Angel of the Morning
‘Let your life come amongst them like a flame of light, my
child, unflickering and pure, and delight them into silence.’
from The Child-Angel , Rabindranath Tagore
Angels, as I know them, come in many guises. This little one, who has endured significant travails, was a gift from one of the many angels who supported and loved us at the White Plains Presbyterian Church, Westchester, New York. In silence, I delight in angels.
In my previous post, but one, I mentioned that Sheri de Grom had nominated me to join the Travel Blog. One of the questions she asked me to consider, in relation to the nomination, was this:
“What am I working on at the moment?”
The short answer to that is, nothing much; except what is coming to life, right now, as my fingers touch the keyboard.
I am, however, reading; reading memoirs,
Memoirs of Cairo and Christchurch
and preparing, in my thoughts and heart, a small post to add to my private, family history blog. Perhaps, in a few days hence, the time will be right to commit thoughts to virtual paper. I hope so, for otherwise I will be in danger of forgetting the stories that came to me whilst I sat with the old ones. As Kerry reminded us the other day; ‘Write it down, label your family treasures, be a record keeper. Do it now.’
And it is precisely because some people take serious note of advice such as Kerry’s that I am now enjoying two memoirs, written about vastly different countries, by vastly different authors, but having, in common, all the intricacies, complexity and vibrancy of family and family relationships.
The first memoir is Apricots on the Nile, A Memoir with Recipes, by Colette Rossant.
Apricots on the Nile by Colette Rossant
Colette Rossant’s memoir includes the years she spent, as a child, in the care of her wealthy grandparents and their large extended family, in their mansion in Garden City, Cairo. Although the Egyptian reminiscences relate mainly to the period from 1937 to 1947, the timelessness of Cairo and the equal timelessness of family events ( deaths, births, weddings, picnics, holidays, guests, gossip and weddings ) meant that my own experience of Cairo life, in the late 1990s, came flowing through me, again, deep and rich as the Nile itself.
Closer to home, is the memoir Eventful Years, by Sir Ernest Andrews, my great great uncle.
Eventful Years by Sir Ernest Andrews
Sir Ernest, or Uncle Ernie, as my mother called him, was a Christchurch City Councillor for thirty-two years, and nine of those years he served as Mayor of Christchurch. He began his Council service in 1918 and retired in 1950. During his time in local politics, he witnessed the 1918 Flu Epidemic, the Great Depression, the 1931 Napier Earthquake, the Second World War and the Ballantynes’ fire . Eventful Years covers all these events and more, but what is not specifically mentioned is that, during his tenure as Mayor, he lived in his daughter and son-in-law’s modest, two bedroom home, with their four children and my mother. Quite a houseful! But my mother loved living in that vibrant, occasionally rambunctious, household of young and not so young; helping with the little ones whilst their mother acted as Mayoress for the widowed Sir Ernest. My mother was still living there when she married; her wedding photos were taken in the beautiful garden of that compact home,
My mother in her happy place.
her wedding reception was held there, and, even after her marriage, she returned to stay with the family, until my father’s family moved to Christchurch, and she was able to move in with her husband and her in-laws. Thus it was in Christchurch in those years. Though very much smaller in scale and wealth, not so very different to a similar period in a large, lively family in Cairo, at least as far as familial ties, and caring and sharing, were concerned. ( I doubt, however, that my staunch Methodist relatives indulged in poker parties as the Palacci family did! 🙂 ).
“So, as I end this stage of the family history, sketchy as of necessity it has had to be, I again place on record what I owe to a long list of brave and honourable forbears, and especially to the example and influence of a good father and a gracious mother.” (Eventful Years, Chapter X )
I would also place on record that the last time I looked, more than a year ago, this special house in our family history was still standing but it was in an area badly affected by the 2010/2011 earthquakes. I do not know if it remains today.
And, in case you are wondering, this is not the story I am planning for my family history blog. I have quite another in mind. This one is at the periphery of that one to come.
And, again, in case you are wondering why I removed the dust jackets of the memoirs, it is to acknowledge the importance of recording the outer and the inner, the cover and the contents, as can be seen in The Art of the Dust Jacket; the latest exhibition organised by our City Council funded Art Gallery in our City Council funded Central Library. ( Can I hear Uncle Ernie’s approval of these initiatives? He was not only a councillor but a writer, an educator, a printer and a publisher.)
Finally, for not much reason at all….save that it is lovely, and is the result of our City Council’s long-standing support of public gardens… a winter camellia at Mona Vale.
Like a wedding dress; a camellia at Mona Vale, another of my mother’s happy places.
© silkannthreades
After my brief break to honour Anzac Day, I am returning to my blogcation story.
Two nights and three short days have passed. Now it is time for my friend to embark on the next stage of her journey. It is time, it is the hour, for us to say goodbye, just as we have done before. We know the words well. They are words that are integral to an island childhood of many farewells, and, sometimes, few returnings.
Words, as integral as the liturgies, the creeds, the hymns and Bible stories my friend and I absorbed, filtered through layers of cultural and religious and missionary ambiguities and diversities. The miracle is that we absorbed and retained any of the Anglican faith at all, surrounded as we were by every religion, and interpretation of it, that one could imagine. For example, Diwali was almost as much fun as Christmas; the sounds of the Call to Prayer were more part of our day than the ringing of church bells; fasting could mean Ramadan or Lent, missionaries could mean Methodist or Mormon, and so on; but, as children, we simply accepted all the differences of faith with equanimity, as part of what made our community specifically ours.
As a parting gift, and in memory of those early shared bonds of faith, my friend gave me an extraordinarily beautiful book “The Scrolls Illuminated”, illustrated by Australian artist Fiona Pfennigwerth.
The Scrolls Illuminated, illustrated by Fiona Pfennigwerth
Fiona takes 5 ancient texts from the Bible and uses her understanding of Australian nature, and the Bible, to bring the texts ” across time, culture and geography to those of us in the 21st century “at the ends of the earth” – and anywhere between.” She enriches old stories of faith by adding a unique Australian filter; much as we children grew our faith through a particular Pacific lens. The book was the project for Fiona’s Honours and PhD studies in Natural History Illustration at the University of Newcastle, Australia.
And the result of her talent and study is Joy; pure Joy.
I commend joy
Ecclesiastes 8:15
Update:
Yesterday we commemorated Anzac Day. “Now is the Hour”/ “Po Atarau” has been sung as a farewell to our troops as far back as the First World War. It was also sung when passenger ships left Fiji. “Now is the Hour” became a huge international hit in the late 1940s, thanks to Gracie Fields and Bing Crosby.
© silkannthreades
The National Gallery in London features a painting each month which you can download as a wallpaper. Over the last 12 months I have enjoyed some lovely paintings, courtesy of this wonderful service. The masterpiece for the month of December is ‘The Nativity” by Piero della Francesca.
The Nativity (1470-5)
The Gallery notes explain the painting, and its context, and it’s fascinating to read about the magpie, and the angels without wings, and why the donkey is not paying attention to Jesus and the ox is. But there are four aspects of this work that I adore; the blue robes, the hairstyles of the angels, the informality of Joseph’s relaxed foot and the little birds amongst the plants near the angels’ feet?
The coolness and calm created by the gentle colours in this Nativity reminded me of the year I decided to decorate a little potted Christmas tree, in my garden, in white and silver and blue.
White and Silver and Green
That Blue Christmas was in 2005, I think, and, although I don’t have a Christmas tree this year, indoors or out, I felt a great need for another round of Christmas Blues. So I set to, quietly and slowly, piece by piece, filling my world with blue.
Perhaps my mood was influenced by a 15th Century Italian interpretation of the Nativity or, perhaps, like Juliet Batten, author of Spirited Ageing, I am responding to a natural need to be soothed and swaddled and lullaby-ed through what can be a hot, rushed and hectic Antipodean festive season.
Last night an early summer storm raged through the inland section of our province. Hail stones destroyed farmers’ crops but, here, in the city we were spared the worst of it. As a result I woke this morning to the blessing of gentle rain on my parched garden
Rain in the early morning light
and the tranquility and peace of the soft tones of morning light on the blues of my Christmas preparations.
In one corner of my living room, I have placed my own Nativity Scene. Not made by a famous artist but painted by the small, meticulous hand of my daughter when she was about nine or ten. The figures are slightly worn, the lamb has sustained a chip, but the Nativity set is loved, and a favourite decoration, no matter how I choose to colour my Christmas.
A Child’s Nativity
No Christmas time is complete without music. I love the traditional old world songs but, this year, I am enjoying a loved New Zealand carol, Te Harinui (Great Joy ), written by our own Willow Macky to mark the first Christmas service in New Zealand in the Bay of Islands in 1814.
Meri Kirihimeti
© silkannthreades
Our previous minister, Rev. John Hunt, (now retired), would sometimes offer the congregation ‘a sweetie for the sermon’. His sermons didn’t ever need any sweetening but he said a ‘sweetie for the sermon’ was an ancient Scottish tradition, and we, believers all, were more than happy to help preserve the ways of the old Kirk. So the baskets of sweeties were passed from one pew to another and we, smiling and laughing like young ones at a birthday party, selected our sweetie and, then, spent the rest of the sermon, trying to dislodge sticky toffee from our gums and teeth. ( Perhaps we were not as young as our hearts imagined 🙂 ) Gummed up or not, they were sweet moments, and, although, I remember not a word of the sermons, I do remember feeling content and treasured and loved. Sugar it seems is a powerful preservative of well-being.
In the spirit of ‘a sweetie for the sermon’, I am spending time trying to capture and preserve the sweetness of the current season. For there is much sweetness to savour.
There is the sweet fragrance and delicate tones of my dwarf sweet peas both outside
Sweetly fragrant Sweet Pea
and indoors, mingled with scented rose.
Rose and Sweet Peas
Then there is the sweetness suspended in the flowers and leaves I am drying for my home-made potpourri.
Summer Medley with Tracy’s butterflies
Potpourri translates as ‘rotten pot/stew’, which, hopefully, mine will not be, if I have dried everything sufficiently well.
Additional sweetness comes in a friend’s seasonal gift of home-made Christmas mince pies; so delicious they are impossible to preserve except on camera.
Stars of Wonder
They are a scrumptious-sumptuous combination of melt-in-your-mouth sugary buttery pastry and ‘ barely there tartness’ of rich, fruity mince meat; made, I am told, with the addition of apple and green tomato to the dried fruit.
So those are the sweeties. Now for the sermon. Sermon? What sermon? My mouth is too full of goodness to speak.
© silkannthreades
This morning I woke up to a version of this ; The Day Thou Gavest, Lord, is Ended, one of my all time favourite hymns.
I lay in bed listening to words and music that I hadn’t heard in years, and felt profoundly peaceful. The hymn was part of our New Zealand Praise Be programme for Remembrance Sunday, on this second Sunday in November. On Remembrance Sunday, people throughout the Commonwealth pay tribute, before God, to those who laid down their lives in war. I haven’t been to a Remembrance Sunday service, in real life, but the few scenes (and one service sheet ) that I have seen, via the internet and television, always impress me with the beauty of their words and their music and their surroundings. Heavenly and divine aptly describe these church services where we honour peace and life, and, somehow, try to atone for the horror of war and conflict.
Now, although to a certain extent I am a person of faith, my spiritual life is more bread and butter than angels and divine inspiration, which means that, as I was listening to the hymn this morning, my mind suddenly jumped from wreaths on tombstones to one word…hardtack! Yes, hardtack! Well…. it was nearly breakfast time, so quite natural that my stomach/brain would be reminding me of food. And, since an army is said to march on its stomach, I would guess most soldiers, of older times, also thought more often of hardtack (what they would rather have, or what they could do with it!) than their Maker.
Hardtack, as many of you may know, is a type of plain cracker made from flour and water and salt and, in ages past, was used to sustain soldiers and sailors. Hardtack was hard, very hard, and very long- lasting. It was a substitute for bread. In World War One, Australian and New Zealand troops ( ANZACS) jokingly called their hardtack, ANZAC wafers. They were also called ANZAC tiles.
According to this source, http://definingnz.com/bully-beef-and-biscuits/ , the daily ration of an ANZAC soldier was ”disablingly bad” and included 7 ANZAC Wafers ( ie 7 hardtack biscuits). Considering many soldiers didn’t have a full set of teeth, or had false teeth, eating the rations must often have required more energy than they had to spare. Apparently the Anzac biscuits (and the bully beef) were so inedible that, sometimes, they were merely nibbled on and then thrown in to No Man’s Land.
The Australian War Memorial website offers a recipe for ANZAC wafers. However, I don’t suggest you try it, unless you want to boost your dentist’s bank balance.
A happier and more nutritious alternative would be to try these delicious, crunchy rye crackers that I made, based on a recipe by New Zealand caterer, Ruth Pretty. I had to bake the crackers about 15 minutes longer than suggested, to get the degree of cracker-ness that I like but, my goodness, they are good. No armed services personnel would throw these crackers in to No Man’s Land.
Rye Crackers
And, if you do make these crackers, or something similar, remember as you munch, that our service personnel once had more to fear than enemy fire. Remember too, that how we treat and train our armed services is often more important than how we pray for them.
After bites; Captain Clark Gable had false teeth 🙂
Some viewers may not be able to see Praise Be for copyright reasons.
© silkannthreades
In a recent post, I featured Leonard Cohen’s Anthem. The opening lines of the song call on us to “Ring the bells that still can ring….” I find these words exceedingly poignant because the only “ringing” bells we have left to ring are at St Paul’s ,in the Christchurch suburb of Papanui.
St Paul’s Papanui
Our city’s main peal of 13 bells used to be in our old Christ Church Cathedral.
Our once upon a time Cathedral
In the earthquake of 22nd February 2011, the bells came tumbling down, along with much of the rest of the Cathedral. As far as I know, all 13 of the bells are currently back, where they were cast, at the John Taylor Bell Foundry in Loughborough, Leicestershire, undergoing extensive and expensive repairs.
When they will be heard again, in Christchurch, is anybody’s guess, considering the length of time it takes to rebuild a city, but it is conceivable that I will not hear these bells again in my lifetime. Fortunately, there are sensible people who thought to record the Cathedral Bells when they were still ours to hear. But, sadly, even a recording is not quite the same as the real deal.
At St Paul’s there is a peal of 8 bells and there is a history of bell ringing at this church that dates to 1880. These bells, and the wooden structure of St Paul’s, came through the earthquakes relatively unscathed, but some earthquake repairs were required and the church was closed for a while as a result.
All the work has been completed now and St Paul’s is looking fresh and revitalised.
And the bells continue to ring out, strong and true, on Wednesdays and Sundays. It’s a good feeling, knowing that this church building, that has been on this site since 1877, has life and strength in it to last for many years to come; thanks to careful workmanship and the beauty and resilience of the kauri wood from which it was built.
For some of our citizens, who were anti-campanology, in a NIMBY sort of way, the lack of bells in the city must be a blessed relief. But, for me, an erstwhile British subject and child of the Colonies, reared on the sounds of London’s bells, as formulated in that old nursery rhyme, “Oranges and Lemons”, a city is incomplete without the ringing of bells.
Ring the Bells of London Town
Some of my readers may remember the silence of the bells in the United Kingdom for the duration of the Second World War; they may remember that such silence leaves a hollow, a void in our sensory space, that is, somehow, deafening.
So, here I sit, trying to ‘ring the bells that still can ring’
Here I sit..perhaps with” rings on my fingers and bells on my toes”
Featured Books:
Early Churches in and around Christchurch by Derek and Judith Hamilton http://www.whitcoulls.co.nz/book/early-churches-in-and-around-christchurch/2741647/
The Mother Goose Treasury by Raymond Briggs http://www.amazon.com/Mother-Goose-Treasury-Raymond-Briggs/dp/0241908000
The Children’s Bells by Eleanor Farjeon http://www.amazon.com/The-Childrens-Bells-Selection-Eleanor/dp/B000I0PP70
© silkannthreades
We have been for a Sunday Drive and seen many sights: daffodils; cherry blossom; dogs; a river; blue sky and “A What you need to get your church moving”. Which is this; a TITAN
A Titan for the Task
which is yellow and sturdy and very tall…..
In January this year, I wrote a post about a little chapel called St Saviour’s. You can see the post Here. I told some of the history of the chapel and explained that the chapel would soon be returned to its original home town, Lyttelton. Turns out that the ‘soon’ is now.
Although the Titan was having a Sunday rest, it has obviously been busy. Here is how the Chapel looked when I saw it earlier in the year. It was boarded up and ready to go.
Here is how it looked today
St Saviour’s is Going
Although St Saviour’s is obviously on the move, I can’t find any information on whether it is being moved via a land route or by barge. I did discover an article on some of the costs involved in the Chapel’s relocation and restoration http://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/news/hills-and-harbour/8963217/Historic-St-Saviours-chapel-granted-143k However it is travelling, I hope it will soon be put together again because, right now, it looks very uncomfortable and undignified, and dishevelled. Not unlike we get when we are on a difficult and long journey, especially if we are no longer as young and spritely as we once were 🙂
© silkannthreades
Yesterday, Ellen Grace at http://ellenolinger.wordpress.com/ prompted me to look more closely at the clip art she uses in her beautiful, gentle posts. I visited her link to Dover Publications and signed up for their free Sampler email. On signing up, I received access to a selection of clip art. The one that caught my eye immediately was this one, which is by Pugin.
Pugin, my mind thought. Pugin? Why does that name sound familiar? With a little more thought, I remembered that I “met” Pugin for the first time in December last year. I mentioned that meeting in this post
https://silkannthreades.wordpress.com/2012/12/11/random-meetings/
Augustus Welby Northmore Pugin (1 March 1812 – 14 September 1852) “was an English architect, designer, artist and critic, chiefly remembered for his pioneering role in the Gothic Revival style; his work culminated in the interior design of the Palace of Westminster.” http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Augustus_Pugin
His influence extended to New Zealand and Australia, as did that of his son Edward Welby Pugin. If anyone is interested in Gothic Revival architecture here is a link http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gothic_Revival_architecture What I like most about the Wiki article are the photos which show how we are linked all over the world by Gothic Revival ideas and buildings. Just goes to show how ideas and fashions criss-crossed the world, long before the internet, Google and Wiki.
Thanks, Ellen Grace, for helping me make all these connections 🙂
And the Bishop says, “let us cultivate a garden of gratitude”.
May this post be the beginning of my garden of gratitude; the starting point for my thankfulness for our new Transitional Cathedral.
The approach from the South
My post contains excerpts from the homily of Bishop Victoria Matthews, delivered at the opening service for Christchurch’s Transitional Cathedral, on Sunday evening, 1st September. The Cathedral was designed by international architect Shigeru Ban, and by Yoshie Narimatsu and Warren and Mahoney. The photos accompanying the text were taken by me on a fleeting visit to the Cathedral last week. I hope that, through my photos, you will understand some of the serenity and peace, and beauty and inspiration that our new Cathedral provides. It is a blessing to, once again, have a space, a gathering place for contemplation and praise and heavenly music and song. And to have a haven that smells so deliciously of new cardboard boxes; that reminds one of the safety and fun of all those childhood castles built, and games played, with the humble cardboard box. 🙂
Cardboard Haven
“First of all this cathedral is important because it is beautiful. In a city that is full of detours and demolished buildings; vacant lots and construction sites, beauty is incredibly important. Beauty reminds us that we must live into our potential. Beauty tells us to keep striving for excellence.
It is beautiful
Secondly, this cathedral is a house of God. Cities need houses of prayer and places of worship, lest we ever think we are all there is to life. How very sad that would be. So whether it is the architecture, the music, the preaching or the prayer, a cathedral is meant to tell us that there is much more to life than we can see or even imagine and this is the place to start the search.
a house of God
Thirdly, the Transitional Cathedral is clearly situated at the centre of the broken heart of this city. ……the cathedral stands as both a reminder of the past and a beacon calling us forward. I do think people need to be reminded of hope, faith and love, and that is what this cathedral does.
At the centre (the floor was still being finished for the opening service when I took this photo.)
Hope, faith, love
For the full text of the Homily please link here http://www.stuff.co.nz/the-press/opinion/perspective/9117919/Beauty-makes-cardboard-cathedral-important
For my earlier post on the Transitional Cathedral please link here https://silkannthreades.wordpress.com/2013/01/13/1116/
For a few details about our Bishop (from Canada) http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Victoria_Matthews
© silkannthreades
silkannthreades 