Westbury Park remembered

A sunny day, though still not with summer warmth. My back stiffness and pain subsided quite a lot overnight and it didn't take me so long to get mobile. After lunch Clare drove me over to Westbury Park in Bristol for my osteo treatment. It took me ages beforehand to fill in the forms which were emailed me but it all made good sense as preparation for Ruth the therapist who was to treat me. It's the first long drive Clare has done since February, and she insisted on driving back as well, so her confidence hasn't been eroded by the long layoff.

The Vital Health Clinic in North View is a few doors away from St Alban's Parish Hall, closed for community activities currently, its doors and windows covered with notices about continuing Parish engagement in Foodbank collections, and information about on-line services. I had quite forgotten that it's an Ecumenical Parish, of Anglicans and Methodists congregations. Bristol Diocese pioneers these back in the 1970s. 

In 1983 we lived for a year in St Alban's Vicarage in Canowie Road, during an interregnum, while I took a sabbatical year out to train as a secondary RE teacher. I didn't do locum duties in St Alban's Parish but was assigned to Holy Trinity Westbury on Trim as an honorary assistant priest for Sunday and occasional weekday duties. It was such a change to move from the energetic multi-cultural working class community of the St Paul's area to living in a sedate middle class part of the city with its wealthy and well attended churches. 

I guess I was well occupied with learning new disciplines and skills during that year, as I don't remember a great deal of what it was like living and leading worship there. What I do remember vividly was Clare and I taking a romantic train trip to Venice for Carnevale and a quiet Canadian student called Linda Maine looking after the children for the inside of a week.

The clinic has two therapists working out of a small converted terraced house with its front door on the pavement. Everything about the practice was beautifully and strictly organised with precautions against virus contagion properly and systematically observed. The treatment was beneficial and also helpful n that Ruth explained as she went along what had gone wrong and what she was working on. It certainly made me think about my habitual stance, and the subtle impact of having had surgery in the lower right side of my body - three times so far in the perineum and once for a hernia repair. It's something to take into account, to be aware of and making allowances for.

I felt much better afterwards, back pain almost gone, my neck so much freer and my head clearer than it has been for weeks. Both of us are booked in for a treatment in ten days time. Clare has been having headaches which, by a process of elimination with our GP, leads to the conclusion that the problem is in the neck.

We were home again by six, a pleasant drive home as the roads were not too congested. Pollution monitoring services are saying that atmospheric nitrous oxide has not yet returned to pre-lockdown levels, despite road traffic increasing since restrictions were eased. It seems that vehicle usage has not yet returned to previous levels so traffic congestion is still lower than normal, and a noticeable decrease in pollution from emissions is the result. Must we return to the way things were? Haven't we yet learned the lesson that ridding ourselves of diesel powered vehicles (a key emitter of nitrous oxide pollution) is essential for everyone's health? How many people have had their body's ability to cope with covid-19 undermined by having to live in a polluted atmosphere? 

After supper I watched a couple more episodes of Non Uccidere. I had intended to watch Huey Morgan's programme on Cuban music, but for some annoying reason the iPlayer stream kept on freezing probably due to demand. I'll have to watch on catch-up instead.

    

No change but a change of air

During the night I was conscious of the arrival of high winds, not just from the noise outside, but from a perceptible change of air. That sounds odd, but the coastal plain Cardiff inhabits suffers from polluted air when weeks pass without a breeze. It's got worse in recent years with increased traffic congestion. There are times when I'm returning home from a walk in the park, that there's a noticeable difference between the air out in Llandaff or Pontcanna Fields, and the air along Penhill Road, the penultimate leg, which reeks of diesel fumes from standing traffic. 

Cardiff Council's published pollution maps confirm from monitoring data what a healthy sense of smell detects. We're two hundred yards from Penhill Road and our street is very quiet. The scent of pollution isn't so obvious at home from day to day, but when a strong wind blows, the difference quite marked. I wish we lived in the country or near the sea, though I can't see us moving house again. We just need to get out and away more often, to take the air.

I went to St John's to celebrate the midweek Eucharist this morning but Fr Chris Lee turned up to take the service as well,due to a double booking error. I felt glad to sit with the congregation and worship. The only other times I've been able to do that for a long time have been on a couple of weekend trips to Kenilworth to look after Rhiannon. It's so good to be on the receiving end and be ministered to, and it was lovely to chat with Chris after the service.

Following a brief trip to the bank and to shops I returned home for lunch, and then went out on foot to make a bereavement visit at the west end of Canton Parish. As I wasn't sure of my street destination, I checked on Google Maps, which set me the quickest walking route. This proved misleading when, two third of the way through the journey, I was led into a side street, to get to the main road by a shortcut, whose only exit was closed off with a 'residents only access' security gate. One hears of this happening with sat-nav car directions leading to dead ends on country lanes, but don't expect it in a heavily built up area on a walking route! Anyway, it only delayed me by a few minutes, and then an hour later I was on my way home again.

Kath and Rhiannon had arrived by the time I returned. Kath returns tomorrow as she and Anto work this weekend. Rhiannon will end her half term and 13th birthday week with us. The Clare and I will drive with her back to Kenilworth on Sunday. I'll stay for a couple of nights, and Clare for the week to look after Rhiannon, as Kath and Anto have another busy week of Wriggledance touring gigs in parts of the country where next week is half term, not this one. Such is the life of an artistic family. We're just glad to be able to support them, and have time together with them in between engagements.

After tea we went for a walk down to the river Taff. Rhiannon walked arm in arm with me and told me all about her birthday pizza party the night before. It was heartwarming, despite the powerful chilling effect from the strong north wind sweeping through the region. The evening highlight of was watching 'Death in the Caribbean' on the telly, a rather old fashioned detective story reminiscent of another era. And despite our various efforts, none of us guessed who the murderer was.

No news of the election of a Bishop this evening from Llandaff Cathedral. The electoral college was unable to come to a consensus, nor to a 2/3rds majority vote. Nobody knows why, as participants are bound by an oath of confidentiality. Those outside, anxious for a result to gossip about, fantasise and joke instead in Facebook postings. If we have to choose a new father-in-God, this is I suppose as good if not better than any other ways. Public electoral campaigns are to my mind anathema. Discernment has been entrusted to trustworthy electors, themselves elected to office. When discernment fails everyone is bound to worry somewhat. If the electoral college fails, the Bishops meet and appoint someone. How long we have to wait for this to happen has not yet been announced, as far as I know. Let's hope it happens soon. 

   

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?

      

Walk in the dark

Another quiet uneventful morning, and with nothing better to do I stewed some vegetables with butter beans and a Welsh made chorizo sausage, ready for supper. Then when Clare returned from her study group, she cooked a deliciously tasty soup, using a delicata squash from last week's organic veg box, plus one red onion. The squash resembles a small marrow but it has a special flavour of its own. This was the first time we'd come across it, and hopefully, not the last. 

Mid-afternoon, I walked into town just for exercise, in defiance of the chilly weather that makes me want to hibernate. The sun was low in the sky and all the Christmas lights were already on, giving me an opportunity to take a photo tour of the city centre to record them. It'll be interesting to compare these with previous batches of photos taken in the streets at this time of year, to see how things have changed.

I walked back along the Taff Trail, on the west bank, as the Bute Park side shuts before sunset. As it's unlit this was less than easy with a steady flow of bicycling commuters in both directions leaving me feeling a little vulnerable in the dark. Thankfully most cyclists these days go for bright LED lights, on their helmets or on handlebars, making it easier to spot pedestrians, though not all. I wasn't forced off the path at any stage, but obliged to walk right on the edge, just in case. I could have walked on well lit pavements by two different routes, but slow moving rush hour road traffic pollution makes for another kind of hazard to be avoided. Traffic congestion seems to have got much worse over the past couple of years. Much as I like giving where we do in Pontcanna, I honestly wish we lived a little way out in the country, but we're unlikely to move again, now we're so settled.