Conservation Art

Another bright day to delight in, with a walk in the park before cooking lunch. I've got a little learning project going at the moment, taking photos of the spire of Llandaff Cathedral from the far end of the park with three different cameras and five telephoto lenses. I'm curious about what lenses 'see' in both similar and different lighting conditions, how colour and sharpness vary. There's much I can learn best by doing and diligent observation, I think it's worth the effort.

After a post lunch siesta I walked down to Cardiff Castle to take a look at the huge shiny sculpture by Sarah Wardlaw of a red kite exhibited outside the main gate. It's a symbol representing RSPB Cymru, and is placed there at the launch of a conservation campaign entitled 'Revive our World'. In the run up to the Senedd elections in two weeks time, RSPB Cymru is calling upon the next Welsh government to implement a green recovery plan, in response to the climate and ecosystem crisis the world faces. 

The red kite symbolises what becomes possible when people really care about nature. Over the past thirty years, this kingpin species of raptor has gone from near extinction to 2,500 breeding pairs in Wales, thanks to the initial passion of one mid Wales farmer whose kite feeding program caught the imagination of many and ended up becoming a local visitor attraction. East Anglia has seen significant growth in the numbers of breeding avocets, which had suffered for centuries due to draining of coastal saline ecosystems. Work to restore these in designated conservation areas has resulted in a reversal of decline. The avocet with its long legs and turned up bill is the English RSPB totem species.

It's just occurred to me, this is the first time in several years that I've posted a photo to this blog. I used to add photos often, especially when I was abroad on locum duty, and I had time to spare to download, edit and re-size a photo to the correct size for this purpose. The process could be rather fiddly if I had first to edit and transfer a picture from another device, and did it less frequently when I was busy, and then got out of the habit altogether. I don't exactly know know when it happened, but only recently have I noticed a change in the file management user interface which the Chromebook uses to display photos. There used to be basic editing tools as part of it, but if needs be, it was better to use a proper web app like Pixlr to re-size a photo accurately. I've just discovered that this can be done using what Chrome itself provides, this makes adding photos to a Blogger post smooth and seamless. It's a much appreciated improvement to workflow.

Caldey revisited

We were blessed with a bright sunny day to take one of the open ferry boats shuttling day visitors to and from Caldey Island every twenty minutes. It's very much a fair weather crossing, and the very fact has blighted the economy of the island for centuries. It's fertile and can produce high quality dairy products, but generating an income from this depends on consistency in getting milk to mainland market. For this reason, it's had to rely on tourism more than agriculture to provide an income for the colony of 8-12 Cistercian monks who live and worship there. Not every monk has the gifts and abilities to work as a productive farmer. Times have changed, even in the seeming timelessness of a eight hundred year old religious order.

It's over forty two years since we last came to Caldey from St Paul's in Bristol with Kath and Rachel, plus Jan Jill Katie and Karina for a few days of respite from inner city ministry. There are a few metalled strips of road now and a more substantial landing stage. The woodland looks well managed and the conifers around the village are now mighty mature trees. The village green boasts a teashop, selling drinks and sandwiches, but all eating happens al fresco as there's no shelter apart from the trees. It stands to reason. If the weather is poor, no visitors. If the weather is fine, shelter isn't needed.

We arrived in time to hear the bell being rung for Sext, and went up to the Abbey church to attend the office. It's the same simple liturgy in the same simple house of monastic prayer as it was four decades ago. Time stood still for us, momentarily.

We then went and visited the island's church of St David, adjacent to the Abbey, where generations of islanders and monks are buried in neighbouring plots of ground. The stories of some of them and the history of the cemetery, as formalised by the early 20th century Benedictine settlers, is recounted on a panel in the church porch. It's a lovely simple building. I don't know how often Mass is said there for non monastic residents, but it's a quiet place of welcome for all who pass by.

The same can also be said for St Illtud's Priory church, which is part of a complex of farm buildings a quarter of a mile away from the village green. The farm now houses the Caldey chocolate factory. Among the outbuildings that used to house cattle is the derelict remnant of a small Priory house dating back to the middle ages, and attached to it, a chapel which may be 12-13 century, with hints of a 6th century sanctuary preceding it. Unusually the chapel has a cobblestone floor, monastic choir stalls and quite a long chancel. St Samson was the first prior of Caldey, a pupil of St Illtud at Llantwit Major. So this chapel is dedicated in honour of Samson's spiritual father.

While I was there a family group of eight Spanish people arrived, lit candles and left prayer messages. Later I noticed them lying in the shade together on the village green taking a siesta, happily at home in this little corner of the paradisium claustralis.

On our way back to the boat we went and took a perk at St Philomena's guest house, which I didn't remember though we stayed there. I did remember the small watchtower oratory chapel on the hill behind it, however, dedicated to Our Lady Queen of Peace. I think this was where I was permitted to say Mass during our stay. But funnily, it's not as vivid a memory as staying in a place so close to nature that lives and breathes the worship of God, each day, always.

We dined out in the evening, but not where we expected. We set out sights on an Italian restaurant overlooking the harbour, but it was fully booked. We made our way back into the main street to look for an alternative, climbing steps through a narrow alley flanked by ancient houses. One of them was a mediaeval merchant's dwelling, owned by the National Trust, and next door to it a restaurant cum pub called The Plantaginet, equally old, with dining rooms on three floors. As we wanted to eat early they were able to fit us in. And they did us proud! I had grilled Tuna, Clare and Ann had Hake.
A memorable meal at the end of a nostalgic day.
 

It was lovely to return and see changes for the better but also the unchanging nature of the island's very reason for being a holy place.

Tuesday in Holy Week

It's been interesting to follow today's news stories in the aftermath of the Notre Dame Cathedral fire - with half a billion euros for restoration funding pledged by big corporations, some in the construction industry. They have an eye on investing in skills training for historic conservation projects by the sound of it, although it seems France is already well blessed in this employment sector.

This crisis offers a public opportunity to celebrate the bravery and persistence of firefighters whose untiring efforts prevented total destruction of the building. It's astonishing that the ancient organ has survived, despite the deluge of water and molten lead. It's damaged no doubt, but hopefully it can be restored. How good to hear different voices expressing what this sacred edifice means to them, even if they never darken its doors to worship God. Interesting to hear commentators speaking about people grieving at the loss of a building. 

Photos of the fire damaged interior are remarkable - the cross suspended in the sanctuary over the high altar defiantly still in place. And people again out on the streets, singing and praying, city church bells tolling, acts of public witness by the faithful minority in a secular society, where many ancient church buildings are now monuments to a Christian past, museums of cultural history.

Interesting too, how this has awakened memories of the York Minister fire, and the Windsor Castle fire, affording an opportunity to review the fruit of post inferno restoration work, and speak to some of those responsible. It's raised discussion about the Houses of Parliament, needing restoration after only 150 years of life, subject to the same vulnerabilities, before restoration and eventually during the process. There doesn't need to be a lightning strike to start a fire. A faulty electrical connection will do, either in permanent or temporary lighting, not to mention neglected gas powered appliances. Nothing can be taken for granted when working in these conditions. 

Thinking about 'building grief', it seems to me that destruction of heritage architecture awakens more of a sense of loss nowadays than it did fifty years ago. Modernising our cities led to redevelopment plans that sacrificed many ancient buildings in those days, perhaps because they were too expensive to conserve or find a place in new grand urban schemes. Much was lost due to wartime bombing, but not always rebuilt from old plans, as happened across Europe, but rather replaced. The emphasis was 'out with the old, in with the new'. It gave us Basil Spence's masterpiece Coventry Cathedral, but also an ugly unappealing neighbouring town centre with few reminders of what had been lost.

Apart from walking to the wound clinic, and walking to church this evening, I didn't do much. I don't know why, but I lacked energy. I'm waking earlier as the days lengthen, and getting to bed earlier to compensate, though not always successful in getting off to sleep, and some days miss out on a siesta. I need a total of 7-8 hours daily one way or another, and if I don't, I can expect to pay for it. There were seventeen of us for this evening's Benefice Eucharist at St John's. It was quite late when I got around to looking at today's Málaga Semana Santa photos and video on the Diario Sur website, plus my own from last year. I'll pay for it tomorrow, no doubt.

An original solution to wear and tear

After a morning of routine domestic and office tasks, I took myself and my camera out to the port on my usual itinerary. Overnight there'd been a changeover of ships berthed, and the ferry to Melilla was busy being loaded with freight lorries bound for Morocco, or elsewhere in North Africa. I think it makes a couple of runs a week, but this is the first time I've seen it this year. 

Parked in the open area near the Pompidu Centre was a large mobile exhibition vehicle, branded with Google's name and colours, with a minimal hospitality suit and presentation area in front of it. A promotional road show is out and about visiting sites in different parts of the city, aimed at getting entrepreneurs to buy specialised Google digital services and training to use them. It didn't seem all that  busy, perhaps because it had only just arrived, or because few local people were out and about, but still enjoying a lunch break indoors, given the uncertain weather.

On my way back from a circuit of the old town, I used the route which passes through a pedestrian tunnel on the hillside above the road tunnel underneath the Alcabaza fortress at the base of the Gibralfaro mountain. Close to the entrance I noticed an open gate in the fence which forms the Old Town-side enclosure of this historic edifice. It opened on to a pathway around half of the base of the walls, driven through dense ground covering shrubs. What I found unusual was that the pathway was paved and lined on both sides with sheet iron, rather than a fence. From afar the path is an unusual rust-red gash through green shrubs covering the hillside. Once I started walking along it, I realised the ingenuity of the idea.

Visitors can walk along the hillside to the point where it overlooks the 1st century Roman theatre, and there are iron viewing platforms for those who want to take pictures of the Old Town from up at  rooftop level. With a potentially high volume of visitors, maintaining a path through such vigorous and thick shrubbery and enclosing it for safety's sake with low chain link fence would be costly to maintain. Vegetation would encroach on the path, and the pedestrian wear and tear would make a path, whether paved or unpaved, subject to erosion at the edges. 

Constructing a stylish iron trough as a hillside walkway provides safe access for abled and disabled visitors alike, and helps conserve the fortress grounds. Clever. I didn't notice this last summer, as the gate was always closed when I was passing this way, possibly something to do with the conversion of the theatre ruins into an open air auditorium for a summer season of world classic dramas, and not needing there to be a crowd of people overlooking the stage from a distance and watching for free. At least, that was my conclusion.

Pêcheurs du Lac Léman

Although the square next to Montreux's market hall is now entirely clear of remaining construction material following the long slow dismantling of Christmas Market temporary structures, I noticed yesterday afternoon that the Market Hall itself was still host to several temporary structures, so I went across and investigated what was there, and discovered a patinoire had been set up under cover of its permanent wrought iron structure. 

This particular skating rink was unlike one I'd ever seen before with a smooth polymer surface, on which ordinary ice skates could be used. Wearing safety gloves was an obligatory requirement to avoid unpleasant injuries. I know artificial indoor ski slopes have existed for the past half century, and I remember their polymer surface resembled a carpet of fine bristles, though that had probably become more sophisticated with the passage of time. It would certainly be cheaper to run than one with an ice surface, and especially in a milder winter lakeside climate. Towns and villages higher up in the mountains can rely on averagely lower temperatures to make maintenance of an ice surfaced rink cost effective. It's seven years or so now since I last tried ice skating with the grandchildren. I wasn't tempted to try this alternative, as I feel over protective towards my knee joints these days, and the same for skiing too, which I used to love. 

Walking into town alongside the lake, I noticed for the first time a motorboat off-shore equipped with a couple of lightweight mechanical hoisting devices. I could hear the whine of battery powered motors clearly across the water. A couple of fishermen were out inspecting nets and collecting their catch. This made me think of Valdo's son-in-law is a lake fisherman, based near Nyon. Earning a living entirely from catching lake fish is becoming increasingly difficult, due to scarcity, which has much to do with climate change. The waters down at the shallower west end of Lac Leman are warmer than they used to be, which is not so favourable for the lake fish to breed. Waters at the east end of the lake are deeper, and that much colder, in the vicinity where the Rhone flows into it. It's said to take more than eleven years for Rhone water to enter and exit the lake.

Today, I walked up the lake to Villeneuve, the small town at the end of the lake beyond the Chateau de Chillon, which developed in the 12th-13th centuries at the same time as the Chateau. It has a fine Parish Church of the same age, dedicated to St Paul, whose architecture reflects the influence and Cistercian monasticism in this region. There are a couple of long straight streets of old houses with many and varied small shops and cafes, giving it the feel of a village. New housing areas stretch up vineyard covered slopes overshadowed by Vaudois Alpine peaks. It has a lakeside beach and boating marina, plus a working railway station, and easy access to the autoroute. A very desirable place to live, with the tourism hot-spots of Montreux and Vevey a convenient distance away. I bet it's very expensive to buy a house there too!

Beyond the marina there's a short length of canal, which carries excess water from a reservoir called Lac de l'Hongrin 870 metres up in the Prealpes Vaudois. This is home to several small boats, among them, those used by lake fishermen, plus 'La Demoiselle', a distinctive traditional barque lémanique sail boat of the kind used on the lake for centuries, to ferry heavy cargo in the age before steamships. Geneva has the barque 'Neptune' similar to Villeneuve's, and Lausanne has 'La Vaudoise'. There are five altogether, two of them in France voisine. These have been restored and can be seen out and about in good weather.

Along the banks of the canal are a series of privately owned wooden holiday chalets. One of them serves as a land base for the lake fishermen. 

The cost of a locally sourced fish for a favourite regional dish is an eye-watering £46 a kilo, which reflects both real scarcity and increased demand. I understand that much of the produce consumed here is imported coming from Irish or Eastern European lakes.

The road behind the line of chalets leads into la réserve naturelle des Grangettes. It's a large wetland conservation area which stretches across the valley floor, with the Rhone running through it into the lake, and the only one of its kind hereabouts. 

This is a region where migratory species find a respite during long continental journeys, or where they over-winter and breed. I walked a short distance into the reserve and climbed the 20m high wooden observation town. In the field below was a group of half a dozen bird-watchers, with telescopes and cameras, all facing a particular corner for a while before moving on. What they were looking at, or looking for? I wondered. There wasn't much avian activity while I was in the tower, probably the wrong time of day, so I climbed down and set off to walk back to Territet. As I reached the road out of the reserve I briefly saw what I believe was a black heron in flight, said to be a visitor to the  reserve - sheer luck! Also amazing, was to see a roadside hazel tree festooned with catkins, in the middle of January. It was a splendid outing in excellent conditions, a walk of just 9km from the church. Now I've seen Villenuve, next time, I'll take the bus and walk for much longer in the nature reserve. It's bound to be rewarding.

The highlight of the evening, yet again was another double episode of Parisien crimmie 'Engrenage/ Spiral'. Full of socks, twists and turns, it never fails to hold the attention. Even if its revelations are on times distressing and sordid, this feels truthful and not overdone. In the nasty world of crooks and cops, everyone is flawed, compromised or hurting in some way, and seeing justice done is a real struggle, against oneself as well as adversaries.

Engineering conservation

My morning walk today took me up the north bank path of the rio Aguas nature reserve, curious to see how much progress had been made in clearing vegetation from the river bed since I last went up there, exactly a month ago. I was astonished by what I saw.

Not only had another half a kilometre of cane and bushes been cleared from the watercourse, but several large earth moving vehicles were excavating the soil and adding it to the existing dykes, established as a flood prevention measure years ago. There are places on the north side where flood water erosion last winter swept away soil and vegetation, scouring three metre high precipices in places next to the dirt road. All this needs repairing, making stable and safe, and with vast amounts of alluvial soil and stone to draw upon, it will be possible to improve greatly the protection needed whenever there is catastrophic flooding and rio Aguas threatens to burst its banks.

Needless to say, the riverbed environment, stripped of its five metre high cane forest, looks ravaged and desolate, a conservationist's nightmare on a par with images of amazonian despoilation. But, the banks are not being heaped high with stone and the riverbed paved, as is often the case in cities having to cope with the disruptive effect of occasional deluges. There will be a dramatic effect on riverbed wildlife and ecosystems with such environmental disruption, but similar things happen if there is a big flood also, or a toxic incident. The soil here is rich and fertile and the impact of this remodelling of the riverbed won't be permanent. Vegetation will return and quickly re-grow, and the wildlife will return spreading from wherever it now takes refuge.

It was interesting to observe several Great Egrets accompanying the excavators, dicing with death in close proximity to tracks or giant wheels. Wherever the earth is broken open, a feast of seeds and insects is released, and keen eyed birds benefit. A short term gain for them, maybe, a treat in the never ending hunt for food. It was hard to get decent photographs, as the excavators are so big and the bird so tiny in comparison.

Stripped of vegetation, it's possible to see where the river used to meander and maybe still does if there is enough rain for water to appear at ground level. The core route of the river is also being excavated, it's definition being restored, so that it can more effectively take rain water running from the surface either side of the channel. On the north side of the valley, half way down is an artificial plastic lined pond, perhaps collecting spring water from the cliff above. This drains into a channel that connects to the central river bed, feeding the charco which at this point is a few hundred metres lower down toward the sea. All this must be carefully engineered to ensure the right balance between saline and fresh water for the vegetation around the charco to flourish.

How good it is that the municipality and regional government are willing to invest thought, time and money in large scale conservation project of this kind. Nobody wants floods, so managing the landscape is vital. Perhaps those involved have also noticed how many visitors are attracted by the very fact that an otherwise unremarkable coastal valley has retained its bio-diversity and made it into an attractive place to visit. I was passed on the dusty track by a couple of golf carts from the neighbouring Marina Playa course laden with passengers, curious like me to take a look at work in progress. I wonder what the watercourse will look like in a couple of years from now.

      

Glimpses of Murcia's hinterland

Another early start, going north up the A7 autovia to rendezvous at a service station outside Puerto Lumbrera with David and Cath for a trip into the hinterland of Murcia. We drove up to Lorca, then turned north west, heading for Totana, although we weren't headed for the town itself, but for the Sanctuary of St Eulalia in the foothills of the Sierra Espuña. Saint Who? You may be wondering.

Eulalia was a young teenage girl of the Barcelona region, who was killed for her faith in 303 AD during the persecutions of Diocletian, like St Agnes and St Cecilia in Rome, and St Agatha in Sicily. Devotion to her memory spread through Spain, especially in Murcia, where she became the patron Saint of the town of Totana in the middle ages. A monastic sanctuary was established in her honour in 1574, and has been a place of pilgrimage since then.

Before visiting the sanctuary, we drove up above the village of Aledo, perched along the edge of an escarpment overlooking the Valle Guadalentín to a hilltop hosting a ten metre tall image of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, looking east across the plain towards the sea 50km away. From here there are wonderful views in every direction, including the monastery in the valley below. At night, the statue is illuminated and visible from the A7 autovia, 20km away, if you know where to look.

From the mountain top we descended to the monastery in the valley. No monks there these days. Not enough to go around! The sixteenth century building hospitality complex can house scores of visitors in a range of appropriate accommodations adapted for twentieth century use. The extensive grounds are laid out with trees that provide shade for many visitors. There was just a school party of a few dozen there when we arrived. I imagine it gets much busier when inhabitants of Totana and the wider region arrive at fiesta times.

The nave walls of the sanctuary church are decorated with 17th century frescos illustrating Gospel stories of the life of Christ, and a few of his saints. Their style and colour are characteristically early counter reformation Spanish, somehow managing to appear sober and vivid at the same time. The roof timbers reflect Mudéjar style carpentry and construction, and there's a small organ in the seventeenth century style, though whether it's a restored original or a more recent imitation is impossible to tell from a distance. The whole has been faithfully and superbly restored. It's a hidden treasure, well worth a visit for anyone who wants to get an impression of how a western church may have looked in the days when didactic visual art was the norm for catechesis.

From here, we drove high up on narrow winding roads into the pine forests of the Sierra Espuña, up to the 1,200m mark where the source of the rio Espuña is to be found for those willing to walk and find it. The summit is another 300m higher up. From here we descended to the visitor centre, which turned out to be quite a revelation, dedicated in honour of Ricardo Cordoníu, a 19th century man born in Cartagena in 1846, who was an early pioneer in environmental conservation, known as 'El Apostol de Arbol'. Early on in his engineering career, he saw the relationship between catastrophic autumnal flooding and deforestation, and devoted the rest of his life to the replacement of trees all over the hills and valleys of the Sierra Espuña, right up to where the tree line once was.

Centuries of increasing timber harvesting without replacement had destroyed a balanced natural environment and its ancient ecosystems. As a result of twenty years effort, the upper slopes and valleys of the Sierra Espuña were restored, along with its extraordinary bio-diversity. The entire area is now a unique designated regional national park. It was just wonderful to pass through forests of Mediterranean pine and oak, set against the diverse colouration of soil and rocks, and amazing to think that all this rich landscape could have remained barren and unstable, if it were not for the insight, determination and leadership of one local nature loving man.

We had lunch on the terrace in a small village restaurant at El Berro la Parra, where I had sopa de mariscos and emperador, for me a royal treat. Then we drove out of the Nature Reserve, and headed north and then west to Caravaca del la Cruz, our final destination of the day. It's an town which dates back more than a millennium, whose significance rests on a story about the conversion of a Moorish prince through a heavenly revelation of the cross, during a celebration of Mass, centuries before the reconquista. Subsequently, the town acquired a relic of the True Cross and became a reputed place of pilgrimage, identified by the unique iconographic symbolism of the cross, similar to the cross of La Lorraine, which pilgrims take away as a souvenir.

The sanctuary of the True Cross is a 16th century church within the precincts of the eleventh century moorish castle on the promontory overlooking the town. It's one of five places in the world where the Catholic celebration of Jubilee is observed once every seven years instead of every forty nine years - 2017 happens to be a Jubilee year, so the town and castle are decked in festive attire. In the church a recording of the recitation of the rosary runs continuously. The cloister has a canopy to shelter several hundred white garden chairs, for the use of overflow congregations on big fiestas, and in a corner of the castle courtyard are stacks of hundreds of chairs, retained, just in case. It's a place geared up to welcome visitors to worship on festival days, in an impressive way.

As the sun began to set, we made our way back down to Lorca, and then along the A7 to Puerto Lumbrera for me to get my car, and drive the last three quarters of an hour back to Mojácar. It was a long day's travel, but so worthwhile, discovering the remarkably green face of the neighbouring Murcia Province. There's so much more to see that's different! My photos are here

Castle concern

I walked to St John's Canton to celebrate their midweek Eucharist this morning. Then in the afternoon Clare and I walked together to town, on my part, with no particular aim in mind apart from exercise. When we reached the Castle, Clare proposed that we enter and have a cuppa in the restaurant there. It proved an opportune moment to renew my 'Castle Key' residents' free entrance pass. My original pass was issued free and expired over eighteen months ago. I simply never got around to renewing it. Now it costs a fiver to cover the cost of issuing a new card, which is forty percent of the price of a single visitor entrance ticket. Most reasonable. I was impressed that a fresh plastic photocard could be made for issue within minutes of proving one's residence rights, using a hand-held scanner to take a photo and etch it on a card with name and renewal date.

On our way out Clare chatted with one of the guides/welcomers who look after visitors, someone who had been on the team when she acted as a tour guide there. Recession has reduced the number of visitors, and Council budget cuts have led to a drastic limitation of the conservation budget, so that some of the most visited rooms are suffering from wear and tear and starting to look neglected. This is hardly likely to attract extra visitors. "It's slowly turning into one big function suite."  I heard said. Hiring the place out for receptions and social events helps balance the books. One of Cardiff's iconic tourist venues is in government speak 'Just About Managing'.

What's so sad is that the region boasts many institutions of higher and further education with staff and students undergoing various specialised aspects of training in conservation arts and crafts. There's no reason why a partnership between these institutions and the City Council couldn't help to guarantee a high standard of maintenance and provide a practical training ground at the same time. Admittedly a significant obstacle would be the surveillance CADW exercises on listed buildings and monuments in Wales. It's a quango which sets acceptably high standards, but is dauntingly slow and bureaucratic in exercising its regulatory powers, so getting a functional partnership between educational interests, Council and CADW, even with a shared aim, would not be easy to commend to politicians preferring the glamour of quick wins. 

Wales has so many ancient monuments, more than its fair share of ruins. Across the centuries few prestige building projects realized by wealthy or powerful people have survived the test of time in their intended condition. Sooner or later, places lose their significance as status symbols in the public eye. They become unaffordable to run, and end up in ruins. The hardest thing is to witness the decay of beautiful things and places through neglect, for whatever reason.

After walking around the shops for a while, my knee joint started to become painful. I may just have overdone the exercise lately. Anyway, I caught the bus home, tired and aching, conscious of my own wear and tear. After a short rest, I drove over to St German's for the evening's Lenten Stations of the Cross and eucharistic adoration. At the end, a man who arrived with a friend during the service asked with tears in his eyes, to talk to a priest about his troubles. 

He said his landlord had thrown him out, and that he'd been on the streets for two days and neither eaten nor slept. I'm not sure I believed the story he told, or maybe it wasn't the whole story, as he looked remarkably clean and tidy for someone who'd been out on the streets a couple of days with no support, but there was no way to corroborate his story, He was hungry, but there was no means to give him anything to eat and drink at that time of night with the church day centre closed. I sent him to the homelessness hub in Tresilian Terrace, and told him where he could contact the city centre detached social worker team, and the church gave him some money to buy a meal on his way. It was the best we could do. There are so many ways in which someone can be precipitated on to the streets unprepared and traumatized by the experience. Cardiff has many voluntary and professional people active in caring for the homeless, and the numbers continue to grow.

How green is my Valley now!

Yesterday's carol service for the whole of Tredegarville school was the last occasion of this term for children to worship in St German's. There'll be no more 'class Masses' until mid January when Spring term gets under way. Eight of the regulars were there for the  midweek celebration of the Eucharist this morning, eastward facing in the Lady Chapel. Afterwards I chatted with people in the day centre for a while before heading back home for lunch. 

The rest of the day was uneventful and pretty inactive, apart from a brisk walk to Tesco's after preparing supper. Clare was out rehearsing for her Sunday concert until after eight. After eating together, I watched the first of a documentary series being re-run on BBC Four, about the river Taff and its post industrial regeneration. It's a superb series, part of which I have seen before. It was lovely to hear people being interviewed who spoke with the unique local accent in the area where I grew up. The 21st century story of the river's revival as a natural habitat, after half a century of ecological death by industrial pollution, is such a positive story for our time.

As I was growing up the state of the river, with its banks of alien silt from deep underground, brought to the surface and distributed throughout river systems due to ubiquitous coal mining washeries, was part of my earliest memories of outdoor play. I remember my mother's anxious warning, not to go near 'that black brook' which flowed off the mountainside through Ystrad Mynach, down to the river Rhymney on the floor of our valley. Coal dust, however you acquired it, made your clothes very dirty, so heaven help you if you fell into the river. Now the tributaries and the main valley rivers are alive again with healthy vegetation, birds and fish. The grief of elders who lived through the heyday of mining regretting the environmental cost has been turned to joy and pride.

At the end of my first year in University, I had a summer internship in the local National Coal Board science lab on the edge of our village. One of my tasks was to accompany a member of staff who toured streams and rivers in the area collecting water samples. These were then subjected to routine tests for toxins from coal tips, to monitor the impact of coal waste dumping. I think this was where my interest in the environment really began. In those days, when the pits were still producing coal and dumping waste incessantly, the valleys were bleak places, made ugly by industry. 

I went off to University in Bristol, and found an urban environment with clean countryside not too far away much more appealing. So, I grew in determination not to return to the valleys of my birth. Even so, I did return to Cardiff to train for ministry, and served my first curacy in Caerphilly, in a mining housing estate, though, mercifully in a setting where hillsides were green and free of coal tips. Then, ministry took me to one urban area after another for thirty years. Only in the past fourteen years since returning to serve in Britain, has the transformation of the environment after the closure of the pits made a strong impression on me. I watched this evening's programme with great pride and joy, as so much of the landscape it portrayed is now familiar.

It leaves me wondering. Natural beauty was such an important element of my experience of young life, despite the industrialisation of the valleys. Had the landscape not been despoiled when I was growing up, would I have been less tempted to escape and seek a new way of life and new experiences elsewhere?