Reversing into space

 I’m not at all certain whether this is an aspect of life in general or whether it is a peculiarity of Vicarage life but I find myself faced with the challenge of downsizing once again. It has happened before. Moving from an 18th Century Rectory to a relatively modern house in a Cathedral Close involved downsizing and to a degree modernising, much of what was disposed of was replaced with newer furniture that fitted more appropriately into the new house. Moving from our 5 Bedroom Vicarage where one bedroom served as my library to a much smaller modern house was an occasion for books to be thinned out (All the paper backs went to Oxfam) for furniture to go to the Auction (the value of a life went under the hammer) and when we got to the new house, the van driver commented, my Van is bigger than your house! But we managed! This move is different again as I realise that I should be aiming for minimalism elsewise my family will be faced with numerous journeys to the tip once I am no longer

Even in my rear view mirror I cannot see or recall a Government as poor as the one we currently have. I am old enough to remember Harold McMillan who assured us that we had never had it so good. McMillan built houses, nurtured the NHS, supported the Welfare State and generally governed in the public interest. I remember Margaret Thatcher and whilst I had little or no time for the Thatcher Government she had principles, principles which I disagreed with and opposed, but she was principled. The best post war Prime Minister that I remember with huge affection and respect was Harold Wilson, as his Biographer commented, Mrs Thatcher was remembered for the Poll tax and the Falklands War. Harold Wilson was remembered for The Open University and keeping Britain out of Vietnam. Now we have a litany of shameful policies which will embarrass us as a nation for years to come the most recent and the worst the shabby, shameful deal with Rwanda to process those who arrive in the UK to seek Asylum. Wh

  My father ran a motorcycle.  It was a transport of delight because it meant that as a family we could get out into the country side and enjoy the fresh air, a favourite family outing was to  Lyme   Park  on the fringes of  Stockport  in a small village called Disley. The first motorcycle was a Rudge Ulster. I do not know where it came from, it appeared, and my father also acquired and fitted a sidecar to it. The bike was a high revving sports bike completely unsuited to pulling a side car but because my father was mechanically inclined he was able to keep the bike maintained and sufficiently roadworthy both as a source of transport for himself and family outings for my mother, sister and myself. On one occasion we were on a family outing into Derbyshire when the bike broke down as we were pulling up the long drag known as Long Hill outside Buxton. There were two bikes that day, our Rudge, which had broken down and my Uncle Ronnie’s Indian. The RAC man declared the bike un-repairable.

When I took my driving test 60 years ago I was advised that I should set my rear view mirror slightly to one side so that I had to turn my head to look in it in order to see what was behind me. This ensured that the driving tester would notice that I had been using my mirror throughout the test. So today I take a sideways look into the mirror and see my 17 year old self looking back. My work at the Normeir Garage in Stoke on Trent was described as a Trainee Salesman although in practice it is fair to say that I was a Tyre Fitter (possibly the most responsible job that I have ever had). I lived close by and so would walk to work and back morning and evening as well as at lunchtime which I took at home. My walking was almost a 'prayer walk' as I reflected on the world around me, struggled with my growing sense of vocation and struggled with the usual turmoils that challenged an average 17 year old's mind. It was the time of the Cuba Crisis and there was a very real sense that

A few years ago now I spent Easter in Genoa.  One memory of that visit were weaving our own Palm Crosses from the Palm branches in the churchyard. I had a very good tutorial from the Churchwarden Mary and, after a couple of false starts,, managed to make some Palm Crosses that could be used in the service. Another memory was on Easter Sunday itself, many of the congregation were away visiting family in the UK and the congregation was much smaller than on a normal Sunday. As I was reading the Gospel the doors burst open and a group of young people burst into the Church. They were uniformly tall, blond, distinguished and brought a gust of fresh air through the doors with them. My first thought was that they were American. The Churchwardens welcomed them and seated them and as we sang the next hymn their voices filled the church. As Gerald Manley Hopkins said, it was a joy to have them Easter with us. Over a glass of wine after the service it transpired that they were Danish and had been

 Life is a constant state of flux. We depart on journeys but what we see through the rear view mirror is as important as what we see ahead of us. I am now at a stage of life in which my future is going to be far shorter than my past. My recent surgery has a morbidity rate of 5 years and additionally my next birthday will register that I have lived for 77 years so clearly I am entering an end time. Which poses two possible responses: As birthday greetings in Italian observe 'Buon Compleanno' in effect congratulations on completing another year. But also the question how do I spend the time I have left most effectively? It is that question that I will seek to address in this Blog whilst keeping an eye on my rear view mirror. Another question that arises is: Priest or Poet? Given the changing nature of the church and the laicisation of both governance and worship my suspicion is that the church has little use for priests any longer, we can manage without you thank you very much, a