Mr Ernest Prendergast is a gentleman of what is commonly known as “the old school”. A devoutly Christian, octogenarian widower, he routinely attends the surgery to have his blood pressure checked and his medication renewed. On each occasion, regardless of the weather, he is dressed in a tweed suit, complete with waistcoat, tie, polished brogue shoes, a raincoat and cloth cap.
As he enters the consulting room he habitually hesitates, the cap being nervously fingered by both hands, gives a slight bow and apologises for having to bother me. The consultation itself is, at least on his part, a study in politeness, subservience, and respect. He always thinks deeply and speaks quietly and slowly, with great consideration given to the grammatical construction of each sentence.
I have known him for over fifteen years and have thus come to understand him very well. He has evidently led a life steeped in moderation and, as certain difficulties have shown, cannot be classed as a man of the world. Religion plays a central role within his daily activities. He has often expressed the opinion that he is merely a humble person whose soul will be claimed in due course by the Lord, whence he will have to answer for how he has spent his life in this world. His stated hope is that he has been sufficiently dutiful in the eyes of God so as not to suffer his future wrath. I have no doubt that God will not find him lacking.
At the end of the consultation, he routinely thanks me for my valued time, apologises for having taken up so much of it, offers me his hand, looks towards me with a depth of expression that only eighty years of life can replicate, and says ‘Thank you for your kindness. May God be with you’, before leaving the consulting room, head bowed, shoulders hunched, and the cap once more being gently kneaded with both hands.
Today, a few consultations after the one with Mr Prendergast, I entered the waiting room to call Lisa Jones. I spotted her in one corner, eschewing the spare chairs and choosing instead to squat cross-legged on a low window ledge. Her bleached-blond, dreadlock-styled hair, the centre of which is dyed a contrasting bright red, fell in an untidy mass around her as she rocked gently to and fro to the music on her ipod. Calling her name had no effect and it required a gentle touch to her arm to return her attention to the present.
I followed her into my consulting room, noting the sharply contrasting colours of her purple leggings, grey-denim miniskirt and dirty yellow blouse; the outfit being completed by a pair of heavy, black walking boots and a gold cross, three-inches in dimension, hung from her neck by a long gold chain of equally considerable weight.
I have known Lisa since she was eleven. She is now twenty-seven. Her life to date can only be described as one of wild, drug-fuelled debauchery. Commencing with glue sniffing, she rapidly progressed through smoking cannabis, popping ecstasy tablets, snorting cocaine and injecting heroin, with liberal quantities of alcohol thrown in. The final mixture would frequently be topped up with the odd three or four barbiturates for good measure.
Having closed the consulting room door, I sat at my desk and waited for a few moments whilst Lisa paced nervously back and forth across the floor. Finally, she grabbed a chair, pulled it as close to my desk as possible and started drumming her fingers on its surface. Still I waited, knowing that, in her own time, she would tell me why she had come. Experience had taught me that if I attempted to speed the process along, then she was just as likely to jump up and leave without a word being said on her part.
Finally, she looked towards me in a wild, unfocussed manner and tried to explain her problem. Although she is now clean of drugs, her brain has suffered more than its fair share of abuse. As a result, her sentences are disjointed as she struggles to find the appropriate words. Expletives are frequently resorted to as substitutes for verbs, nouns, and adjectives, making the whole process of listening to her an experience as colourful as her clothing, whilst the task of extracting the details of her problem can only be described as challenging.
Despite all the above, Lisa is a success story. Until a few years ago, her lifestyle was close to prematurely killing her. She was unable to care for herself, let alone her young daughter. As a result, her daughter was taken into care by the social services and Lisa spent long periods on the local psychiatric ward. However, it wasn’t modern medicine that cured her of her addictions. It was Christianity. Finding a deep faith finally gave her a focus within her life and helped her escape from the black hole in which she had, heretofore, psychologically dwelt.
The start of her new journey in life first came to my attention one morning at the end of a village surgery. She arrived without an appointment, just as I was packing away the laptop and various medical paraphernalia. However, it soon became apparent that she was not there for medical advice. As she showed me the brochure for a drug rehabilitation centre run by a Christian group near to the Welsh Borders, she expressed the view that there was nobody else she felt able to talk to about such matters. Coming from Lisa, that was a surprise as, although I have often stated that the role of the modern GP is part physician, part social worker, and part priest, I had never previously had any form of conversation with Lisa about spiritual matters. She needed my opinion on two topics. First, did I think that the rehabilitation centre would be useful to her, as she had never previously had any contact with church or Christian groups; second, which book would I recommend that she read, as the centre stated in their joining instructions that each resident should bring at least one book which would help them through their process of rehabilitation.
The book I finally recommended to her was The Cross and the Switchblade by David Wilkerson. It is the true story of how a priest entered the streets of New York and started to work with the young, drug-addicted, knife-wielding gang-fighters. So many found salvation through accepting Christ into their lives that a new counselling service, known as Teen Challenge, evolved. The ministry now has centres in more than 70 countries. I thought that Lisa, as someone who would not normally read books, might find a sense of kindred spirit with some of the characters within Wilkerson’s book.
The rehabilitation was successful and the start of a new life for Lisa. Subsequently, she was able to obtain a lease on a small house in the village and the social services agreed to return her daughter to her care.
For Lisa, Christianity is now central to her life. Her faith is prominently displayed around her neck; she frequently refers to how God is her support in life, and never leaves the consulting room without glancing back to me and saying ‘Thanks. God bless you.’
After the morning’s surgery, I was left pondering on how a deep-seated faith was so important to the lives of two very different people. Old Mr Ernest Prendergast, in all of his eighty plus years, would not have even touched upon the type of life Lisa Jones has led in her twenty-seven years to date. Meeting in the street, they would probably not have even given each other a second glance. However, there was the very real (and somewhat surreal) possibility that, one Sunday morning, the tweed-suited Mr Prendergast might turn in his pew in Church and find himself offering the sign of peace to the wild, hippy-dressed, dreadlocked Lisa Jones: two different generations, leading very different lives, but ultimately united by a shared belief.
Charles Péguy, the French poet and essayist (1873 – 1914), is quoted in Basic Verities (1943) as writing in Un Nouveau Théologien (21st December 1899):
‘The sinner is at the heart of Christianity…No one is as competent as the sinner in matters of Christianity. No one, except a saint.’
I think that Lisa Jones and Ernest Prendergast are very good examples of the “sinner and the saint”. It would seem that Péguy’s analysis could not have been more correct.
(Author’s note: The names of the patients have been altered to protect their identities.)
Monday, August 21, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
Literary Snippet – Mark Twain
There is always something interesting to learn.
Whilst browsing the latest catalogue from The Folio Society, my attention was drawn to the new Folio edition of Life on the Mississippi by Mark Twain.
I hadn’t previously known that Mark Twain (whose other well known books include The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Adventures of Tom Sawyer) was a pseudonym; after all, there are many American names which sound unusual to the English ear. Further investigation revealed that his real name was Samuel Clemens.
There are two quoted possibilities for the origin of his pseudonym. The author claimed that it came from the time spent on riverboats. In order to test the depth of water, a weighted line was let out into the water. A depth of twelve feet was considered safe and the crewman would shout out ‘mark twain’.
However, there are some who maintain that his name came from time spent in the bars. On each occasion he ordered a double, he would instruct the barman to ‘mark twain’ on his account.
Either way, the knowledge will no doubt provide for a few moments of intellectual chat around the occasional dinner table.
Some of my favourite quotes attributed to Twain are:
- Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence on society.
- Golf is a good walk spoilt.
- It is better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you are a fool, than to open it and remove all doubt.
- Respect your superiors, if you have any.
- I have been complimented many times and they always embarrass me; I always feel that they have not said enough.
- Rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated.
Monday, August 07, 2006
A Miscellany
Partially by chance, although on one occasion as a result of the need to research a chapter for my book, I have found myself of late wandering around various monastic ruins. I previously mentioned Mount Grace Priory and, although not a ruin, the ecclesiastical retreat at Parcevall Hall in North Yorkshire (see In Perspective, 31st July 2006). Since then, I have added Byland Abbey in North Yorkshire and, as of yesterday, Thornton Abbey in Lincolnshire.It takes imagination to mentally rebuild these once magnificent edifices. However, with a little research it becomes easier to do, especially as many have a similar floor plan. What requires a greater depth of imagination is to feel what it must have been like to live in one of these places as a monk in the 12th, 13th or 14th Centuries.The one predominant sense for me on each occasion I attempt such a spiritual regression is the overwhelming feeling of peace and contentment. Presumably, this is what the intended purpose of the place was when first built. What is perhaps surprising is that such historic sites can still induce the same emotions albeit some seven hundred years on and in their present traumatised state.
The Encyclopaedia Britannica (Vol. 26, Pg. 1017) defines the purpose of monasticism as the ‘discovery of the true self’. It expands the idea by saying ‘all monasticism has its mainstay in theologically based convictions that the present state of things leaves much to be desired’.
Sometimes, life is a kind of madness. It becomes the head-on pursuit of, to a great extent, material possessions. However, they often fail to give the total pleasure and sense of contentment which is so eagerly sought after. As time progresses, many come to realise that it is a much deeper satisfaction which is yearned for. For me, that deeper contentment is found by taking to the hills or, as with the benefit of recent experience, when wandering around monastic ruins. It is then that I start to see a reflection of my true self and can develop a focus which reflects a sense of destiny.
The Encyclopaedia Britannica (Vol. 26, Pg. 1017) defines the purpose of monasticism as the ‘discovery of the true self’. It expands the idea by saying ‘all monasticism has its mainstay in theologically based convictions that the present state of things leaves much to be desired’.
Sometimes, life is a kind of madness. It becomes the head-on pursuit of, to a great extent, material possessions. However, they often fail to give the total pleasure and sense of contentment which is so eagerly sought after. As time progresses, many come to realise that it is a much deeper satisfaction which is yearned for. For me, that deeper contentment is found by taking to the hills or, as with the benefit of recent experience, when wandering around monastic ruins. It is then that I start to see a reflection of my true self and can develop a focus which reflects a sense of destiny.
****
A Handful of Dust
Take a handful of dust from the side of a road. In it you will see many small pebbles. Look closely – each one is a mountain in miniature.
John Ruskin
* * *
I recently purchased a CD entitled A Night in Vienna by Oscar Peterson. This octogenarian jazz pianist has produced many splendid works over his lifetime. However, for me, one of the most moving pieces is his own composition called Requiem; a tribute to all the departed jazz greats. It is the most beautiful, haunting and melancholic pieces of music I have come across for many years.
Monday, July 31, 2006
In Perspective
It is often said that the pace of modern life is faster for most of us than many of our predecessors would have known. It is difficult to know whether that is actually true or not, as we have no direct way of knowing. All we can do is to look back at the historical detail and form an impression as to how life once was in respect to the influence of time. I suspect that the truth lies somewhere in-between; that for many, life was frantic, with business to conduct, deadlines to meet, crops to be brought in against the threat of a turn in the weather and without the benefit of modern machinery and so on. For others, for example, those who were wealthy and could afford servants for the menial and more arduous tasks, the days were possibly as leisurely as they are for those who are in the same financially sound position in life today.
For, what tends to be the driving factor behind the speed at which our lives are led is probably no different now than it was one, two or three hundred years ago: that is the need to feed, clothe and house ourselves and our families, along, for many, with the innate desire to improve individual living conditions. The latter, however, usually requires the acquisition of wealth and thus the pressure builds.
The true problem we face in a modern society is perhaps not knowing when sufficient is enough. When do we decide that the standard of living we have achieved is sufficient? At what stage do we step back from the conveyor belt of work and decide that there is more to life than the incessant toil of self-imposed challenges?
Holidays are often a good time to take stock and reflect on such matters. For a short period of time one is excused from the daily turmoil of labour and allowed the luxury of spending the hours of the day entirely as one wishes. It is, as Shakespeare said about another form of escape, ‘a consummation devoutly to be wished’ (Hamlet, Act 3, Sc. 1).
Over the past two weeks I have had the chance to visit a variety of places in North Yorkshire and the Lake District which have given rise to such reflection. As a group, they are diverse: The acres of beautifully landscaped gardens at Parcivall Hall, the well-preserved ruins of the Carthusian monastery at Mount Grace Priory and Brantwood, the former home on the shore of Lake Coniston of the Victorian writer, painter and poet, John Ruskin, to name a few. What these places have done is to reinforce that sense which many of us already know but often do not heed: the concept that in life, it is the journey that matters, not the destination.
Some people never have the opportunity of understanding the true priorities of life. For those of us who do have the luxury of being able to take time to gain that valuable insight, the task ahead, when the daily conveyor belt of work-related demands again starts up, is not to forget. More to the point, the mission should be, wherever possible, to put that knowledge into action. In the words of John Ruskin, it beholds us to remember that:
For, what tends to be the driving factor behind the speed at which our lives are led is probably no different now than it was one, two or three hundred years ago: that is the need to feed, clothe and house ourselves and our families, along, for many, with the innate desire to improve individual living conditions. The latter, however, usually requires the acquisition of wealth and thus the pressure builds.
The true problem we face in a modern society is perhaps not knowing when sufficient is enough. When do we decide that the standard of living we have achieved is sufficient? At what stage do we step back from the conveyor belt of work and decide that there is more to life than the incessant toil of self-imposed challenges?
Holidays are often a good time to take stock and reflect on such matters. For a short period of time one is excused from the daily turmoil of labour and allowed the luxury of spending the hours of the day entirely as one wishes. It is, as Shakespeare said about another form of escape, ‘a consummation devoutly to be wished’ (Hamlet, Act 3, Sc. 1).
Over the past two weeks I have had the chance to visit a variety of places in North Yorkshire and the Lake District which have given rise to such reflection. As a group, they are diverse: The acres of beautifully landscaped gardens at Parcivall Hall, the well-preserved ruins of the Carthusian monastery at Mount Grace Priory and Brantwood, the former home on the shore of Lake Coniston of the Victorian writer, painter and poet, John Ruskin, to name a few. What these places have done is to reinforce that sense which many of us already know but often do not heed: the concept that in life, it is the journey that matters, not the destination.
Some people never have the opportunity of understanding the true priorities of life. For those of us who do have the luxury of being able to take time to gain that valuable insight, the task ahead, when the daily conveyor belt of work-related demands again starts up, is not to forget. More to the point, the mission should be, wherever possible, to put that knowledge into action. In the words of John Ruskin, it beholds us to remember that:
‘There is no wealth but life.’
Saturday, July 15, 2006
Friday, July 14, 2006
Word of the Week – Discombobulate
I do enjoy words which have a sound which befits their meaning. Discombobulate is one of those very words.
Derivatives of the word include discombobulation and discombobulated. It is thought to be a 19th century jocular alteration of the word discompose or discomfit. Its meaning is to disturb, upset or disconcert. A ‘discombobulating thought’ is therefore one which could be said ‘makes your brain hurt’.
Derivatives of the word include discombobulation and discombobulated. It is thought to be a 19th century jocular alteration of the word discompose or discomfit. Its meaning is to disturb, upset or disconcert. A ‘discombobulating thought’ is therefore one which could be said ‘makes your brain hurt’.
Thursday, July 13, 2006
Dear McScotland…
I recently enjoyed watching a documentary by Andrew Marr entitled Age of Genius.
The programme illustrated how 18th century Edinburgh was transformed by a group of enlightened Scots, whose ideas opened the eyes of people across the World.
This was all the more remarkable when one considers that there is on record the fact that, on at least one occasion during the 18th century, the mail coach from London arrived across the border with just one letter for the whole of Scotland!
I hope the letter’s contents were worth the effort of every man and horse involved in getting it there!
The programme illustrated how 18th century Edinburgh was transformed by a group of enlightened Scots, whose ideas opened the eyes of people across the World.
This was all the more remarkable when one considers that there is on record the fact that, on at least one occasion during the 18th century, the mail coach from London arrived across the border with just one letter for the whole of Scotland!
I hope the letter’s contents were worth the effort of every man and horse involved in getting it there!
Wednesday, July 12, 2006
For Lexophiles
Unfortunately, time pressures have recently prevented me from writing for this blog. I therefore apologise for falling back on someone else's work (anonymously). That said, I am sure that at least some of the following will summon a wry grin for a few readers:
1. A bicycle can't stand alone; it is two tired.
2. A will is a dead giveaway.
3. Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.
4. A backward poet writes inverse.
5. In a democracy it's your vote that counts; in feudalism, it's your Count that votes.
6. A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion.
7. If you don't pay your exorcist you can get repossessed.
8. With her marriage she got a new name and a dress.
9. Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft and I'll show you A-flat miner.
10. When a clock is hungry it goes back four seconds.
11. The guy who fell onto an upholstery machine was fully recovered.
12. A grenade fell onto a kitchen floor in France resulted in Linoleum Blown apart.
13. You are stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
14. Local Area Network in Australia: The LAN down under.
15. He broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
16. A calendar's days are numbered.
17. A lot of money is tainted: 'Taint yours, and 'taint mine.
18. A boiled egg is hard to beat.
19. He had a photographic memory which was never developed.
20. A plateau is a high form of flattery.
21. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison: a small medium at large.
22. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.
23. When you've seen one shopping centre you've seen a mall.
24. If you jump off a Paris bridge, you are in Seine.
25. When she saw her first strands of grey hair, she thought she'd dye.
26. Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead to know basis.
27. Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
28. Acupuncture: a jab well done.
29. Marathon runners with bad shoes suffer the agony of de feet.
Note: No trees were killed in the sending of this message, but a large number of electrons were terribly inconvenienced.
1. A bicycle can't stand alone; it is two tired.
2. A will is a dead giveaway.
3. Time flies like an arrow; fruit flies like a banana.
4. A backward poet writes inverse.
5. In a democracy it's your vote that counts; in feudalism, it's your Count that votes.
6. A chicken crossing the road: poultry in motion.
7. If you don't pay your exorcist you can get repossessed.
8. With her marriage she got a new name and a dress.
9. Show me a piano falling down a mine shaft and I'll show you A-flat miner.
10. When a clock is hungry it goes back four seconds.
11. The guy who fell onto an upholstery machine was fully recovered.
12. A grenade fell onto a kitchen floor in France resulted in Linoleum Blown apart.
13. You are stuck with your debt if you can't budge it.
14. Local Area Network in Australia: The LAN down under.
15. He broke into song because he couldn't find the key.
16. A calendar's days are numbered.
17. A lot of money is tainted: 'Taint yours, and 'taint mine.
18. A boiled egg is hard to beat.
19. He had a photographic memory which was never developed.
20. A plateau is a high form of flattery.
21. The short fortune-teller who escaped from prison: a small medium at large.
22. Those who get too big for their britches will be exposed in the end.
23. When you've seen one shopping centre you've seen a mall.
24. If you jump off a Paris bridge, you are in Seine.
25. When she saw her first strands of grey hair, she thought she'd dye.
26. Bakers trade bread recipes on a knead to know basis.
27. Santa's helpers are subordinate clauses.
28. Acupuncture: a jab well done.
29. Marathon runners with bad shoes suffer the agony of de feet.
Note: No trees were killed in the sending of this message, but a large number of electrons were terribly inconvenienced.
Monday, July 03, 2006
Postcard from London (3)
Thursday 29th June 2006
I have the honour of being a Commander of the Most Venerable Order of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem. In addition, I have the privilege of sitting on the Chapter of the Order’s Priory of England and the Islands (www.sja.org.uk/history ).
Several times per year the Chapter meets in the Chapter Hall at the historic St John’s Gate in Clerkenwell, London. Following a morning of deliberating business appertaining to the running of the St John Ambulance (www.sja.org.uk ), the Eye Hospital in Jerusalem ( www.stjohneyehospital.org/ ) and the St John Care Homes Trust (www.osjct.co.uk ) , the members of Chapter re-convene after lunch in the Priory Church for the investiture of new members of the Order.
The Order is the oldest Order of Chivalry within the British Honours system, with membership of the Order being bestowed following approval by the Queen. As with other Orders under the Crown, there are various grades of membership, namely, Serving Brother and Serving Sister (both soon to be replaced by the title ‘Member’), Officer, Commander and then Knight or Dame. Knights are further divided between Knights of Justice (who are armigerous and have the right to appoint two Esquires) and Knights of Grace (who are not armigerous and have the right to appoint one Esquire). The highest honour within the Order is to be appointed a Bailiff or Dame Grand Cross.
The occasion of an investiture is one of glorious pomp and circumstance. It is a ceremony which never fails to delight and impress all those who attend.
At the opening of the ceremony, the members of Priory Chapter are announced and process into the Church, dressed in the traditional black sopra vests (a form of cassock) and black mantles, the latter bearing the white, eight-pointed cross of Amalfi on the left side. They take up their positions in two semi-circles in the north-east and south-east of the Church, there to await the arrival of the Prior.
Within a few minutes the Director of Ceremonies announces ‘The Prior of the Priory of England and the Islands’ and everyone stands for his procession. Preceded by the Church Cross and the Sword of Justice and accompanied by the Principle Priory Officers (Dean, Chancellor, Chief Commander, Chief Commissioners, Hospitaller and Almoner) and the Chapter clergy, the Prior’s procession make its way to the East of the Church, each armigerous member being followed by an Esquire bearing a banner depicting that individual’s Coat of Arms. It is a display of colourful, but solemn, pageantry which encapsulates so much of the historic significance of the Order of St John under the English Crown.
Following opening prayers, the National Anthem and a few words of introduction by the Prior, each postulant (i.e. a person to be invested) is summoned in turn and is invested by the Prior with the insignia of his or her grade within the Order.
For the postulants, as for many of their family members and guests within the audience, it is a moving occasion representing the recognition of years of outstanding service to the Order in one or more of its charitable arms. For all recipients, it is a moment to take pride in and one which will never be forgotten.
After the completion of the ceremony, the postulants and their guests are able to mingle with members of the Priory Chapter amidst the splendid surroundings of the Chapter Hall and partake in afternoon tea.
Finally, before departing from the St John’s Gate, visitors may take the opportunity of visiting the Priory’s Museum, where the Order’s 900 years of history, dating back to the Knights Hospitallers of the Holy Crusades, is displayed. The museum is open to the public, details of which can be found at: www.sja.org.uk/museum/visit .
Today’s investiture was of particular significance for me as a close friend, who is also a colleague within the St John Ambulance and will already be known to readers of this blog as ‘Harlequin’, was invested as a Serving Brother of the Order. Needless to say, it was a matter for celebration. Accompanied by our wives and following champagne in the garden of Over Seas House (www.rosl.org.uk ), overlooking Green Park in St James’s, we adjourned to Le Caprice (http://www.le-caprice.co.uk/ ), a restaurant which has previously featured in this blog (see Dinner with Melvyn Bragg, 11th May 2006).
As always, this popular rendezvous was packed with diners well up to midnight. Although not an evening for the presence of either of the Lords Melvyn Bragg or Jeffrey Archer (both devotees of Le Caprice), we did notice Sir Alan Sugar with a party of guests on the table adjacent to ours. The evening must have pleased him as well as us, for none of the waiting staff was fired before the night was over.
I have the honour of being a Commander of the Most Venerable Order of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem. In addition, I have the privilege of sitting on the Chapter of the Order’s Priory of England and the Islands (www.sja.org.uk/history ).
Several times per year the Chapter meets in the Chapter Hall at the historic St John’s Gate in Clerkenwell, London. Following a morning of deliberating business appertaining to the running of the St John Ambulance (www.sja.org.uk ), the Eye Hospital in Jerusalem ( www.stjohneyehospital.org/ ) and the St John Care Homes Trust (www.osjct.co.uk ) , the members of Chapter re-convene after lunch in the Priory Church for the investiture of new members of the Order.
The Order is the oldest Order of Chivalry within the British Honours system, with membership of the Order being bestowed following approval by the Queen. As with other Orders under the Crown, there are various grades of membership, namely, Serving Brother and Serving Sister (both soon to be replaced by the title ‘Member’), Officer, Commander and then Knight or Dame. Knights are further divided between Knights of Justice (who are armigerous and have the right to appoint two Esquires) and Knights of Grace (who are not armigerous and have the right to appoint one Esquire). The highest honour within the Order is to be appointed a Bailiff or Dame Grand Cross.
The occasion of an investiture is one of glorious pomp and circumstance. It is a ceremony which never fails to delight and impress all those who attend.
At the opening of the ceremony, the members of Priory Chapter are announced and process into the Church, dressed in the traditional black sopra vests (a form of cassock) and black mantles, the latter bearing the white, eight-pointed cross of Amalfi on the left side. They take up their positions in two semi-circles in the north-east and south-east of the Church, there to await the arrival of the Prior.
Within a few minutes the Director of Ceremonies announces ‘The Prior of the Priory of England and the Islands’ and everyone stands for his procession. Preceded by the Church Cross and the Sword of Justice and accompanied by the Principle Priory Officers (Dean, Chancellor, Chief Commander, Chief Commissioners, Hospitaller and Almoner) and the Chapter clergy, the Prior’s procession make its way to the East of the Church, each armigerous member being followed by an Esquire bearing a banner depicting that individual’s Coat of Arms. It is a display of colourful, but solemn, pageantry which encapsulates so much of the historic significance of the Order of St John under the English Crown.
Following opening prayers, the National Anthem and a few words of introduction by the Prior, each postulant (i.e. a person to be invested) is summoned in turn and is invested by the Prior with the insignia of his or her grade within the Order.
For the postulants, as for many of their family members and guests within the audience, it is a moving occasion representing the recognition of years of outstanding service to the Order in one or more of its charitable arms. For all recipients, it is a moment to take pride in and one which will never be forgotten.
After the completion of the ceremony, the postulants and their guests are able to mingle with members of the Priory Chapter amidst the splendid surroundings of the Chapter Hall and partake in afternoon tea.
Finally, before departing from the St John’s Gate, visitors may take the opportunity of visiting the Priory’s Museum, where the Order’s 900 years of history, dating back to the Knights Hospitallers of the Holy Crusades, is displayed. The museum is open to the public, details of which can be found at: www.sja.org.uk/museum/visit .
Today’s investiture was of particular significance for me as a close friend, who is also a colleague within the St John Ambulance and will already be known to readers of this blog as ‘Harlequin’, was invested as a Serving Brother of the Order. Needless to say, it was a matter for celebration. Accompanied by our wives and following champagne in the garden of Over Seas House (www.rosl.org.uk ), overlooking Green Park in St James’s, we adjourned to Le Caprice (http://www.le-caprice.co.uk/ ), a restaurant which has previously featured in this blog (see Dinner with Melvyn Bragg, 11th May 2006).
As always, this popular rendezvous was packed with diners well up to midnight. Although not an evening for the presence of either of the Lords Melvyn Bragg or Jeffrey Archer (both devotees of Le Caprice), we did notice Sir Alan Sugar with a party of guests on the table adjacent to ours. The evening must have pleased him as well as us, for none of the waiting staff was fired before the night was over.
Monday, June 26, 2006
Principles for Life
Last Saturday (24th June) the Priory of England and the Islands of the Most Venerable Order of the Hospital of St John of Jerusalem held its Annual Service of Commemoration and Re-dedication in St Paul's Cathedral.
The ceremonial aspects of the service are always an impressive sight and it is a delightful honour to participate in the event. For the past two years, the event has been particularly pleasurably following the completion of the cleaning of the inside of St Paul's Cathedral, which in itself is now beautiful and awe inspiring.
Traditionally, Christian services end with The Blessing. It occurred to me several years ago that the words used in the first half of The Blessing at the end of this particular service in themselves form a creed which could be well-followed by people from any faith or even those who are without faith; they could be termed Principles for Life:
Go forth into the World in peace;
be of good courage;
hold fast that which is good;
render to no one evil for evil;
strengthen the fainthearted;
support the weak;
help the afflicted;
honour all people.
I, for one, find those words thought-provoking and motivating on each occasion I hear them.
The ceremonial aspects of the service are always an impressive sight and it is a delightful honour to participate in the event. For the past two years, the event has been particularly pleasurably following the completion of the cleaning of the inside of St Paul's Cathedral, which in itself is now beautiful and awe inspiring.
Traditionally, Christian services end with The Blessing. It occurred to me several years ago that the words used in the first half of The Blessing at the end of this particular service in themselves form a creed which could be well-followed by people from any faith or even those who are without faith; they could be termed Principles for Life:
Go forth into the World in peace;
be of good courage;
hold fast that which is good;
render to no one evil for evil;
strengthen the fainthearted;
support the weak;
help the afflicted;
honour all people.
I, for one, find those words thought-provoking and motivating on each occasion I hear them.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Carpe Diem
On mornings like today, when the sun is streaming though the curtains at an early hour and the birds have seemingly been singing all night, it is very easy to rise and make the most of the available hours. Winter does not make it quite so easy. However, getting up at an early hour has never been a great problem to me and with good reason. I am a great believer in making the most of every available minute. Indeed, on the basis that life is too short, the one pill I would happily take above all others would be the one which renders sleep unnecessary.
W. F. Deedes, the former editor of The Daily Telegraph and one time Member of Parliament and Cabinet Minister, is still, at the age of 93 years, working as a journalist. In this respect, he is a man I admire. In an article by Stephen Robinson in yesterday's The Daily Telegraph (19th June 2006), the question is put to Deedes as to 'why, at the age of 93, he still switches on the laptop each day'. Apparently, Deedes's reply, whenever such a question arises, is to quote from the poet A. E. Housman's A Shropshire Lad (1896) no. 4:
Up, lad: when the journey's over
There'll be time enough to sleep.
It is an adage to be well abided by.
W. F. Deedes, the former editor of The Daily Telegraph and one time Member of Parliament and Cabinet Minister, is still, at the age of 93 years, working as a journalist. In this respect, he is a man I admire. In an article by Stephen Robinson in yesterday's The Daily Telegraph (19th June 2006), the question is put to Deedes as to 'why, at the age of 93, he still switches on the laptop each day'. Apparently, Deedes's reply, whenever such a question arises, is to quote from the poet A. E. Housman's A Shropshire Lad (1896) no. 4:
Up, lad: when the journey's over
There'll be time enough to sleep.
It is an adage to be well abided by.
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