Religious bits and bobs

The summer solstice

Have never yet got around to marking the summer solstice in any way, despite being in a prime position for doing so given that Milton Keynes was allegedly set out along a ley line (I am of course sceptical about the actual existence of these, but do find the concept rather fun). Midsummer Boulevard was allegedly constructed to align with the sun on the summer solstice, as mentioned in this Guardian piece published in June: Beyond Stonehenge: the cities built to celebrate the sun.

The historian Tom Holland, whom Ruth came across accidentally on Twitter while trying to locate the actor Tom Hollander, but now follows after discovering she liked his tweets, posted this pic of the sun rising over Midsummer Boulevard on 21 June this year. Far out.

Tweet from @holland_tom

Midsummer Boulevard is the middle of MK’s three central boulevards. Apparently there was a bit of a kick up a few years ago when the ‘Midsummer Place’ shopping centre (it’s now been rebranded ‘intu Milton Keynes’) was plonked in the middle of it, cutting it in two – it’s no longer a through road. There is actually a gap between the newer shopping centre and the older, listed, one.

Whitsun/Whitsuntide

Following earlier comments on this, I asked my parents about it. Both recalled the custom of the Whitsun Treat on Whit Monday, though evidently this wasn't something participated in by Catholics. Mum (raised C of E) remembered going on picnic outings with other children from her Sunday School. Dad (raised Catholic) observed glumly that being a Catholic he never got to go on any Whitsun picnics.

According to the internet, Whitsun is the Anglican term for Pentecost, which commemorates the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Christ’s apostles. It falls on the seventh Sunday after Easter (in 2018, Sunday 9 June). ‘Whitsun’ is short for Whitsunday, which in turn is a corruption of White Sunday. The Monday following – Whit Monday – was a public holiday up until 1967; it was replaced by the Spring Bank Holiday on the last Monday in May.

Eucharistic adoration

Not a feast day, but a Roman Catholic practice I only came across relatively recently. It seems to involve prolonged meditative staring at the consecrated host, which has been placed in something called a ‘monstrance’. I assume you’re supposed to spend the time praying, contemplating God’s glory or similar. Some orders of nuns – e.g. those at Tyburn Convent – practise ‘perpetual adoration’, which seems to be a round-the-clock rotation of adorers. Apparently the exposed host can’t be left on its own.

You can, if you are so minded, take part in live online Perpetual Adoration, as with Team Catholify's 'Adorecast', below.

Samhain 2018

As last year, Ray and I celebrated Samhain by lighting candles in memory of deceased family and friends.

Seasonal display

As an extra special touch, I was able to harvest two tiny home-grown pumpkins. I had left 2017’s mini-pumpkin in the garden at the house, thinking it would just naturally break down and return to the earth in time; instead it sprouted quite a sizeable plant that produced two new pumpkins. I thought this was marvellous, though Ruth didn’t quite see it the same way.

Pumpkin actually growing in the garden

I used one of the mini-pumpkins in my table centrepiece and gave the other one to Mum, who displayed it next to a larger pumpkin that Hannah had carved for her for Hallowe’en.

The Christian nativity

Very impressed at my niece Nia playing the role of Mary in her school nativity this year, as I think I was only ever third angel from the left or similar. Hazel published some phone footage of the play to the family WhatsApp group, including some shared by Joseph’s parents, who had got well stuck in up close to the stage, thereby capturing close-up footage of their son adjusting his costume for much of the performance. Nia appeared a model of professionalism, though did seem to turn to the audience and smirk slightly when Joseph fell down in a dead faint on hearing she was with child. As the whole thing was in Welsh I’ve no idea what was said but assume it followed the usual pattern.

Speaking to colleagues this year, I’ve been a bit puzzled by the range of characters who seem to have crept into school nativity plays. I remember these having a pretty stable line-up of Mary, Joseph, shepherds, wise men, the Angel Gabriel and perhaps an innkeeper. However, Judith told me that her great-nephew had been cast as a pickpocket in his nativity play (I did ask whether the teacher doing it had perhaps confused the nativity story with Oliver!) and I’m sure someone else mentioned that her son had been cast as a robot. Are schools just using up whatever costumes come handy?

The winter solstice

Vivianne Crowley, in Principles of Paganism, says:

The Solstice is the nadir of the year, its lowest point in terms of daylight and energy, after which the year begins to turn.

The winter solstice occurs around 21st December and is the shortest day and longest night of the year. As with the summer solstice, I’ve never done a great deal to actually mark it, though have often fleetingly thought that I’d like to.

Crowley quotes a ninth century Irish poem:

In the deadness of winter, the spark of new life.
I have news for you:
the stag bells,
Winter snows,
Summer has gone,
wind high and cold.
Sun low, short its course,
sea running high.
Rust brown bracken, its shape lost,
the wild goose raises her accustomed cry.
Cold seizes the bird's wing;
season of ice:
this is my news.

Some cultural outings

Henley Arts Trail

Saturday 5 May

Bit of a misnomer, as about half the venues were in Twyford. We started by slogging up Remenham Hill (a curious decision; I blame Ruth) to visit Allan Henderson’s studio. Pleasant enough exhibition in the garage and back patio of one of the houses in Remenham Terrace. Slogged all the way back down the hill and decided we were ready for lunch. I actually don’t think we ended up seeing anything else, even though there were things in the town centre we could have visited. We remain officially crap at arts/heritage/open house events.

Re-opening of the Reading Abbey ruins

Saturday 16 June

The Abbey Ruins re-opened in June after being closed for renovations for nine years. Ruth and I hadn’t really planned in advance to go but on the day decided we’d wander down. As it was a good while since I’d been into the ruins, it was tricky to get a sense of exactly where the money had gone – but the stonework certainly looked very clean. I assume it was spent gluing loose bits back on, propping up any wobbly areas etc.

The Abbey was founded in the twelfth century by Henry I. Some time later, in 2009, it was closed because of safety concerns over falling masonry. The renovation was funded jointly by the council and by a grant from the Heritage Lottery Fund. There were plenty of people milling around, plus the usual Morris and clog dancers.

People milling, plus a spot of clog-dancing

Genesis Inc.

Saturday 7 July

Play at the Hampstead Theatre. About the privatization of human reproduction. Entertaining. We went to the matinée performance. The theatre was pretty full, substantially with older people, though the numbers dwindled a bit after the interval – the whole row to my right evidently decided it wasn’t to their taste, and one of the women in front of us piped up to her companions that she hadn’t really liked the giant talking ovaries. Ruth and I quite enjoyed it though. Here's an interview with the writer Jemma Kennedy, who apparently wrote the play following her own experiences of having her eggs frozen. It was my first visit to the Hampstead Theatre – lovely building.

Tom Allen

Friday 27 July

Part of the Milton Keynes International Festival in Campbell Park. Ruth and I had seen and liked Tom Allen when we saw him as part of a group of acts at South Street a few years ago. This set was part of Allen's first solo tour. We had a quick dinner at Revolución de Cuba beforehand. By the time we’d managed to locate the Spiegeltent, it was pretty packed and we had to squeeze onto the end of a row at a rather awkward angle to the stage. But still. It was funny.

Open House London

Saturday 22 September

Well, did we do better than last year’s crap attempt? Kind of. Not really.

We started off by making our way up to the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead to visit the UCL Pathology Museum. Very interesting, and gross in equal measure. After a tour of frankly alarming tumours and enormously distended colons I was left feeling slightly queasy. Interesting little exhibition though, tucked away on an upper floor of the hospital. Unlike the Hunterian Museum at the Royal College of Surgeons, which Ruth and I visited a few years ago, the UCL Pathology Museum isn’t as a rule open to the general public. We got access on a strictly-timed hour-long slot, but frankly by the end of the hour I’d had enough of contemplating all the awful things that can happen to the body and was eager to escape back into the open air.

Entrance to Acland Burghley School

As a second venue, I decided I wanted to visit Acland Burghley School, apparently an important example of 1960s comprehensive school design in the Brutalist style. Persuaded Ruth to walk, though unfortunately by the time we reached the school it was raining. Acland Burghley was awarded a Grade II listing in 2018, as well as celebrating its 50th birthday. Just like me, except for the listing part. Like many buildings of its ilk, it doesn't look much from the outside but has some lovely spaces inside.

Ruth inside the school hall