June 14, 2005

• MY US TRIP: see The_Clowne_from_Clown blog
  

  
  

  Medical update: I have accute anemia now, which means I can do things like travel but I got to keep sitting down every few minutes.

  
  

  As usual, I’ll post my pieces and visit your blogs over the next couple of days, that is so I can read your blogs properly of course. Terry.

  
  

  and sorry, more Sophie!

  
  

  —————-

  
  

  “In The Cemetery”
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  We went on a car-ride
  

  
  

  To a cemetery
  

  
  

  To see where Grandad was buried.
  

  
  

  It was hard to cry
  

  
  

  Over someone I hardly remembered,
  

  
  

  But I pretended to be sad.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  And I put some flowers on the grave
  

  
  

  And did the three blessings.
  

  
  

  (Not that that Grandad was Catholic,
  

  
  

  That is Mummy’s dad
  

  
  

  Who is still alive
  

  
  

  But lives a long way away).
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I looked at the other graves
  

  
  

  As Nanny sat down.
  

  
  

  I read some of the words
  

  
  

  And was sad to see
  

  
  

  One grave was for a boy who died aged four,
  

  
  

  who died two years ago.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  “Why do I come here Sophie?”
  

  
  

  Nanny asked me.
  

  
  

  “To show you remember?”
  

  
  

  I asked back.
  

  
  

  “You are a good girl” she sighed
  

  
  

  And we went back to the car.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It was a beautiful sunny day,
  

  
  

  But the birdsong and the wild flowers were wasted
  

  
  

  In such a sad place.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  Sophie Lucy Morgan (Aged 10).
  

  
  

  ———–

  
  

   

  
  

   

  
  

  
  

  Diary extracts from August 2004.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Mam Tor towers above my church. At present, the hill-side is a mass of Scottish bluebells, and children slide down it’s slopes on trays, and lovers hold hands and marvel at the sights.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  They call Mam Tor “The Shivering Mountain”, because the other side the mountain does shiver in high winds. In 1949, a road was laid around that side of the mountain at a considable expense, but each winter it had to close when there were high winds, and in 1982 a gale brought half the mountain onto the road and left large cracks in the part not affected, so it was never re-opened. It was not the first time this happened on the road and frankly it was not worth re-building.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  On the church side though, how different! it is beautiful in mist, in snow, and in sun, and I have often puffed up it’s tracks to the top to feel at one with God.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —-
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  It is time for the well-dressing outside my church, when scouts guides cubs and brownies spend a week sticking flower-petals, twigs, moss and other natural substances, to make wonderful pictures.
  

  
  

  For several years now they have followed the design of local artist, Celia Potts, (who also designed the new wonderful stained glass window in my church, all free.)
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  This year the surprising theme is Jonah and the Whale, but I did do that in my Sunday School.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Since 1860, every year’s well-dressing has been photographed and kept in the church vaults, only to be read, viewed by appointment. Of course since the fifties, the photos have been in colour, and I have noticed Jonah has not been used before.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  The other well dressing in Shawthwaite has less religious themes, they are working now on a view of the railway with a steam train coming through the valley. Very beautiful but as the idea of dressing the wells is to thank God for spring water in an otherwise waterless area, I think it misses the point.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Another beautiful day, and I stroll through the village in my dog-collar smiling and talking to people, and visiting the old the sick and the depressed.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  I have so much to do in my parish, trips out for the younger kids, bingo, and my vast church garden, that I do not get out nearly enough, though my wonderful curate; a lady in her fifties, also does a great job.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  She is invaluable, for it is amazing what there is to do, from VAT books to flower-arranging to going to Buxton to visit villagers in Hospital there. It is a busy life, but it is better than being some Father McKensey!
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  —-
  

  
  

  The Reverend Tobias Trontby †
  

  
  

  
  (note: Mam Tor and well-dressing and so on exists, but the people are ficticious, and oh, ignore the date, wrote this this week!)

  • 7:01 am
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