Ascension Baptism at St Mary's

A very disturbed night. I ended up sleeping on the sofa and being woken up at eight when Ann and Clare got up at eight. We went to the St Mary's Parish Eucharist at ten. In addition to the regular congregation of about seventy, there was a large family group attending for a baptism during the service. Fr Steve preached a stirring Ascensiontide sermon, as well as celebrating and baptizing a baby girl named Lola. He wasn't wearing a radio mic. and used his strong voice to announce and give instructions, quite a strain nevertheless, as it's a big church with two aisles as well as the nave and chancel

There was a buzz of excited chatter to start with. After the Christening it was much quieter as the baptism party left the church during the exchange of the Peace. It reminded me of hearing Greek Orthodox clergy declare 'The Doors, the Doors!' before the Peace, the moment at which Cathechumens were excluded from the eucharistic Mysteries and left the church after the Liturgy of the Word in the Byzantine rite. 

I returned to Croft Court straight after the service rather than go with them for coffee and a snack lunch. I was feeling the after effects of sleep loss and in need of peace and quiet. I dozed for a while, then cooked myself tagliatelli with the remains of the black bean sugo I made a few days ago. Clare and Ann returned and I went out for a walk as far as South Beach calling in Tesco's to buy a couple of tins of fish. I'm staying in tonight, while they eat out. I still find restaurants uncomfortable, especially when I'm tired. Too much stimulus to cope with. I just crave peace and quiet.

I had the apartment to myself for supper with rye bread and sardines  then went out for a sunset walk. Ann and Clare returned satisfied with their enjoyable meal. Ann had to prepare for her return journey on a Bank Holiday weekend, involving a change to the Paddington train in Cardiff. Not as simple as it sounds. TFW Metro system trains arrive at the peripheral platform zero, from which a lift descends to the booking hall for access to main line platforms. Allow for a five to ten minute walk, depending on the number of people on the move at that time and there's an element of uncertainty about making the connection. Best for an older person walking slowly, lugging a case to avoid or plan for. 

In addition a timetable change had taken effect making it more difficult to establish the accuracy of information provided when booking the ticket. The TFW website isn't user friendly, too much information, no place where you can view a train timetable directly of the kind you'd see on a station platform. You can only access information by giving information about the ticket you propose to buy. There's an assortment of train apps which are equally complicated. Google provides a schedule summary fortunately, but this doesn't always display unless the right wording is used. We could find no reassurance to the uncertainty this produced. In the end, we all attempted to get an early night.

Pontypridd welcomes National Esteddfod

Another cloudy start to the day, with the promise of showers. We decided this would be our day to visit the National Eisteddfod taking place in Ynysangharad Park Pontypridd. Mid-morning we took a 62 bus from Llandaff Fields to the bus station to catch the train. Much to our surprise Elizabeth, Manel and a friend were on the bus on the first stage of their different return journeys to Geneva. Elizabeth told us she would make the journey by coach rather than 'plane, and enjoy several leisurely days of travel across France. I'd love to do something like that, but don't know if I have the stamina nowadays. The bus was packed with people, perhaps because one had dropped out of schedule, but possibly because many were heading for the Eisteddfod like us.

When we arrived in Central Square we found it contained lines of crowd control barriers, obliging bus passengers to take one prescribed route to the station entrance. The area was already busy with people arriving for a Billy Joel concert in the stadium this evening, with road closures and bus diversions later in the day. We parted company with our friends chaotically as they sought to navigate their ways to different platforms in the face of passengers exiting the stations. After buying our tickets separately, Clare and I made our way to platform six for trains for the Taff and Cynon valleys to Aberdare and Merthyr Tydful. I saw a smart new Metro styled train and headed for it, assuming Clare was doing likewise as I lost sight of her in the crowd.

No sooner had the train started than she called me and asked where are you. I said the same to her. She was still on the platform waiting for the next train to arrive, and wouldn't believe that I was on a train going to Pontypridd. I was standing next to the train guard at the time and asked him to speak to Clare and convince her I was not going in the wrong direction! The train I'd got on was six minutes late departing. It also went in a different direction to the one Clare was waiting for. To keep it simple, the gateway station to the Taff and Cynon valleys is Radyr, at the north western edge of the city, and you can get there by trains going clockwise or anti-clockwise around the city network. 

Train timetable display boards show the final destination but don't always indicate interim stations. This is potentially confusing for visitors unfamiliar with the local train map. It's not as confusing as the London Underground, but the potential for confusion is there, especially with bi-lingual place names. Public address announcements add to the confusion by giving interim stations, bilingually too. In fact, the train Clare caught ten minutes later as destined for Merthyr Tydful, also stopping at Pontypridd. As hers was on time, I only had to wait five minutes for Clare to catch me up. I try to recall how Switzerland's multi-lingual rail network conveys information, and whether or not it's as confusing.

The entrance to Ynysangharad Park is only ten minutes walk from the train station. An effective one way system to manage crowds of arriving and departing travellers was in place. There was a slow queue to buy day tickets for those who hadn't purchased on line, including us. Cash payments were not accepted, only cards. Managing physical money is expensive nowadays and less than secure. Financial security is individualised, and this doesn't work for those who don't own a debit card for forgot to bring one, mostly the poorest of the poor, who have no choice.

Anyway, just after eleven thirty we were admitted to a crowded Eisteddfod 'Maes' and wandered around trying to understand the layout. The main 'Pafilion' with seating for 1,800 and the main competition stage we found at the far end of the site, adjacent to the A470 bypass road. The constant background rumble of traffic wasn't the best possible environment, but the sound system delivered well. 

Close by, an area with food stalls and places to sit, with an enclosure of scores of toilets next to it. We shared a box of fish and chips for lunch. Welsh Water not only provided a free public 'hydration station' but gave away water bottles to those who hadn't bought their own. Including us. The largest open area had several streets of booths showcasing every aspect of Welsh public services and creative culture imaginable, hundreds of them, with the Universities and broadcast media prominent. A huge open air stage hosted a male voice choir, a youth orchestra and a rock band at times when we were passing. There's a children's play area with the bonus of the park's unique open air swimming pool, very busy with children and adults.

Ponty Lido - wryly branded as being on the Taff riviera - opened in 1927, paid for by the Miners' Welfare Fund. It became less used and run-down, closing in 1991. Thanks to Heritage Lottery funding it re-opened in 2015, after a thorough restoration. It's a wonderful Art Deco period piece, and its modern publicity pays homage to that era of design.

We spent an hour after lunch in the 'Pafilion' listening to a competition of soprano soloists, and then one of Cerdd Dant  female singing groups - beautifully harmonised trio and quartet renderings of improvised  poetic lyrics accompanied by a harpist. It's one of the unique features of Welsh bardic tradition, and one of the highlights of the Eisteddfod. We came out for a breath of fresh air, but didn't return for the Chairing of the Bard ceremony, as a very long queue had built up outside. 

We wandered around the site for a while, but began to run out of energy, so we decided to head for home. On the way out a live comic performance was taking place on the path. Three women in period piece swimming costumes cavorted around a kids' paddling pool to popular band music from the mid 20th century. 

A humorous celebration of Ponty Lido's renaissance, and very timely too. Open-air swimming and the demise of many British public lidos has become an issue due to sewage pollution turning wild swimming into a health risk. 

The train on which we returned was an old-fashioned diesel rail car refurnished for its final spell of service before giving away to the new generation of electric Metro trains. This took us on the route from Radyr which goes to Cathays and  Queen Street station before end at Cardiff Central, the route taken by Clare's train this morning. 

I wish we'd got off at Queen Street. Cardiff Central was crowded with arriving fans. The ticket gates were open to reduce congestion. I walked through and tossed my ticket into a bin as I passed, before realising travellers were being herded in queues along lanes to have them inspected 50m outside the station. No written notice or announcement was made at the ticket barrier to inform ticket holders to hang on to them for inspection outside. Many had digital tickets on their phones. We were caught in an event we weren't part of. It was presumed all travellers had previous experience of these arrangements. A remedy for confusion. I told the ticket inspector what I had done and complained about this, and was released without further consequence.

The bus station was closed, as was Westgate Street to all traffic. We crossed the river and took a 17 bus to Canton Cross and bought a few things from Tesco's before returning home. I cooked veg and pasta with chorizo for supper, then settled down for another episode of 'McDonald and Hobbs' to conclude a taxing day.

Valleys visit

Last week, I set myself the task of preparing all the material needed for the next three Thursday Morning Prayer and Reflection videos before we leave for our fortnight's holiday in Watchet a week today. After breakfast this morning, I recorded and edited the audio for next Thursday's video, and then had to rush to get myself out of the house in time to reach Cardiff Central station, and buy tickets for a trip to Crosskeys to spend the afternoon with Rufus. 

I also wanted to buy advance tickets for a trip to London to visit my sister for the first time in three years, as I have Monday and Tuesday free, and feel confident about making the journey, after such a long time needing to plan every step with medical needs at the forefront of my thinking. I'm looking forward to this.

Fortunately, I gave myself time to do both, and was pleased to find that advance booking of off-peak fares gave me a reasonably priced ride to London on Sunday afternoon with return ticket I can use any time off-peak within the next month. I can stay for one or two nights and choose when I head for home, as long as it's later in the day, which suits me anyway. Electrification of the line has reduced journey time now to two hours. It costs three times more than by bus, but the travel time and convenience make it worthwhile.

Crosskeys is on the Ebbw Vale line north of Newport. The line heads inland, rising from the coastal plain  through suburbia and a then wooded valley where the line runs above the villages. It made me think of places I'd visited in Switzerland, a memory enhanced by the appearance of a young fair haired train conductor with a local accent, enjoying her job on the train. She reminded me of her equivalent on Swiss railways, sometimes, an apprenti, accompanied by an older railwayman. It's funny how memory surprises you like that.

Rufus and Daria are re-settling happily in their family home of twenty eight years, after ten years elsewhere in ministry. They live in a part of the village where four terraces of neat well kept houses, typical of the mining Valleys enclose a garden with the village war memorial at the centre. The back of their house overlooks a wooded valley, and the terrace is dug into the steep slope. They have converted the loft, and below the ground floor is a day room overlooking the garden below, and the valley. Over the years, Rufus has done all the work himself. Craftsmanship of all kinds is his hobby. I often heard him talk of this when I was his College tutor. This was the first time for me to see what he'd done with the house, and I was most impressed.

We had a good three hours of conversation before I took the return journey at five. It was good to see him at home, relaxing and pondering on how his next period in ministry might develop, now that he's officially a pensioner, and free to accept or reject whatever invitations come his way. The church is more than ever reliant on clergy with means of their own to sustain its offer of ministry in this time when the slide into bankruptcy is a grim reality. Retired clerics are not seen as stakeholders but beneficiaries of the church excluded from participating in its decision making processes. It makes no sense. I wonder how desperate the hierarchy needs to get before acknowledging that a radical change is needed towards voluntary clergy, who see themselves as stakeholders in the church's mission notwithstanding?

After supper, I walked to St Catherine's to deliver stuff for tomorrow's Autumn Fayre, then continued work I started earlier in the day. There was nothing worth watching on telly anyway.

Home again to a party

After our fifth and final cooked English breakfast start to the day, we set out for the train station with enough time to spare for a ten minute stop in the small park on the south facing headland. It looks over the Tenby course and the woodland behind South Beach. Battery Road, along the ridge still has some of its ancient cannons punctuating the route, This was the natural first line of defence against invaders from land or sea, once upon a time.

The single coach train took us to Carmarthen and then on along the coast to Swansea, where the new Olive Green liveried GWR train to London Paddington starts its journey. Next year these Japanese made hybrid trains will run from Cardiff to London powered electrically. From Cardiff to Swansea, the trains will switch to diesel-electric traction, thanks to a miserable short sighted penny pinching government decision. 

Ironically, a short section of electrified track will have to be installed just a few hundred metres outside Swansea station, to the site of the maintenance engineering depot built of HItachi to serve the new fleet of trains, probably before the Cardiff-Swansea electrification plan was scrapped. Along with the government's refusal to proceed with development of either a Severn Barrage or a Swansea tidal lagoon, both capable of generating huge amounts of 'green' energy, it's clear that a London English centred government has no interest in enabling Wales to stand on its own feet economically. It's a miserable state of affairs to say the least.

We got home just before three, which gave me time to unpack and tidy myself up before walking to Llys Esgob for the Bishop of Llandaff's garden party for retired clerics. I got the impression, from the mounain of cakes and sandwiches left over that it was less well attended than last year. It was so good to see Fr Graham and Eleri there, and Fr Hywel, amongst others. The Bishop said that Canton should hear about a new Team Rector in a week or so, as they are now taking up references. By the time the new incumbent is licensed, Emma will be starting maternity leave, so the Parish will still have an extended period with just one full time priest. The Bishop didn't seem as concerned about the impact of this on the Benefice as I am. Well, as long as I can't go abroad, I'm happy to continue plugging gaps. I still have no idea when the surgeon will discharge me as fit to travel.

When I got back home, Clare and Ann were out, so I started cooking what turned into a paella, with the portions of hake that were thawing a bit too slowly. I got a telling off for that from Clare, but the paella turned out just find, even if it wasn't on the menu du soir. 

Ah, back to a normal comfortable bed tonight. What a relief!

Tenby festive weekend

It took a little effort to get all three of us ready and out of the house just after ten this morning for a taxi to the station. We took the first of two trains to Swansea leaving ten minutes apart but arriving within minutes of each other, as one stops more than the other. Then we took the midday train to Tenby, via Carmarthen, arriving about half past one. It's a beautiful rural journey, with the exception of Port Talbot's industrial zone, with line running across the Vale of Glamorgan, along the Llwchwr Estuary, some of the Carmarthenshire coast and the river Towy.

It was a half mile walk from the station to Lindholm Guest House in an early Victorian terraced street atop South Cliff overlooking a vast golden sandy bay with Caldey Island on the horizon. A local man called Peter was at the station welcoming and seeing off visitors. He told us that taxis had to be rung for or booked in advance, as they didn't make a habit of waiting around and meeting the handful of train arrivals each day. As it happened, he works in an hotel near ours and accompanied on the climb up from the station, telling us about Tenby's history and must see delights all the way.

Once settled in we walked around a crowded town centre, busy with athletic looking visitors from all over the region, here to take part in a weekend Triathlon even, called 'The Long Course'. Tonight a 2.4 mile swim in the sea with two 2,500 people taking part, walking around the streets in wet-suits before and after. The North Beach was packed with participants and supporters, animated by loud disco music and commentator, whose muffled voice half a mile away echoed and bounced around the bay, unintelligibly. Shorter swim events were held for youngsters and adults in addition to the major swim race, which started when the evening tide had come in far enough. 

We had a bar snack supper in Tenby's Yacht Clubhouse, open to non-members. We all had risotto. Cod for me and lobster, the local speciality for Clare and Ann. We then wandered the streets, finding our way around one of Britain's ancient walled towns, with some houses dating back to mediaeval times, a 12 century Parish Church, and some fine 18th-19th century terraces overlooking the sea. The high street was in the throes of being organised into enclosures to accommodate tomorrow's day of cycling events and Sunday's marathon and other running events. It's probably going to be one of the town's busiest festive weekends of the year. Much overtime will be worked by Council employees and volunteers to keep consumer chaos at bay with the consumption of tens of thousands of fast food meals and hundreds of thousands of drinks. It's such a pity that modern people don't seem to know how enjoy themselves without leaving behind them a horrible mess for others to clear up.