Marking time
Time goes faster as you get older. So psychologists tell us. It may be true. Last week was seven months since Joanna left us. [I met some people on the bus yesterday, whose name I couldn’t immediately remember, who were asking me about her. I told them that she is the first thing on our minds when we wake up in the morning. And then at intervals throughout the day.]
Certainly I’m not sure where the last few weeks have gone. Apart from my wheezing my way through a long-lasting summer cold. After my 24-hour trip to London I met up with Richard Holloway for coffee at the Cafe Grande. During our decade in Duns he was my diocesan bishop, and I wasn’t really very happy about that. [See TaGD – 71] His liberal theology and his enthusiasm for the LGBT+ community and his encouragement to ‘sin boldly’ all played out badly in our rather conservative corner of the Scottish Borders. But he was always very supportive personally, and meeting up with him occasionally is a great pleasure. We talked a lot, and laughed a lot, and cried a bit about Joanna. And he pointed me to a few books that I might look at one of these days.
And then I spoke at the funeral for David Douglas, a friend from Priestfield church. I only got the job because the minister was away on holiday. David was a gently-spoken, courteous man; a retired accountant. He was immensely helpful to me a few years ago when I was being chased for unpaid back taxes on foreign earnings by the Inland Revenue. A firm of accountants in Berwick on Tweed with whom we had historic connections from our time in Duns acted for me. Sadly they turned out to be a bunch of venal clowns. They charged me a substantial fee for submitting a return which HMRC refused to accept. It took two years of patient encouragement by David before the matter was sorted out. And they eventually sent me a large cheque – for which we were grateful.
We then had a few days down south staying with Jem and Anna and their children in Watlington. Which is often said be the smallest town in England. It sits at the foot of the Chilterns, in Vicar of Dibley country; with lots of good walking nearby and easy access to the Ridgeway. And is blessed with the reputed Orange Bakery. And populated by a sizeable colony of red kites which circle constantly above your head.
As ever it was very good to spend time with children and the grand-children. From Watlington Jem drove us up to Birmingham for my brother and sister-in-law’s joint birthday celebrations. Lots of excellent food and drink, and more Anglican clergy than you could shake a thurible at.
Since our return we have had visits from Roy and Shona, a chance to catch up with news from Lyon; and David and Mary from Perthshire. Interspersed with a couple of visits to the Edinburgh Jazz Festival. First to hear the excellent Pasadena Roof Orchestra playing big band classics from the 1920s and ‘30s at the Queen’s Hall. And then to the Spiegeltent in George Square to hear Hamish Gregor and Colin Steele with their Tribute to Ball, Barber, and Bilk. Acker Bilk used to play at Wandsworth Town Hall back in the dark ages. And a few years later I was happy to hear Kenny Ball and his Jazzmen playing live as the resident band on Brian Matthew’s Easy Beat. Apart from which excitement I have been reading Bevis Hillier’s interminable, three volume biography of John Betjeman, stuffed with anecdotes and gossip; and Rowan Williams on the Benedictines; and a whole platoon of books on the Vietnam War. Of which more another time.
Envoi
We are looking forward to more August visitors; from Berwickshire, and from Lyon, and from the Cotswolds. I have just bought some tickets for Scotland’s rugby World Cup warm-up games at Murrayfield, against France and against Georgia. Which may be a triumph of hope over experience. And we plan to go to South Uist at the end of next month. Provided that CalMac can find a boat to take us there. Which is unsure. If not, it will be a long swim !
July 2023
Through a glass darkly 