crossramsbury.net

I stayed at a house recently in the course of my duties, and was amazed to see a beautifully appointed downstairs cloakroom, with a Victorian water closet.  It was made by the famous Thomas Crapper, and clearly he had great taste and respect for the better classes, as he had named this particular toilet water closet: The Venerable!   It was with some pride, and honour that my stay was made so comfortable!  Now, when people ask me why the Archdeacon has been given the title Venerable – I can show them one picture, that clearly paints a thousand words – or more!

This month’s collection of Parish Magazines have tumbled through my letterbox, and once again, I’m impressed with the tales of mission and ministry that happens in some many creative ways, in so many places.  This month’s good practice is as follows:

St Bartholomew Benefice: The parishes are organising some away time together, to build confidence, to get to know one another, and generally have a good time with their Christian faith.  A sailing trip to France, over the weekend of 30 September to 3 October.  If the seas doesn’t float your boat, the a trip to the Holy Land is being contemplated for 2011.  A new monthly Sunday initiative called TOAST [Time on a Sunday together] kicks off with breakfast in the School Hall at Semley, with an informal, child and family friendly expression of church.  taste and see that the Lord is good!

Arrowhead, for the parishes on Salisbury Plain, is always a good read, and a mix of community, adverts, and church activities get a blitz in the editor’s blender.  I was impressed by the Shrewton School’s Party in the Park event; the Annual Orcheston Weekend, including tractor rides and target shooting; and the Re-Cycling page, which give people the opportunity of getting rid of, or requesting various items.

Steeple and Street, for Whiteparish in the Clarendon Team, offered some great summer fun in the Parish Picnic with food and games; a May Ball for the Pepperbox Pre-school; and the Whiteparish Pony Show, with collaboration with the local riding school.  They’ve also organised a Whiteparish tidy up day, to give the whole community a chance to contribute to making their village the tidiest in the area.

Focus – on the Community is the mag for the Nadder Valley Team, and included some local articles on the Neighbourhood Policing Team’s new Community Beat Manager, and also a report from the Tisbury Watch of the Wiltshire Fire and Rescue Service, including a really helpful guide to the role and responsibilities of a retained firefighter – essential for the rural communities.

The Open Door, the mag for St Thomas’ Ensbury Park contains a helpful page of prayers; advertises a parish visit to the Theatre in Christchurch to see “The Screwtape Letters”; some book reviews; and a great puzzles and smiles page, alongside the usual news and views of the parish church and wider community.

Thank you to all those who send me their magazines, and I look forward to receiving others too.

Yes, today was the day that the Parish of Wilton with Fugglestone, and Netherhampton, and the Parish of Bemerton united to provide a connection that took us back to the George Herbert days.  I’m also reading the book entitled, If you see George Herbert on the Road, Kill Him! This aims to make it clear that the idealising of the GH methodology of ministry does nothing to help the contemporary parish priest, whose circumstances are very different indeed than the blessed George’s.

We started at St Peter’s Church Fugglestone, and enjoyed a 20 min talk by The Rev’d Dr John Gosling, sometime former Vicar of Stratford sub Castle, and Director of Continuing Ministerial Development for the diocese. John outlined the history of the church building and its immediate surroundings.  John reminded us that in fact Fugglestone ws the parish church in GH’s day, with Bemerton being the chapel of ease, and later church building.  It is really because Herbert lived in Bemerton, and was buried in the church there that the Bemerton tag seems to have carried more weight.  We then moved out of church and walked around to the main gate of Wilton House, where the Earl had kindly given permission for us to walk though the park and then out onto the Netherhampton Road, before walking through Quidhampton, and onto St John’s Church Bemerton where people stopped for some much appreciated tea and cake.  The group then walked a little further onto St Andrew’s Church in Bemerton, and a service of Evensong completed the journey.  At a couple of stops along our pilgrimage, the Rector of Wilton, Rev Mark Wood read to us from Herbert’s treasury of poetry.

We learned a great deal from our conversations, mostly speculating about the Saxon meanings of our travel route.  Fugglestone apparently mean Mr Bird’s Farm – from Fogel’s Ton, and Quidhampton means something like rubbish dump [don't tell the residents!] from the word quid [filthy]  We can’t be sure of course, but it made for some interesting thoughts as we walked.  The group of 35 or so, seemed to really enjoy each other’s company, and the walk offered some great view points, rarely seen, together with a perfect walking afternoon, with hazy sunshine and temperate breezes.  Perfect!

Every now and then a theme emerges over a weekend, and this particular weekend it has been crossing over!   We started off by going over to move our eldest daughter from her existing flat to her new flat in the boarding school where she teaches.  It was not far, in fact it was the flat next door, but unfortunately we had to go down two flights of stairs, and along a corridor and then up another two flights of stairs!  It was a great workout, and after a few hours, Hollie was settling into her new abode.  What struck me most as we moved from one flat to the other, was a sense of knowing when we were over half way in shifting the boxes.  There came a point as we stopped to rest or partake of a cup of tea, when we actually stopped using the old flat, and started using the new – and I don’t think it was anything to do with moving the kettle!!

Then this morning, I started reading the next book on the pile I keep in my study, and I found it was a book called Sum: Forty tales from the afterlives.  It is a fascinating book, given in cases short stories from authors who have speculated, or perhaps fantasised about what happens following our death.  I’ve just read the first ten or so, and it will be interesting to see what other people make of crossing over.

The third aspect of this theme occurred when I was taking a few minutes to catch up on some zzz, and catch a few rays in the garden.  We have a lovely garden, and enjoy every square inch, and of course the river.  One of the given factors though, is that we lie under a flight path from the airfield at Old Sarum, and every few minutes a light aircraft, or microlight, or helicopter makes its progress across the sky.  I don’t mind actually, and it is a fantasy of mine to fly, or even learn to fly in a small aircraft.  Today, one of the men [or women] in their flying machines was performing aerobatics, and I was imagining the amount of G-force that the pilot must have been pulling in the stunts, as s/he crissed and crossed through the sky.  Lovely, and lucky for them.

It is the season for Summer fetes, and John and I recently  attended a village occasion.  It was a lovely day, and John did the decent thing by opening the event, and people thronged and spent loose change and chatted and ate cream teas and smashed crockery, and looked at exhibition photos in the church.  Numbers are up, a local worthy told me, and hopefully the income which the church needs will be too.

Then we had the finale, a tug of war, and yours truly was to start the event and present the trophy to the winning team.  It’s only a bit of fun, they said! A novel twist was that this tug of war took place across a river, and the losing team were guaranteed an early bath!  First of all the children had a go, on dry land, in the neighbouring field, and enjoyed it very much.  Then the men – two teams of strapping, well honed, peak of physical perfection – lined up on both banks.  Can you count?  Nine on one side, eight on the other – Hey! The rope was duly picked up, and the strain taken.  Pull!  A load of grunting and cheering ended when one team found themselves pulled into the River Avon.  Then the ladies teams had a go, and did equally well.  Then men swapped sides, after sorting out the equal numbers a second time, the other team claimed a victory, one-all, and a deciding match.  The ladies played their second pull, and the same team won.

So – the  deciding pull for the men’s competition, and I gripped the trophy as the grunts and groans and battle cries rang out across the valley.  Some slippage, but then a rally, and both teams were giving no ground, but after a while the heat, the pressure and the sheer effort pulled one of the teams into the water. Foul! went up from the losing team!  Apparently one man on the winning team had found a foothold in the root system of a tree on the river bank, and this was claimed as an unfair advantage by the other team.

I was still holding the trophy, and the organisers and team captains remonstrated with one another.  As the person holding the trophy, I went and suggested I had some ideas – a final deciding pull – with both teams in the field, on the level, where we could see all that was taking place.  No – the “winning ” team could not agree to that, and my second suggestion that the trophy should stand in the club rooms for six months each, also found little grace – and the team captains walked off. 

I will still holding the trophy!  Should it come home with me?  No.  I walked across to the team captain of the winning ladies team, announced that these were the overall champions, planted the trophy in her hands, and a kiss on both cheeks, and declared honour still alive in the competition.  I hope the  English referee in the World Cup Final this afternoon has a little more fortune.  They never told you about this in Theological College!

My day started at 0530 with a quick shave and packing my towel and swim shorts, and then a colleague polled up at 0630, we picked up another colleague and then headed down to Portland.  We arrived at 0800 and then waited for the others to arrive. We went and had a briefing about the day’s activities, and then were issued with kit: wetsuit, with hood; boots, fins [never called flippers!] belt with weights, face mask, gloves, BCD [buoyancy control device - a jacket with connection for the air tank, which inflates and deflates the vest which aids buoyancy whilst diving] and air tank [10 litres, which should last around 30 mins, depending how fast you breathe and how deep you dive.
 
We then were supposed to go to a local swimming pool for our practice and test exercises - but when we arrived, the pool claimed not to have the booking, and so we were turned away.  We were advised that we would try out in the shallow parts of the harbour, so we got kitted up, walked across the main road to Portland in our kit [great photo opportunity!] and then we were paired with a buddy and an instructor.  We went into the water, and then ducked underneath, taking our first gulp of compressed air, and then breathing out.  It didn’t seem too bad, but the water was mucky and we stirred up sand from the harbour floor, and we were then given tasks.  I went first, and had to remove my regulator [air supply] and continue to breathe out slowly, and then put the regulator back, blowing out the water with more compressed air.  Then we had to lift the face mask, and allow water to rise up to below our eyes, replace the mask, and blow out the water, using compressed air blown through our nose.  That was more difficult. 

We then left the harbour and walked back to the centre for lunch – the kit was heavy, very heavy, and of course whilst in the water seemed less so, but again out of the water it was really heavy.  After lunch, quiche and sandwiches, we were kitted up again, and informed we would head out to a wrecked dredger, just outside the harbour wall.  We headed out to a jetty where we loaded our kit and ourselves onto the RIB [rigid inflatable boat] and headed out like Special Forces heading into battle.
 
We moored up at the site, and then had to get kitted up in the boat – more difficult than on dry land.  Two colleagues who have dived before showed us how to roll backwards off the boat.  An instructor went next, and then it was my turn.  I was told to go, and did a perfect backwards summersault into the water.  I met up with the instructor and with hand signals indicated all was well, and repeated same to the dive master in the boat.  Every metre down in the water, you just have to “equalise” i.e. make sure the pressure in your ears “pops” like it does in an aircraft.  I found this difficult, and as I went deeper, the pain in my ears increased, but I could not release the pressure.  I indicated this to my instructor, and he tried to get me to do the exercises, but to no avail.  I headed slowly back to the surface, we chatted, and we tried again.
 
The same happened, and as I went deeper, we were aiming for 9 metres, so I knew it would be no good, but the instructor reached forward and took my head hood and opened it, which did the trick and I indicated an OK and we carried on down.  Reaching the seabed, I was asked to kneel down and ensure the buoyancy was OK, and I realised my face mask was filling up with water.  Beards are not always the best option! Snorting seawater is not good, and I tried the clearing exercise, with the instructor watching.  I tried again and again, but to no good, and with the water rising I knew that I had to go back to the surface and fail, or sort it.  A large gulp from the air tank, and then a large blow from my nose, with eyes shut, and the mask was dry and clear.  The instructor looked back at me with large eyes, and mimicked applause.  I was down, and breathing and stable.  All was well.  I met up with a colleague, and realised it was just us two.  We looked over the wreck carefully – but it is really just a lot of odd metal shapes and sea plant growth.  We then swam along the seabed looking at fish and crabs, lobster pots, and small items.  I realised that my perspective was all odd, things I tried to touch were further away in reality.  Our instructor at one point put a hand on my air tank, and one on my colleague’s and we towed him along to show that we could pilot ourselves.  It is all about trust, respect, and being able to relax – to breathe, to make decisions and carry them out.  Not easy, but when you are down there it is a different world – you are deaf, partially blind, totally reliant on the tank of air on your back, and the support of another human, a stranger.
 
After a while, we were joined by the second instructor, and my colleague went up with the first, and I then stayed with the second.  Coming up, even from 9 metres takes care, and we had to follow a line to the boat, stopping and letting air out of our BCD, which seems counter to what we expect – letting air out makes you rise?  In time I felt the surface of the water break, and we were a few metres from the boat, so we swam on our backs, and then had to get into the boat.  First you take off your weights, and then the BCD with air tank, and finally, leaving your fins on, you propel yourself up onto the side, bring your feet up, and someone grabs you and pulls you in.  Easy!  But hard! 

In the boat we swapped stories, enjoyed bars of chocolate and hot Ribena, to help cope with the taste of seawater and compressed air. We tidied the boat and headed back telling more stories and experiences.  We unpacked the boat at the jetty, took the kit back, changed and then enjoyed a mug of hot chocolate.  I realised that my ears were pretty odd, and although they are clearing, the pressure changes have affected them.  I was relieved to hear an experienced colleague tell me his are exactly the same.
 
We gave our thanks, received our certificates, and headed home.  I was tired – a long day from 0530, and the demands on my body, my mind, a drive of 100 miles, and as it says in the brochure, diving changes your life.  I want to go back, I want to experience all that again, prove to myself that I can face the challenges, and see more of God’s world and the fragile beauty that it contains.

It has been a while since we blogged some recipes, and I have been fortunate to have as a Father’s Day gift a great new book on Moroccan cookery – so be prepared for some exotic dishes to come.

Broccoli, Spinach and Fennel soup

A rummage through the fridge the other day provided an interesting range of ingredients which had to be tried out.  I found a hand of broccoli, some spinach leaves, and a fennel bulb.  Hmm! Would it work?  I chopped up a brown onion, and fried gently in a saucepan with a little olive oil.  I trimmed off the broccoli heads, and added them together with the spinach leaves, rolled up and sliced.  I trimmed up the fennel and thinly sliced the bulb, and again added to the saucepan.  After a couple of minutes I added some chicken stock, about a pint or so, and left the pan to simmer for around 20 mins, or until the broccoli was cooked.  Add a little seasoning of salt and ground black pepper. A blitz with the hand-blender, and the most beautiful green soup appears, which has a really good flavour.  Some crusty bread to mop up the remains, and a light dry white wine to complete the lunch.  Summer’s here – enjoy!

Ah yes, the weather has a stable, summery, sunshine feel about it, and we turn our  attention to connecting with people who are enjoying and lazing and drinking a chilled white whilst watching cricket or perhaps  can of something whilst watching the football on the TV.

I’m supporting the Deanery Mission Enabler for Alderbury Deanery, The Rev’d Peter Ostli-East, and at a recent meeting he tells me that he has started a series of Boules Evenings at the Vicarage in Winterbourne Earls.  Peter is a boules enthusiast, and I’m not sure, but probably has a title or two in his back pocket.  It is a great game, and we have a set here at Herbert House, which we toss around on the grass from time to time, only as an excuse to get a little more chilled white into circulation. 

Peter’s evenings have attracted a good following of people, many of whom don’t have a particular connection with the church.  When we were at Little Bedwyn recently, I noticed a Boules piste or terrain [see, I've got the lingo, what?] on the field next to the church.  I wonder whether there are others around the Area?  If you’d like to find out more about this gentle, but highly competitive sport, and perhaps see if you might use it in your toolkit for mission and evangelism, as well as a jolly good evening’s entertainment, then think about contacting Peter: 01980 611350

Well, these past few days have been a whirl of social activities and festivities, as we come together and celebrate good things around the Area. 

Friday evening most of the Team were in Burbage to toast the very successful Pilgrims in Mission week in the Pewsey Deanery.  I was at another social event in the south of the County, as part of the Friends of Wiltshire Churches initiative, which seeks to provide a new source of funding for the Wiltshire Historic Churches Trust, of which I am Chairman.  We met at a beautiful house just north of Salisbury in the Woodford Valley, and raised a good sum of money which the Trustees will allocate to churches seeking to maintain and enhance their church fabric.  Check out the site at: http://www.wiltshirehistoricchurches.org.uk/Home.html We are looking for new members, and it’s very cheap to join, and we get so much fun from being a member – think about it?

Saturday morning, I attended the Salisbury Cathedral Open Day, and at 1000 hrs when the cathedral opened its Great West Doors, there were 400 people waiting to go in.  There was a real carnival atmosphere as people saw various exhibitions of the life of the cathedral and diocese, and tried their hands at various workshops.  The museums were open and free too – a great day out.

Saturday evening, we in the Learning for Discipleship and Ministry Team, gathered at our home in Bemerton to celebrate the mid-year and to enjoy one another’s company.  It was a good party, a little cold for outside dining, but a few braved it, and the conversation and laughter went on well into the night.  As I was preparing the outside tables a candle, in a large glass container caught the tablecloth which had been whipped up in the wind – just turn your back for a moment, and the cloth, and table supporting it, was an inferno!  I flipped the cloth onto the ground and smothered the flames – but it is true what the advertisements say – don’t leave naked lights unattended – even for a minute!

Sunday morning and I was attending a service in Pitton school, for both the church and school communities, who were gathering to say farewell to David Morgan, the Headteacher.  The service was quite superb – with a lay member of the church, leading a wonderful act of worship.  We had a dramatic reading of a passage of scripture, which helped us all understand how meeting Jesus transforms people’s lives.  We heard about Jairus, his daughter, an unclean woman, and one of the disciples – brilliant!  We also heard from three members of the Bristol University Christian Union, who were supported by the parish of Pitton last year.  Their witness and testimony of their work within the university and the city of Bristol was truly inspiring.

Back home and after Sunday lunch, the Bemerton Community Group Open Gardens event started, with yes, our home and garden taking part.  We had a steady stream of around 100 people come through – many of whom enjoyed a cup of tea  with us, and walked around the garden, and many good conversations were held.

Late afternoon, and I was back in the cathedral for Vespers, and a service of thanksgiving for the work of our  Foundation School Governors.  Tea with the Dean afterwards, and I came home, fully alive, and full of a weekend’s experiences of saying thank you, and raising both the profile and some money for important aspects of our common life here in this part of Wiltshire.

Well the last day dawned for the band of happy pilgrims, and the Team scattered ourselves throughout the parishes for Sunday worship in the morning.  I was detailed to go to East Grafton Church, St Nicholas, another first for me.  It is the most enchanting church, a little miniature copy of St Mary and Nicholas, Wilton, as you can see from the photo. 

I preached, and Rodney Harrison – the Team Vicar presided at a Common Worship service.  It was good to see people from the area there, and I was starting to catch names and faces that I’ve been encountering during the week.  In fact I preached on the subject of encounter, and that when we encounter Jesus, then he joins us on our journey, and then he changes us, and we join him on his journey – or at least I think I said something like that!

After bidding farewell at the door, I took myself over to Chute Causeway, and joined John and Rachel at the Tedworth Downland Ride and BBQ.  There were loads of horses, riders, and happy watchers, as the competitors took themselves along a ten mile fun ride course, and enjoyed the most beautiful scenery.  We stayed behind of course, and chatted and ate, and enjoyed the atmosphere of country people, enjoying country rides.  I was fortunate to gain a seat on a horse, and I think Rachel has some photos.  I used to ride around my country parishes, and it was so nice to be back in the saddle.  I enjoyed myself very much, and will certainly try and get a ride or two from time to time, and in honour of this, I was presented with a bright green rosette – which later confused people who thought I was a green party candidate!  I was certainly hungry, and we consumed, I think between us, one of everything from the BBQ and bar!

Moving on, we team went our separate ways, me to my host and hostess to pack up, say a huge thank you for the marvellous hospitality and generous giving of time and accommodation for this past week.  People are so open and welcoming to pilgrims I find.

Finally, we all gathered at the Crofton Beam Engine site for our closing act of worship – a Songs of Praise, and celebration of our week, with the reading of the winning entries in the poetry competition.  Music was provided by the Phoenix Brass Band, and Rodney compered the worship.  Bishop Stephen gave the final blessing, and as we shared the Peace, the heavens opened and were blessed by a heavy shower which encouraged people to continue their own pilgrimage journey. 

This is not the end of a week’s pilgrimage, but merely the start of another stage of a journey in the parishes and communities that make up the Pewsey Deanery.  Thanks to you all, and may God bless you, and may Jesus be your constant companion and guide, and may the Holy Spirit empower and direct you to serve him, and those with whom you share your lives.