to try. Then I got around to watching the final forty minutes of 'Bordertown' which had its happy resolve, but then an inconclusive ending, begging the question of whether there's another series in the pipeline. It became hard to follow in the end as there were several sets of complex relationships connecting different people to the perpetrator of several murders, requiring the viewer to remember a lot of strange names and their context, a story of who was who among the victims. Hard going with too much time dwelling on the sleuth in charge pondering with a puzzled vacant look on his face. 

Tenby's own brew

Colder and cloudy for most of the day, but no rain. I woke up to another nosebleed in the night with blood slowly trickling down the back of my throat, so I was able to get to the bathroom without making a mess everywhere. A repeat of last Monday. I don't understand what triggers this, but it might be writing late in the day, and yesterday I spent extra time drawing, lots pf 'brain' work with not enough physical activity to balance. These bursts don't last as long as they used to as my diastolic blood pressure is averagely lower nowadays, but the systolic pressure does go up with effort, and prolonged concentration. I may get tired, but not necessarily relaxed enough to mitigate the effects of too much 'brain' work.

After breakfast we walked to St Mary's for the 10.00am Eucharist. It was pleasing to join a congregation of over seventy, including a choir of twenty, which sang a couple of anthems very nicely plus two clergy and a lay reader, who preached. It's a lovely church with three aisles. The high altar is elevated up twelve steps, and the Vicar Fr Steve Brett faced eastwards. It made sense in that physical setting. Everything was well ordered and harmonious. Just what a Parish Liturgy should be. When he greeted us after the service, he asked my first name and his eyes lit up when he pronounced my surname. "I thought I recognised you!" He said. I visited St John's when you were Vicar there." I think that was before he was ordained. What a unexpected surprise now that I'm getting to the age where I reckon few people remember me in the church apart from those in churches I have ministered to. Anyway we'll meet again for a chat after the Wednesday Midday Eucharist.

We had two hours to squander before our lunch date at the Hope and Anchor, most of wandering around parts of the old town, a half hour spent over an expensive coffee, a half hour in the quayside chapel dedicated to St Julian the Hospitaller, patron saint of ferrymen, innkeepers and circus artists before we arrived on time for lunch, only to discover that lobster wasn't on the lunchtime menu. And lobster was to be Clare's special treat. So we re-booked for supper with lobster at six. 

A third of the way back Clare realised she's lost a ring she was wearing, most likely in the toilet, so we went back to look for it, but to no avail. Sad, because it was one she made for herself. When we got back she had a light snack and then a siesta. I cooked Canelli beans with onion, tomato and chunks of chorizo, as I was feeling really hungry. With a couple of slices of home mead bread this was enough to keep me going until supper time. I then slept for an hour and a half, making up for what I missed last night. The 'Hope and Anchor' was far less crowded at six. Clare had half a lobster, I had a gammon steak with pineapple, salad and pembrokeshire new potatoes, washed down with a pint of Tenby Best Bitter, brewed somewhere within the very town itself. Nice and malty, a good ale very locally sourced!

We got back just before eight, and I made another attempt to draw a view of the end of South Beach of which I had taken a photo earlier, something straightforward I thought, until I realised it wasn't. It was a challenge, but worth the effort for three quarters of an hour, before writing this and making proper time to decompress before going to bed...

Back to the drawing

A blue sky sunny day to wake up to with the added backdrop of the sea behind the town below us. After breakfast we walked down into the old town and explored shops and the main street in which St Mary's Parish church the jewel in the crown. It's one of Wales's largest parish churches with a 152ft spire. It was built between the 13th and 15th centuries, beautifully designed to produce a well lit interior, noticeable on a sunny day. We'll be here again for the Eucharist tomorrow morning. 

There's a delightful market hall on the same street with a superb organic wholefood shop at the main entrance in addition to the range of craft stalls including one that sells a variety of unusual jams and chutneys. At some stage, the hall roof has been renovated to admit as much light as possible and a light coloured wooden panelling ceiling surround adds to the interior brightness. It's a venerable old trading space which breathes variety and colour, a credit to its conservators. I had a chat with the man running the wholefood shop and expressed my delight at finding such an excellent retail offer, better than Beanfreaks, in fact. He seemed pleased to get such positive feedback.

When we started thinking about returning for lunch, we were standing outside a pub called 'The Hope and Anchor' opposite the house where Admiral Lord Nelson is said to have stayed when off duty I suppose, when his fleet was anchored in Milford Haven eighteen miles away by road, but probably quicker by boat two hundred years ago. The pub was busy, so Clare suggested lunch there tomorrow after church, and we booked a table. A lobster treat for her, hopefully. Heaven knows what for me, until I see the menu.

We walked back to Bryn y Mor and had sea bass for lunch. The, while Clare was having a siesta I sat in the sun outside and made a couple of efforts to sketch the most interesting part of the townscape that I could see in the distance. It's the first time I've done this since the turn of the century, I think. Challenging, but also satisfying. Then we walked down the hill to the place where the footpath to Amroth starts. It goes up the hill alongside a municipal cemetery dating back to the early 19th century. The old cemetery chapel has been converted into a dwelling. Some of the older monuments still remain, others have been laid flat or demolished, but the higher up the hill you go the graves start to be dated in the 20th century. One family grave had been reopened a few months ago for a 21st century burial. 

The older sections reveal an interesting array of names and professions of Parish residents. Many non-local people buried here were military men and their families retired from serving with colonial forces. This helps explain why there are so many fine residential buildings in the area above the harbour adjacent to the medieval town walls. In addition there are occasional tombstones of men from both World Wars. At the top end, there's a path through a boundary hedge to an all new section, with a garden area for cremated remains and a big area of uniform sized tombstones in black marble. Some parts of the older section are no longer fully maintained, where there are no longer relatives to visit or help with upkeep. These are now overgrown and provide a refuge for wildlife. Who could possibly object?

Clare want to return and recover from the half mile hill climb. I ventured further into town, to rediscover the area inside the medieval walls. It's been mostly taken over by restaurants, pubs, clubs and takeaways, and the town's young people and visitors were turning out in force as evening was approaching, for a night of festive fun and leisure. I turned for home and arrived just as the sun reached the horizon. Earlier the sky clouded over and there were a few light showers of rain but it didn't last long. As the clouds broke up, they turned pick in the sight of the setting sun. When I took a photo the waxing gibbous moon stood right over the spire of St Mary's church. A wond'rous sight.

Supper, then some writing, and then more 'Bordertown' to finish the day.

On holiday in Tenby

Nice to wake up to sunshine on a day when we're travelling westbound. Kath is even further west than we will be in Tenby. She flew to Dublin yesterday for a conference in Galway for those working with Early Years children in the Arts, and was travelling by coach to her destination into the setting sun, as we were having supper. 

After breakfast, a morning spent finding things and packing what I need to take with me - equipment and clothes. Clare started two days ago on personal baggage and food for the week, as we're self catering. It took us all morning to pack the car. Instead of taking a picnic we had lunch at home and left at one thirty. With one stop at Pont Abraham, we made it to Tenby and 'Bryn y Mor', our holiday apartment by four fifteen. It's spacious, with two bedrooms and two bathrooms on the ground floor of a four storey mansion, probably Edwardian, set on a hill, facing the sea, a mile from the town centre, facing south, so the terrace outside the lounge cum kitchen-diner benefits from sunshine most of the day.

The down side was unloading the car. Six trips up to the terrace from the assigned parking place. Aerobic exercise after nearly three hours driving! The other down side was the absence of toilet paper, with no BYO alert in the booking material. I left Clare to unpack food supplies, and walked a mile down the main  road to find the nearest shops, just before closing time at five. Tenby is far less busy at this time of year so there's less need to stay open late. It gets two and a half million visitors a year, and needs recovery time off-season. Not only did I acquire toilet paper, but a sketch pad and a couple of black pencils, as I propose to do some sketching while I'm here, and with this in mind, packed some coloured pencils, secreted in the bottom draw of my study.

While I was searching for an only sketch pad with unused sheets in it, I looked at a file folder of drawing made twenty five years ago, before I became obsessed with digital photography. I was surprised to find how many drawings I did, mostly in the years we were in Geneva, not only in Haute Savoie, but Greece and Ty Mawr convent. I'm certainly not tired of photography, but long to do something different, ring the changes a bit, and definitely develop better drawing technique. We'll see.

After supper, I watched another couple of episodes of 'Bordertown'. It's interesting in that it portrays the lead investigators in a serious crimes squad working across the Finnish Russian border as high functioning autistic, whose reasoning process is informed by his visual memory and attention to detail. It's very dark stuff, showing the really sordid side of organised crime and its dalliance with legitimate business. 

At first I was puzzled by the manner of storytelling in this series, in which the portrayal of the dramatic conclusion was compressed into a series of video vignettes in the last few minutes with only glimpses of violence and happy reunions after a rescue. Interestingly, this minimises the melodramatic character of unfolding events and emphasises the story told of an investigation with an unusual team of investigators. It's the first time I've really noticed this in crimmies I've watched over recent years. 

Raid on Boots the Chemist

I woke up to a cold dry cloudy day, posted my Morning Prayer YouTube link to WhatsApp at half past seven, listened to 'Thought for the Day', and didn't drop off to sleep again, so got up and made breakfast. Clare went into town later, and I went to Boots again to retrieve the rest of her ordered prescription. Again the pharmacy was busy and I was told I had to wait half an hour. It was more like an hour and a half, just before one when the counter closes for an hour at lunchtime, that I learned the prescription had been made up and ready to take away. As well as having supply chain problems and 'flu jab bookings at this time of year, this branch is seriously under-staffed. And in more ways than one.

While I was waiting a man came into the aisle of shelves at one end of which I was sitting. He walked up and down and I thought he was about to talk out again when he discarded his rucksack, have extracted a large 'bag for life' from it, then walked back up the aisle until he was standing at a shelf a metre away from me, with a large display of packets of nicotine chewing gum, which he then proceeded to empty into the bag. Then he moved swiftly back down the aisle and started on another shelf, when the shop's alarm began to sound and then he ran out. With so many customers, the staff, mostly women, were slow to react. One young man noticed, attempted to block his path, then thought better of it, and all this was going on right in front of my eyes. Having been sat down waiting so long to be served I was in a stupor. It happened so fast and so boldly I had difficulty believing what I was witnessing and didn't react. A surreal experience.

The pharmacist who handed me Clare's medication pack said this happens a few times every day, but more so when there's no security guard on duty. Staff are instructed not to intervene. Not even a security guard has to risk exposure to violence. If they are strong enough to tackle or detain a thief physically they can be at risk of an assault allegation by the offender. Shoplifting both spontaneous and done to order by criminal gangs is now an epidemic nationwide. It's disturbing to think that it's driven not so much by poverty or hunger, but by the desperate cravings of alcohol and drug dependent individuals.

As soon as I reached home, much later than expected, I started cooking lunch. Clare got home late as there was a long gap between buses, so it was ready by the time she arrived. When we'd eaten I completed an article about the phenomenon of Marian apparitions, their popular influence over the centuries, how they relate to times of crisis or profound change, and their occurrence among the poor and unlettered at the margins of church life, rather than at the heart of its institutions. Then I went out for a walk which took me to Aldi's on Western Avenue to buy some wine and a few food items to take with us to Tenby tomorrow.

At supper time a much publicised episode of 'The Archers' at which miscreant George Grundy is in court for sentencing, having been charged with dangerous driving and perverting the course of justice. He gets two years in prison, which seems about right and may be released on license after sixteen months. It seems about right to me, but I think an even better lawyer might have made a mitigation plea on the grounds of accident trauma triggering the immature impulse to cover up his errors of judgement, as this has happened on previous occasions when he's made a mistake or done something wrong of a less serious nature. 

In jail he's not going to learn what he needs to amend his behaviour. As an immature late adolescent held in a male prison rather than a young offenders institution, he's at risk of becoming a hardened criminal instead. I look forward to the debate that arises from this piece of socially targeted drama, at a time when British prisons are in crisis and penal reform hindered by inadequate funding. After this, I spent the rest of the evening watching two more episodes of 'Bordertown'. More about organised crime and designer drugs and the chaos these unleash among the young.

On duty at St John's

A dry day, with sun occasionally piercing the cloud. Aware that I'd be back late for lunch, I started cooking a tomato sugo after breakfast to go with chicken pieces cooked earlier in the week. I went to St Catherine's to pick up keys from Fr Sion before the service for the St John's midday Eucharist. It's three months since I last took a service there, but I had no problem preparing the altar as nothing has changed in the sacristy arrangements. There were six of us today, as three of the regulars were away. 

On the way home I collected the veg bag from Chapter. The bags are stored in a large wooden chest in the courtyard. Recently a small chest has appeared next to it, but I had no desire to look what was inside it until today as our bag was always to be found in the main chest. But not today. Having inspected the bag labels in the larger chest twice without success, I wondered if we'd been forgotten, until I inspected the other one and found ours, much to my relief.

It was gone one by the time I reached home. Clare had eaten earlier, so I finished cooking the sauce and ate it with the rice she had cooked. Much to my surprise, although I slept well last night, I slept deeply for an hour and a quarter when I sat down to read my news feed after lunch. It's not that I felt tired, but I recall the same happening in times past after celebrating the Eucharist. I wonder if it reflects a need for the kind of space and quiet to absorb the experience of celebrating Mass, as it's rarely possible immediately after the service when the priest is expected to be outgoing and chat with members of the congregation.

I woke up refreshed and went on an errand to Boots to collect part of a prescription she'd been told would be ready after lunch when a fresh delivery of supplies came in. Well it wasn't. The delivery had arrived but not been checked or unpacked. Come back tomorrow. A wasted journey. Then I walked up to Sion's house near Llandaff Cathedral to return St John's keys. I spotted Clare walking around the periphery of the field about 200 yards ahead of me, and intercepted her near the far end, much to her surprise. A pause for a kiss, then we went our separate ways, and returned home within minutes of each other half an hour later.

After supper, I completed the Morning Prayer video slideshow of the recording I made yesterday and uploaded to YouTube. Then I watched some more of the 'Bordertown' series I started yesterday until it was time for bed.