Memento mori again

A walk to St Catherine's after breakfast to celebrate St Paul and his companions Timothy and Titus in one go, with eight others. Then, on to St John's for the day's funeral. I emailed the Coop FD yesterday evening to ask if they could give me a lift to the cemetery but got no response. With covid health and safety nerves I wasn't sure they'd be able to agree, so I went home got the car and parked it near St John's just in case. It wasn't a big a funeral as anticipated, as Traveller families often are - forty in church and at the cemetery.

I rode to Western cemetery wedged into the back seat of a new high topped hearse powered by a hybrid engine. An expensive American style casket was used, so big that was it hard for the bearers to handle, as one of them said quietly - heaver than the lady inside. Its size made it hard to get the main wreaths alongside it or on top without squashing them,

The grave digger welcomed me with a smile - twice in a week - we bantered with each other. He looked after the funeral I did on Monday. All worked as intended, except  the chief mourner said that I'd got one of the sibling's names wrong. He wasn't much bothered and I apologised, but later when I checked the photo of the I received, it turned out it wasn't my transcription error but most likely a dictation error. Someone had heard and written down 'Bettie' when the person mentioned was called 'Beatie'. The name was written three times in clear handwriting, so there was no doubt about this. The text wasn't checked for errors before sending. Ah well, these things happen, if there's no possibility of face to face contact beforehand. 

Technology cannot deliver us from simple communications errors, as I was reminded yesterday listening to the fourth Reith Lecture on AI. With a phenomenally powerful AI managed system one simple program error could be catastrophic, indeed we've seen this with very smart aircraft navigation systems causing hundreds of lives. It's the old sorcerer's apprentice conundrum writ large.

Then back to Canton to collect the car and drive home for a late lunch of curried chick peas and veggies, most welcome on a cold day. As our regular organic veggie bag pick up point was near where I left the car, I collected it en route. Later, after a restorative snooze, I walked to Beanfreaks to collect this week's dairy free grocery order, while Clare continued to work on re-painting the kitchen, which she's done in stages since the damp area re-plastering had dried out for sure. No change in paint colour, we still really like what we decided upon eleven years ago before we moved in.

We watched an amazing 'Winterwatch' programme again this evening, which featured unique footage from a heat sensitive camera of a fox attacking and killing a stoat. One predator preying on another, in effect removing competition for a share of smaller victims in the same territory. Also wonderful shots of Hen Harriers coming to roost in the same location in winter. 

This was followed by a powerful edition of 'Storyville' on BBC Four called 'The man who saw too much.' in which Alan Yentob interviewed a 106 year old Slovenian man Boris Pahor, the last living survivor of a Nazi death camp in Alsace, telling his nightmare of a story story. He may only have survive because we spoke Slovenian, Italian and French and was spared to serve as a translator. He's written several book and quotes from them were included, powerful, moving, poetic, eloquent in stark simplicity. An appropriate programme choice ahead of Holocaust Memorial day commemorations tomorrow.

Marmalade all made

After a clear night with a full moon, a cold clear day with a funeral to take at Western Cemetery entirely in the open air, at the request of the deceased. His widow was in a wheelchair and the service had to be short simple and said at three degrees centigrade. Early cloud parted and the sun shone on the fifteen mourners gathered before the open grave. I was pleased that those present responded with Amens to the prayers and said the Lord's Prayer together with me, rather than just being uncomfortable dumb spectators.

As I had no lectern to hold my service sheet, I picked up a stiff black backed notebook from my bookshelf, to contain the service sheet. I was driven to the cemetery from Pidgeon's funeral home, arrived early, and waited in the car for the family to arrive. The notebook I'd picked up turned out to be my last handwritten journal from the autumn of 2004, giving my account of the week's flamenco course I took with Anto at the Carmen de las Cuevas school in Granada - a present from our spouses. We were there during Michaelmass weekend, and watched the procession of the huge trona de San Miguel from the Parish Church up the hill to the local hermita and back. A wonderful experience. Autumn in the following year was when I opened my Blogger account, and with a few changes of name it's been the repository for telling stories about my life ever since.

I cooked mussels and rice with veggies for lunch when I got back, right on time for Clare's return from her Tuesday group. She discovered that one of the second kilo batch of Seville oranges waiting to be cooked for the past week was covered with mould, so she got them ready for pressure cooking. I got them started, and cooking for fifteen minutes then went for a walk in the park while they cooled. The sunset was spectacular while I was out, and I got some good photos. Then it was a matter of cutting up the oranges and lemons, de-pipping the pulp, and cooking them with sugar until the jam was ready to be potted. Six and a half small jars and three large jars this time, to add to the seven large jars produced last week. All done in time for supper and the Archers.

Another amazing Winterwatch programme was showing on BBC Two, and I divided my time between this and completing this week's Thursday Morning Prayer video for uploading to YouTube. I expected somehow to feel very tired and stiff after a demanding weekend of fresh air and exercise, but so far so good. Today has been satisfyingly productive too.

Deep in the dark vale

The temperature dipped down below freezing again overnight then went up to 6-7 degrees, under cloud with rain showers for much of the day. The cold clammy atmosphere left me feeling colder than when it was minus one. After breakfast, a walk over to Lidl's in Leckwith to get supplies of several kinds of nuts, as we'd run out. I walked again after lunch and for a change, trod unfamiliar streets in the housing area of Llandaff Parish adjacent to Canton Benefice. 

The oldest houses are fine original late Victorian mansions spread over a wide area of land. Each probably had extensive grounds originally, but between and after the wars in the twentieth century, detached and semi-detached houses in laid out in streets took up what once would have been rolling south facing slopes. Some roads seem to follow the line of older tracks, while others are part of the layout of a small housing estate with similar houses. Some of these have acquired extensions in this century, garages, attic rooms and so on. It's interesting to see the variety of domestic architectural styles, reflecting the period of their construction. 

The older the houses, the more use is made of coloured brick and Pennant sandstone, then plain red-brick is used, and then white painted concrete rendered exteriors, as the decades pass. There is just one house, entirely built of Pennant sandstone, enclosed by a carefully planned garden which looks as if it may be from earlier in the nineteenth century, maybe a farmhouse, with a terrace of half a dozen small labourers' cottages next to it. Some of the street names suggest this was once orchard terrain, and domestic gardens in the area still have surviving fruit trees.

I looked at these things keenly as the streets were new to me. They held my attention and made me think about local history with fresh eyes. Not a bad thing on such a dull cold day. 

The grim threshold of a hundred thousand people dying from covid has been formally noted in today's news, one of the world's worst infected populations. The true number of excess deaths to date  may be even higher. Epidemiologists reflecting on the past year admit responses to the pandemic Europe wide, not just in the UK, was too slow at the outset in imposing restrictions to curb virus spread. 

Llandough and Heath hospitals have experienced sharp spikes in hospital generated contagion. It's said that people who don't know they are infected are coming to hospital seeking treatment for other ailments or accidents, not being diagnosed in advance to prevent them from infecting others. We're still not making a priority of universal regular testing for covid infection. Expensive to achieve maybe, logistically complex, but much needed. Hope are pinned on vaccinating as many people as possible as quickly as possible, but that won't stop the lethal spread among the un-vaccinated. It doesn't make sense.

I've been asked to do a funeral in two weeks time at the graveside, not in church or chapel of rest. Back in my first curacy days, it wasn't uncommon to have prayers in home of the deceased and then go straight to the grave or the crem. I struggle to recall if I've ever done a funeral which is simply in the open air, and will need to give it some thought. Given the restrictions on using places of worship let alone homes for a service it's not surprising that a common sense decision has been made. Graveside only services have been around since time immemorial, but not in my ministerial experience. Being outdoors in a natural setting is possibly consoling to a group of mourners, although bad weather could have the opposite effect. I just hope there's no strong wind or heavy rain. 

It was consoling this evening to watch the nightly nature programme 'Winterwatch' on BBC 2, with some lovely landscapes and closeup shots of birds, voles, beavers and otters. The enthusiasm of the presenters is delightful. Likewise the enthusiasm of Professor Jim Al-khalili on the BBC Radio Four 'Life Scientific' programme. Each week he talks with a leading scientist from a wide range of disciplines. It's a half hour of intelligible conversation about scientific discovery and the careers of the discoverers themselves. He's by far the best interviewer the BBC has. I wish he was used on news programmes. In my opinion, few of the present generation of news presenters and interlocutors are really good enough for the job.

Tight parking

Instead of walking to St John's to celebrate their midweek Eucharist this morning, I took the car, so that afterwards I could take it to Qwik-Fit, two streets away to get a dud sidelight bulb replaced, prior to my trip to Kenilworth tomorrow. I had to park in a tight space on the street outside the garage, the Golf manages this very well indeed, given the patience to execute a manoeuvre involving many turns of the steering wheel. 

The mechanic who fetched the car from the street and drove it into the service bay complemented me, and said that he'd not attempted the reverse procedure to get the car out of the space, but simply opened the door of the car in front, disengaged the hand brake and pushed it forward far enough for him to drive out easily. I assume the other car awaited collection, or a service, one for which he had keys, or it was unlocked. We laughed together about this. It didn't take long to replace the dud bulb. The guys remember the car from other occasions I've gone there over the past year. I suspect it may be one of the few 25 year old cars they deal with, and one which mechanics are fond of, for its robust durable qualities.

After lunch, more work on funeral preparation for next week, and a visit to members of a bereaved family in the former family home within walking distance, in the Parish, where their matriarch had lived for most of her life, until her last few weeks in hospital. This will be my fifth funeral in three weeks. I returned to cook supper, having promised to email a copy of the order of service to look over. I sat down after supper for the excellent 'Winterwatch' wildlife programme on BBC2. I saw it through, and nodded off during the next programme, and woke up after midnight, realising I hadn't emailed the text. I'd already made a start on it earlier, so it didn't take too long to finish and send. I just hope the 'send' timestamp isn't noticed, and the recipients assume from that I must be working extra hard, when in reality, I'm prone to nod off.