Sorry not to have written for a while but I have been in London. I was invited by my friend Mary to 1) dogsit while she was away, 2) sing with The American Choir of London on Thanksgiving Day. Both were delightful experiences. The latter involved a lot of security checks and was attended by the American Ambassador to the UK who gave a rather ethnocentric speech.
That being as it it may, the chance to sing in St. Pauls, from the original church choir stalls was a bit too much for this (soprano) pilgrim and I jumped at the chance. (Carpe Diem indeed.)
It was truly a "once in a lifetime experience" and, getting up into my late fifties, I decided I had to take seriously this voice that said "do it!".
So I did it. And hope (now as an "Honorary American" - note spelling -) I hope to do again next year.
But that is not what this blog is about.
While staying at Mary's I began to read a bit more about the Wren churches and was determined to visit one or two. Which I did. The second was called St. Magnus the Martyr which I found in the rain. It is close to London Bridge, and the sort of northern end if you like. Very close to The Monument (the Great Fire of London started close to here). I was having the time of my life: getting on this bus, getting off, getting on another. And so I found St. Magnus. Martyrs of all stripes are my interest right now.
Now I don't know very much about St. Magnus (actually I don't know anything about St. Magnus other than he has a horned helmet so presumably was a Viking), but I really did love the church especially as they had a booksale. On the first day I went (I went twice) I had intended to go to the Tate but never made it as just as I was about to leave the organist came in to "practice" and that took an hour or so of my London time.
On the second day I went back to pick up a book I regretted not buying the first time and it was then I decided to light a candle. Above the candles were yellow slips of prayers (I added one) and one in particular caught my eye.
And this is the purpose of this blog. It asked, in very childish writing:
"Plese say a preyr for Charlies Mum she has a brane tuma".
Now I don't know who wrote this. Nor do I know who Charlie is, nor his Mum. But it did touch me very deeply. I lit a candle and felt very humble and not a bit ashamed for complaining about the weather.
So, I am asking you to please say a "preyr", especially for Charlie's Mum. Maybe if you label your prayer "Charlie's Mum" it might have a special delivery, and while you are at it think of all the mums in the world who might have a brane tuma, and may never see their children grown.
Back to the 11th century next week, but thought this worth posting.