advent conspiracy 4:

This from Chris Goan: https://thisfragiletent.com/

the god who always arrives in troubled times

Following on from Steve's honest description of travelling through unbelief, and Bob's description of rumbles of war just over the horizon I find myself once again wondering about the enforced jollility some of us often feel as disturbing dissonance as this season unfolds. It has always seemed to me that if there is joy at all, it is as likely to be encountered accompanied by tears as much as laughter. Sometimes both come together. I have tried to write about this apparent contradiction many times in my poetry. Advent, it seems, is a paradox.

Perhaps you will call me miserable (or use the slightly kinder word 'melancholic') but this would miss something important. Advent is always hard for many and this one is harder than most. Yesterday’s post from Bob about Ukraine offers a very present example, but there are many closer to home who are also struggling.
The individualisation which has defined our age has also condemned many in western societies to solitary confinement just when we needed each other the most.

In the midst of my own Advent ponderings I am reading this book, which Michaela bought for me as present. She knows me well. The author places her Advent in the context of the ongoing suffering of the Palestinian people, but also in the context of the first Advent, which describes the arrival of Jesus into chaos... into an Israel overcome and broken by a succession of occupations, only the latest one being the Romans. The book starts like this:

What does joy look like from the perspective of broken troubled times? What is the peace that we hope for? What justice? These are never just individual questions, rather they move us away from self-religion back towards the collective, shared consciousness that rediscovers our connectedness to both each other and to the created world. To the 'Christ who loved things by becoming them'.
As I read Steve's words two days ago describing his thinking seat in the face of an ebb of faith, a poem was nagging at me. I offer it here in the hope that it will say more with fewer words.

Light of the world
The low winter sun takes power from
Puddles of last night’s rain and I turn away
Resonating to signals sent from distant stars
.
Something glints at the top of bare branches -
A flash of wing or a white tooth or the
Coming together of choirs of angels
.
And in a wet manger of clogged earth, summer
Sleeps, waiting for light to burst out
Brand-new hallelujahs
.
For behold, the light is with us. The light is
In us. The light shines in the darkest places -
It even shines in me
 
Chris Goan, from 'After the Apocalypse' available here.

advent conspiracy 3

This is part of our daily collaborative advent project, which will be spread accross a few locations/blogs.
Today's piece comes from singer/songwriter Bob Fraser.
We would love you to come with us on the journey. The simplest way to do this is to subscribe to one of the blogs, and then you should get a daily notification (you can always unsubscribe later!) Otherwise, you can interact with the posts via the usual social media platforms (although I am no longer doing twitter.) A few shares and likes will help us make connections too…
Our intention is to move forward with hope, savouring questions and having no fear of doubt. We live in darkness but look towards light.

How must it feel to have your homeland occupied by the enemy, to be dispossessed of your land, to have your home bombarded and devastated, and reduced to a pile of rubble? How must it feel to lose relatives and friends, lose possessions, lose dignity, and be surrounded by devastation, chaos and uncertainty, knowing no security, and not knowing where the next meal may come from, or whether you even have a table to sit at? How would we cope with no electricity, no running water, living the life of a refugee in a climate of fear? What must it be like to be frightened by the callous actions of extremists, and equally fearful of your own emotions which may boil over in desperation demanding justice and revenge?
For an ordinary bloke wanting to live a peaceful, meaningful life, earn a living, care for a family, bring security and protection to those you love, and maintain a grip on beliefs and values, a life in that kind of environment would be severely restricted.
Even when a cease fire is declared, providing desperate civilians a much needed opportunity to assess the damage, look after the wounded  and somehow go on with their lives, it’s a fragile peace and experience suggests it will not last, that conflict will resume, and there will be yet more suffering.
Sometimes, our hearts can feel like that enemy occupied land - battle weary, battered and bruised after yet another enemy onslaught. Every now and then there is a temporary cease-fire, giving chance to re-group, offering new hope and encouragement to keep going. Yet, after only a brief respite, another bombardment comes, threatening to destroy much of what we had salvaged from previous wreckage. Enemies know how to target with precision any weakness in defences. Their aim is to steal, kill, destroy, immobilise, silence, and distract. They know how to create dis-unity, spread lies and confusion, cut off supplies, extinguish hope, break the battle line, prey on the vulnerable, sever communication, dampen spirits and create exhaustion.
Options are limited in a situation where most of what is happening is outside our control. The only choices available are probably equally daunting. Neither choice comes without risk. Neither is right nor wrong. We can remain victims, hunkering down until the next cease-fire, longing for peace, yet existing and surviving rather than really living, but at least being close to roots and family and all that is familiar.
Or, we can gather all those we love and anything we can salvage, and start out on a path that is unfamiliar, heading for a destination which is unknown, taking on a new adventure with hope of a better life.
Whichever option is chosen, we’ll need to cling to the hope that even though life at the moment is not how we imagined it would be, the best is yet to come. 
Photo: Photo by Matti Karstedt on Pexels.com

advent conspiracy 2

This is the second of the daily Advent collaboration with some blogging friends, in which we will be sharing a post each day over our different platforms
Today's reflection is from me!

Advent is particularly associated with waiting… but for me, this year, Advent will be a little different from the Advents of the past. My own ‘faith journey’ has stalled – so much so that I’ve decided to take an indefinite sabbatical from attending church services while I endeavour to wait for this period to pass.In some ways, agreeing to be a part of a ‘multi-blog collaboration’ seems both inappropriate a little scary.

I am an early riser. I’m usually up by 5am.
At various times in my life, I might have used this time for prayer and/or reading daily reflections/Bible passages.
I no longer do such things.
I can no longer be bothered.
And yet, since moving house, I now frequently find myself in my ‘Thinking Seat’ staring out of the window at the dawn of a new day.
It’s something of a magical time.
Could it be the start of my journey to rediscover my faith?
“Caught by the light of some small heaven” (as my good friend Ian has described it) perhaps?

Note: contributors will include:
Chris Goan: good friend, poet, writer, thinker, cricketer, maker etc. This is his rather wonderful blog: https://thisfragiletent.com/
Graham Peacock: pantomime dame, chaplain, former methodist minister, terrible cricketer, who has this eclectic, thoughtful blog: http://wearilyhopeful.co.uk/
Bob Fraser: we will also be having some contributions by the fantastic singer/songwriter Bob Fraser.
And me: (I won’t be trying to compete with eloquence of the others – my contributions will tend to be visual, with just a few accompanying words).

advent conspiracy 1

Following my earlier post…
This from Chris Goan (https://thisfragiletent.com/)
 
To get us started, this is a view from one of my favourite places, the site of St Blanes chapel, built in a bowl of Isle of Bute hills on the site of a monastery established by or after Catan, an Irish missionary saint, some time in the 500s.
Amongst and around the viking graves and medieval church walls, you can see marks and mounds in the earth from the earlier religious settlement. A boundary wall marking the division between 'secular' and 'sacred 'space, simple beehive cells made from piles of stones in which monks lived. A well still full of fresh sparkling water. Wild plants whose ancestors may have been planted as part of a monastic garden.
 
Leaning in are huge trees; oaks and sycamores - ancient, but more recent than the placing of the stones.
But the stones themselves - they are old on a different scale. Shaped by the igneous intrusion that formed much of these parts.
It is a place of reflection. A place when our hubris is measured against almost-infinity. Our place in things becomes so tiny so ephemeral.
Weirdly however, this place never erases my individuality, rather it contains it. Rather than reducing me to so much blown chaff, as relevant (and as irrelevant) as a fallen leaf, it connects me.
 
But what is this thing that I feel connected to?
The old answers never felt authentic, even when I pretended greater confidence. They used language and ideas given to me that were at best merely a mode of travel, they were never a destination. Perhaps there is no destination. But still, in moments and in places like this, I find myself sensing something beyond myself that draws me. I have no pressing need to define it, to categorise, but I feel hints of something vitalising and alive beyond almost anything else in my experience.
Are these just the fanciful meanderings of a middle aged man? Perhaps, but if so, I am in good company at St Blanes chapel. People have been seeking the same answers there for one and a half thousand years, despite the intervention of Vikings and the Reformation (incidentally, apparently the minister there refused to play ball with the reformists, and he was so loved that they let him be.)
 
Advent is not about certainty, it is about a sense of something more 'felt' than known. In my experience it contains a longing that can not be easily described of a fleeting transcendent connection to something beyond
The tantalising thing of all, is that what I think I sense most strongly in these moments is goodness.
Almost as if at the centre of all things is... 

daily advent reflections…

With some trepidation, I’ve agreed to be part of an Advent project (I know!)…
Today marks the first day of another season of Advent.
It also marks the beginning of a daily collaboration with some blogging friends, in which we will be sharing a post each day over our different platforms.
These will include:
Chris Goan: good friend, poet, writer, thinker, cricketer, maker etc. This is his rather wonderful blog: https://thisfragiletent.com/
Graham Peacock: pantomime dame, chaplain, former methodist minister, terrible cricketer, who has this eclectic, thoughtful blog: http://wearilyhopeful.co.uk/
And me: (I won’t be trying to compete with eloquence of the others – my contributions will tend to be visual, with just a few accompanying words).
 
We would love you to come with us on the journey. The simplest way to do this is to subscribe to one of the blogs, and then you should get a daily notification (you can always unsubscribe later!) Otherwise, you can interact with the posts via the usual social media platforms (in my case, facebook). A few shares and likes will help us make connections too...
Our intention is to move forward with hope, savouring questions and having no fear of doubt. We live in darkness but look towards light.
 
I’m unsure how things will evolve… no doubt there’ll be some errors and frustrations with the technology (speaking personally!) along the way, but just bear with us and share the ride. 

ellie gowers at st george’s…

I went along to St George’s again last night for a concert by folk-singer, song-writer Ellie Gowers. Living so close to St George’s, it’s great to be able wander out from our apartment and, within 5 minutes, be at this lovely concert venue.
Actually, I felt something of a fraud to be attending the concert… I’d never previously come across Gowers, but was initially attracted for three reasons(!): a) the gig tickets were only £10, b) it was being held in the Glass Studio (I’d not previously been to a concert there), and c) watching a couple of videos on Gowers’ website called to mind the voice of an English Joni Mitchell/Judy Collins (I know!).
In the event, it was an absolutely beautiful concert (in front of an audience of some 70 people?)… I was hugely impressed. Gowers – from Warwick, but who studied Music at Bristol for 3 years – is an incredibly gifted musician. A wonderful, pure voice. She plays the guitar quite beautifully… and she can write some rather wonderful songs (and perform other people’s songs probably far better than they can).
She sang for some 75 minutes and she was very, very good.
A really lovely evening.
PS: Check out her website/videos here: https://elliegowersmusic.com/
Photo: Pics from last night’s Glass Studio. 

october-november 2022 books…

Walking Back Home (Ricky Ross): I bought this book after Ross’s recent concert at St George’s (he’s my mate, don’t you know!). It was the second solo concert of his I’d been to (just his voice, his songs, his stories and the piano)(“when I grow up I’m going to be Ricky Ross”!). Although I like Deacon Blue’s music – they’ve now been going for some 35 years – it’s the solo/piano stuff that most appeals to me. Having said this, the book prompted me check out some old videos on YouTube and they were a good reminder of the group’s talent. This book is a memoir of his family, his early upbringing in Christian Brethren Church, his brief career in teaching and, of course, his life in music and some of the notable people he met and who have influenced his life. I very much enjoyed the book; full of humour, pathos and stories. He’s a good man!
After The Apocalypse (Chris Goan): This is a book of poetry by my good friend Chris. Actually, it’s much more than a book of poems – it’s a book about protest against what we were becoming; about the time when everything stopped during lockdown; and about searching for hope. It’s a book about Chris’s journey before, during and after the pandemic… and, again and again, I felt he was describing MY journey and MY thoughts. It’s a journey that many of us have shared over recent years. Chris and I have shared zoom conversations; collaborated on books together; and participated in a memorable art exhibition together… but never actually met face-to-face!! One day, one day! The beautiful illustrations are by Si Smith (another wonderful friend who Chris and I have both worked with in the past) are simply perfect. I absolutely loved this book and I absolutely KNOW that it’ll be something I’ll be regularly referring to on my journey through life. Inspiring, challenging, thought-provoking and hopeful.
Wilful Behaviour (Donna Leon): I bought this from the NT second-hand bookshop (apparently, it’s the 11^th of her Commissario Brunetti series). As ever, it has a clever and compelling story (one of Brunetti’s wife’s students visits him asking if it was possible for a pardon to be issued for a crime committed by her grandfather many years ago) and, as in the previous books, Brunetti’s lovely family features prominently. Another very enjoyable read (if murders can ever be classed as ‘enjoyable’!) but it contained a little too much ‘padding’ in the middle section for my liking. But, hey, I’m a great Brunetti fan… so I coped!
Angelica’s Smile (Andrea Camilleri): Yet another Montalbano mystery (the 11^th I’ve read to date!) to take my mind off the seedy world of UK politics… It’s an intriguing tale of the Sicilian elite being targeted in a series of perfectly executed burglaries. Montalbano reluctantly takes on the case(s) but has his head turned by one of the victims – a captivating beautiful young woman named Angelica (hence the book’s title). As ever, the story is funny and entertaining (as well as being perplexing) with Montalbano mixing work with plenty of high class food; whisky; beautiful women; spending time of his veranda watching the sea; an avoidance of paperwork; a distain for his political bosses/commissioners; and trying to manage his devoted police colleagues (especially trying to understand/interpret the nonsensical messages from Catarella, who deals with incoming phone calls and visitors at the police station). Enjoyable, easy reading.
The Poisonwood Bible (Barbara Kingsolver): This is our Storysmith bookgroup’s latest book (the ‘theme’ was to select a ‘long’ book for November/December to take us into the New Year – my copy is 614 pages) but, perhaps rather ridiculously, I finished it six weeks early! I first read the book 7 years ago and recall commenting at the time that it was one of the best books I’d EVER read… and, frankly, I don’t think I’ve changed my mind second time around (although I was surprised by how much of the detail I’d forgotten)! The story is told (over the course of 3 decades) by the wife and four daughters of a fierce Baptist minister who takes his family and mission to the Belgium Congo in 1959. It’s beautifully-written and the characters are all drawn wonderfully well. Although it’s a work of fiction, the historical figures and events described within it are genuine and I found it utterly compelling. I’ll avoid the key details (no *spoilers*!), but the painful backdrop to the story is the greed of the western world for the natural resources of an African country; the desperate political power struggles – again influenced, at that time, by the United States and others (shipments of weapons to opposition parties/violation of peace agreements etc). A simply brilliant book and I very much enjoyed re-reading it.    

maggie o’farrell at st mary redcliffe…

Moira, Ru and I went along to St Mary Redcliffe Church tonight to hear Maggie O’Farrell talk about her work – and, in particular, her latest novel “The Marriage Portrait”. The book imagines the story of Lucrezia, daughter of Cosimo de’ Medici, who married Alfonso d’Este, the Duke of Ferrara in 1558… but, a year after entering her husband’s court in 1560, aged just 16, she died. The novel was inspired by Robert Browning’s poem “My Last Duchess” which describes a painting portraying the young woman who actually lived. I’ve yet to read the book for myself (Moira’s just about to finish our copy) but, in it, Maggie O’Farrell imagines 16th-century Italian courtly life and the brief days of a girl forced into marriage at a very young age.
O’Farrell is a wonderful, natural speaker and communicator – eloquent, beguiling, amusing and informative. I’m a great fan of her writing and “The Marriage Portrait” will be the fifth book of hers that I’ve read (I think). I’ve loved all the books of hers that I’ve read, but “Hamnet” was very, very special.
The evening – which was organised by our wonderful local Storysmith bookshop - was a great success… and all the more so for us because, when Moira mentioned the difficulty she has in hearing what’s said at such events to Storysmith’s Dan and Emily, they set aside three seats in the front row for us! How special was that!?
Great event. Wonderful speaker.
Photo: the view from our front row seats. 

living…

Moira and I went along to the Watershed this afternoon to watch Kazuo Ishiguro’s gentle and touching film "Living", about a man dealing with a terminal diagnosis (and transforming himself from a life of pointless tedium in the town planning department to one in which he realises what he might still be able to achieve). The fact that the central character is played by Bill Nighy is, for most of us, a virtual guarantee that the film would be well worth seeing… and so it proved. Nighy was his wonderful self – playing a lonely widower who lives with his somewhat grasping son and daughter-in-law. Set in early 1950s London, it had a wealth of feel-good imagery and characters (steam trains, snow, old buses, black cabs and the like!).
 
Wednesday afternoon showings at the Watershed are normally quite sparsely attended, but today’s attracted a virtually full house (in fact, we were all given instructions ‘not to leave gaps between you and the next person’!). As 95% of those individuals attending were clearly retired, it was probably a case of people trying to imagine their own reaction to living with a terminal diagnosis!
If I had one criticism, it would be that I felt the action moved rather too slowly in the film’s middle section… but, hey, it’s a charming, poignant film and I very much enjoyed it.  
I want to be Nighy when I grow up… but as he’s younger than me, I think I might have missed my chance! In the meantime, I'm going to speak with a rather crisp accent, dress in my one old suit everyday and buy a trilby hat (obviously). 

proposed bristol airport expansion…

I turned up outside the Bristol Law Courts this morning to protest at the proposed expansion of Bristol Airport. Bristol Airport's initial proposal for an extended airport terminal, and an increase in capacity from around 9 million passengers a year to 12 million, was refused planning permission by North Somerset Council's planners back in January 2020… but was subsequently allowed on Appeal by a government inspector.
Local people are against it, Local Councils are against it, local MPs are against it and yet the original decision was overturned.
Today marks the first day of a two-day Appeal against the inspector’s decision. Unlike the Airport Authority (who can happily spend big money on expensive lawyers), this Appeal has been crowd-funded by locals.
I was very impressed by the people who turned up this morning to demonstrate – articulate, passionate, amusing and very determined – but, particularly by the group of singers (perhaps 50-strong) who sang as they approached the Law Courts. It made for quite an emotional entrance. This might sound a little over-the-top but, for me, it almost felt along the lines of Greenham Common or the US civil-rights movement of the 1960s (or perhaps Lennon’s “Give Peace a Chance”?). Well, it certainly worked for me!
The Climate Change Committee (CCC) is an independent, statutory body established under the Climate Change Act 2008 and it maintains that there must be “no net airport expansion” if we are to reach our legally-binding carbon budgets and our Net Zero targets.
In the current circumstances, the Inspector’s decision to overturn the original planning refusal seems to be nonsensical and unsustainable. I just hope and pray that the decision is overturned.
The ultimate irony, of course, is that the Appeal is being heard at the same time as the COP27 climate summit.   

family…

A large number of the ‘Broadway’ family (perhaps nearly 50 of us in all?) gathered on Saturday to celebrate (somewhat belatedly) my cousin Janet’s 80^th birthday. As you can imagine, it was a pretty special occasion – a gathering of the ‘clan’ and something that Janet, bless her, was determined to organise on the family’s behalf.
For us oldies (cousins), it all goes back to the time of our grandparents Fred (1887-1964) and Rose (1888-1974) Broadway. They lived in Handsworth, Birmingham and had four children (Irene, Olive, Ronald – my Dad - and Laurie). They, in turn (apart from Laurie who lived in Hastings/Jersey and never married - he was gay, but sadly nobody properly acknowledged this within the family until fairly recent times), lived within a very few miles of the old family home and would gather regularly for Saturday afternoon cake/football results, Sunday teas/parties and, of course, Christmases. We were, and continue to be, a very close family – albeit that subsequent offspring are now scattered around the country.
Over recent years, my cousins (Janet, Lyn, Jackie, Barry and Alan) and I have met up for lunchtime meals in Birmingham on a fairly regular basis (although, more recently, these have been limited by Covid/lockdown restrictions).
 
Janet was keen to arrange a ‘full family gathering’ for her birthday celebrations. As we oldies get older, we’ve certainly become aware that such opportunities are likely to be limited to funerals (probably one of us cousins or our own!)! Moira and our daughters Ru, Hannah and Alice (and me!) were all going to attend Janet’s party (somewhat embarrassingly, I’m not a ‘party animal’ and so, frankly, the prospect of travelling up to the Midlands and back by train - none of us Bristolians any longer drive - for a family gathering was somewhat daunting - especially given Moira’s Parkinson’s limitations). Sod’s Law, of course, intervened… Saturday 5 November was a Rail Strike day and our plans were completely scuppered. We chatted it through and I decided that I would endeavour to travel up the previous day (and return home on the Sunday) and the others would regrettably have to make their apologies. In the event, this proved to be a wise decision because my Friday train journey was somewhat chaotic – crowded train and standing room only for much of the journey). Nevertheless, it was very sad knowing that ‘we’ were likely to be the only family group not to be fully represented (and particularly sad for our daughters – as it was one of the rare opportunities for them to meet up with some relatives they’ve rarely met!).
 
Despite my own, somewhat pathetic (and guilty!), reservations, the party proved to be a brilliant success. It really was lovely to catch up with everyone (oh, how we’ve all grown old!), to reminisce and to share stories. It was yet another reminder of the importance of taking the opportunity to ask all those family questions while people are still alive (again and again, we spoke about “I wish I’d have asked XX about YY, but I never did and so we’ll never know”). Happily, there WERE lots of occasions at the party when someone cast light on matters that, for most of us, had previously been forgotten or unknown. A beautiful case in point was when Janet showed Alan and me a package that our father had sent home from Ceylon (according to Janet) in 1941 - he was stationed in India and what became Pakistan with the RAF in the war – to mark the occasion of the family’s first grandchild (Janet). The package included a pair of beautiful, tiny, hand-made sandals and a simple, cotton dress (see photograph). How thoughtful… and how wonderful that they still survive.
 
Seeing people being photographed in their various groups made me acutely aware of the history we’ve all inherited, the people we’ve become and the adventures/possibilities that lie ahead for all of us (but especially the younger members of the family). Reflections on all the changes, such as: two World Wars; the NHS and health technology; the massive differences in education (eg. widespread university experience); transportation advances (eg. space exploration/air travel!); huge developments in technology (eg. the internet, wireless communications) and SO much more. All those hugely different careers that family members have entered into; the relationships; and the new family members.
What started with Fred and Rose when they married in August 1912 has gone on to produce another four generations (and counting!) of family – something like 38 new lives, by my calculations. We’re all so different and yet we all carry that common bond.