Me and St Peter

A quiet day today, not so many phone calls, preparing for three forthcoming funerals, helping families cope with no Mass possible... So a more reflective post this evening, especially in the light of tomorrow being the anniversary of my ordination.

Yes, 42 years since I was ordained. Strangely, the little altar I use when celebrating here in St Brigid's since my arthritis took over is exactly on the spot where I knelt before Archbishop Murphy on that Saturday in 1978. Little did I realise I would be parish priest here, even less that I would be celebrating on that spot, and least of all that the people are not allowed to join me here in 2020.

St John Henry Newman and many others have pointed out that we only really understand what the Lord is doing when we look back from the future.  If that's the case, I can't wait to find out what this period is all about!

Anyway, this picture is one of my favourites of myself, if that's not too self-centred. It was taken obviously in St Peter's Square, but why is it so deserted? It's because it was early in the morning, about 6.30am and I was on the way with some friends to celebrate Mass at the believed tomb of St Peter, underneath the Pope's altar underneath the dome. Masses there had to finish by 9am and we were given 7 o'clock as our slot. This was a matter of just a few weeks after ordination.  I like the pic because I look very happy, optimistic, at peace and - so young! This was one of Mum's favourite pictures of me too...

I'm glad to say that I am still happy, still optimistic and on the whole at peace. Maybe not quite so young now - or slim. There I am, on my way to celebrate the Eucharist close to the mortal remains of Peter who over the years has become one of my very best friends, in the Scriptures and through my five visits to his land , the Holy land.  There's a lot in that picture about me and my priesthood. Amen. Deo Gratias.

Thanks YouTube

Someone commented on my eclectic taste in music, and I suppose it's true.  Bangor, Mash and Freddie hear all kinds of stuff!
So here are a couple of items off my YouTube Favourites list - which is pretty long.
First - Perpetuum Jazzile. They are an a cappella group from Slovenia who include the instrumental sounds and everything. The song that made their name is a version of Toto's standard "Africa". Make sure it's up loud to get the opening sequence!

Second - Kevin Skinner.  This "country boy" from Kentucky went on to win "America's Got Talent" a year or two ago. Seems it spoiled his marriage and now he has disappeard into obscurity. But what a surprie when he begins to sing!

Lastly, if you haven't seen it, "The Veil Removed" - a short film from America about what is really going on at hte Mass.  Makes you think, specially in these ttimes...

The Table of the Lord

Bangor, Mash and Freddie are able to learn about the Mass because for the moment I am celebrating Mass on the dining-table in the presbytery. I have absolutely no problem with this, though I expect some may. At the period in my life when I was most luke-warm in my faith, first and second years in university, the only time I was at Mass was when an American Jesuit celebrated in students' rooms with ordinary bread and wine - a lifeline at the time.

In any case, the Mass is, of course, a meal, coming from the Last Supper. And meals happen on tables, so a dining-table seems very appropriate. I am being very aware of this kind of thing regarding the Mass as we celebrate alone here. I have taken to 6pm as my preferred time, suitable especially in our 3 Churches for Saturday and Sunday. 

This evening I opened the window ajar, despite a cool breeze blowing outside. I wanted to hear the birds singing in the woods alongside us. But more important I wanted to be in a kind of direct contact with everything and everyone "out there". I don't know if we will join the parishes who are live-streaming Mass, that's a different issue. I wanted to remind myself and experience that the Mass reaches everywhere, everything, everyone - and everywhere can be brought into the Mass. There are some interesting articles on this kind of thing in this week's Tablet.

So while we are not able to celebrate together either here in our 3 Churches, or anywhere else in many countries, let's ask the Lord to teach us a little more, draw us a little more deeply into the Eucharist, famously called "|the source and summit of our faith". 

And remember that I pause to pray for all of you at the Bidding Prayer when I am at the Table of the Lord.

Unbind...Set free!

Jesus cried in a loud voice, 'Lazarus, here! Come out!' The dead man came out, his feet and hands bound with bands of stuff and a cloth round his face. Jesus said to them, 'Unbind him, let him go free'. (John 11:43-44)

These are the last words of Sunday's Gospel, the Raising of Lazarus. Like the previous two weeks, it's a long one, so I thought I'd just offer a thought on this last bit.  (Bangor, Mash and Freddie say that's a relief, that I'm not gonna go on too long). The painting is by Rembrandt.

So what catches my attention about this dramatic moment is that while Jesus, obviously, performs the miraculous raising of Lazarus, he turns to the others to unbind Lazarus and let him go free.  It's a bit like the Feeding of the Five Thousand, where Jesus asks the apostles to distribute the bread and fish which he has miraculously multiplied. There he depended on them to kind of implement the grace of the miracle. So, here he does the raising but he asks the apostles - the Church - us, you and me - to do the unbinding and setting free. 

There are so many ways that we can and do bind one another up, with our actions and our words, even in our thoughts, directly or indirectly. We can do it with nastiness or sometimes with a deceptive warmth. Our pride may be hurt, jealousy may rise, we are offended. We have a little power, we want our own way, and so on. And so we bind someone up, or even a group of people - or even a whole country if it's mixed with power on a grander scale.

So as we join Martha and Mary in welcoming their brother back, maybe in our quiet moments - and there are probably more of them than is usual - we might ask ourselves who we need to unbind and set free...

Wonderful moment

Fr Andy and I just watched the Pope's Holy Hour from St Peter's in the Vatican. It was all in Italian, but we were able to understand, and join in the responses and Latin hymns. I found it very moving, and several things stood out for me.

First, the Holy Father was clearly struggling to walk. And, as Andy said to me "He's walking like you". This touches me somehow, as I am sure Francis was in pain, as I am some of the time, as Jesus was so much in His Passion, and as millions are across the world with this virus.
 





Second, they had brought two very significant images from Rome churches. First the Crucifix of San Marcello from the church of the same name on the main street the Corso. Dating from the 16th century, Romans have prayed before it during plagues down through the years. Francis went to that church earlier this month (see picture left). And second, the image of Our Lady known as Salus Populi Romani, brought from the great basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore (right). These two images were placed either side of teh main entrance to St Peter's. 
Lastly - the Holy Hour iself. It started out in the square with the Gospel of Jesus asleep in the boat while a storm came over the Sea of Galilee. The Pope then gave an address, a meditation on the Gospel in the light of the epidemic. 
Then we moved into the atrium or porch of the great church, where there was an altar set up for Adoration. After a period of silence followed by intercessions, the Holy Father, slowly and alone, brought the Blessed Sacrament out to the huge main doors of St Peter's to give the Benediction to the city and the world. As the rain fell, this holy old, gentle and pained man raised the Lord in blessing over all of us. I found it painful, powerful, comforting, loving, beautiful and many other things too....

 

The Annunciation - in action

After yesterday's post, Bangor, Mash and Freddie wanted to know more about Our Lady and the Annunciation. Many years ago I heard a talk given by the late Fr Tom Forrest CSsR, (right) one of my all-time favourite preachers.  He spoke about the Rosary as intercession, and it  worked like this.   When you come across something or somebody you want to pray for, you find a decade of the Rosary that seems to fit.

Well a few weeks later I took Holy Communion to a bed-bound lady in the parish, St Cuthbert's in Cardiff Docks, who had terminal cancer. As I walked on to my next call, I remembered this talk, so I prayed the Annunciation, asking that she too, like Our Lady, receive Good News.  About ten days later I called in again - and she answered the door! She went on to tell me how she was still very ill, but had felt better the day I had taken her Communion. About ten or fifteen minutes later in fact - the same time as I was praying the  decade of the Rosary for her.

Well, she still died some time after, but this has always stayed in my mind. Never underestimate the value of prayer, never underestimate the role of Mary, never underestimate the repercussions down through the ages of that great unique proclamation of Good News - the Annunciation.

The Annunciation

Bangor, Mash and Freddie are learning more each day about our Faith - and lots of other stuff too.  Today is the feast of the Annunciation, and so they are finding out about Our Lady and her part in the Big Story. They are also learning about something very close to my heart - pilgrimages. I have been involved in leading a group to different places every year since 1990, and actually the Annunciation links three of these pilgrimages.

On five occasions the September Pilgrims have been to the Holy Land - fantastic, and the favourite of many, including myself. One of the "musts" is, of course, Nazareth. Here is the group celebrating Mass at the Church of the Annunciation in front of the grotto, where tradition says the sacred event happened.

  

 

In 2002 we visited the shrine of Loreto in Italy, to where tradition says the Holy House of Nazareth, formerly in front of the grotto, was moved when the Moslems occupied the Holy Land. The ancient house is now encased in marble in a beautiful church. Here is Pope Francis praying inside the tiny house.

 

In 2016 we  went ro Walsingham in Norfolk, where a replica of the Holy House was built in the early Middle Ages. It became one of the great pilgrimage sites of the country, and is now the National Shrine of Our Lady for England. Here is the interior of the Holy House in the Anglican shrine, built to the same specifications as Loreto.

Lastly - a painting and some music. The painting is in Palermo in Sicily, and is by Antonello da Messina. Painted in 1476, it is one of my very favourites. It depicts Mary just after the Annunciation, and to me is a stunning depiction of the mixture of emotions that must have swept over her.

And here is a short but beautiful piece by Italian composer Pergolesi, who died aged 26. It is "Inflammatus" from his setting of the great Marian reflection, the "Stabat Mater". This performance is in the Frauenkirche or Church of Our Lady, in Dresden. Destroyed in World War II, it has been completely and immaculately rebuilt. I visited it on holiday in 2017.

Listen to Bruce

Bangor, Mash and Freddie soon had to learn that I like my music - all sorts of music.

A while ago Fr Andy came across a great Bruce Springsteen video. It seems that about 2006 he did a tour with a Seeger Sessions Band, with a kind of electric country sound. The song is a version of spiritual called "O Mary don't you weep no more", and the Mary is Martha and Lazarus' sister. It's a song of hope and trust that things will get better, based on what the Lord has done in the past.  Seems to have a message for us now...
                 
                               Brothers and sisters, don't you cry,
                               There'll be good times by and by.

This morning I phoned all the priests of Cardiff Deanery to see how everybody is. I was especially thinking of those who live alone.  I'm glad to report that they're in good shape, and doing their best in these strange circumstances, some streaming their Mass withe the help of techie parishioners, others keeping in touch with needy parishioners etc.

All say how strange it all is, and especially as none of us knows how long it will go on. So why not tune in to Bruce and his fantastic instrumentalists - and turn it up!

Big friend Freddie

Well. last - but certainly not least... Hi, I'm Freddie, Fr Matthew's third friend - except I really come first, but you have to humour Bangor and Mash. You see I've been here in Cardiff longer than both of 'em. I arrived about ten years ago all the way from India. I travelled with one of the Indian priests that the master used to have working with him. I used to sit on the window sill or on the book shelf here in Fr Matthew's tip - sorry, office. Then I wandered into the dining-room and discovered Bangor and Mash. We're all good friends really!

Why am I called Freddie? Ah, that's another story... I'm named after a nice priest called Fr Frederick who came here for some months, and he was from Bangla Desh. That's him in the pic.  Master always calls him Freddie, and so I am named after him.

Now you may have noticed that I'm showing you my right side in the picture. That's because - it's a bit embarrassing - I've lost my left tusk in an, um, accident, involving falling off the shelf. Ouch!

So now you've met the three of us here at the Presbytery. We see and hear a lot, you know, and so feel free to ask us about life at the Pres. Like today Master is doing a lot of writing on his computer thing. He spends a lot of time trying to help people who have had a bad time in their marriage and family life. So sometimes he has to write a decision to set them free from a bad time in their life. It's something he calls an "annulment" and it's difficult stuff to deal with.  He's not a bad old stick really you know (thanks Freddie ed.)  

I think people know very little about how these priests spend their time, so we may chat a bit about that. Anything you want to know, just ask me, because, of course - elephants never forget.

Meet Mister Mash

Hiya!  I'm Mash. You met my, er, friend Bangor yesterday. Just because the master got him the year before he got me, Bangor thinks he's the bee's knees!.  Anyway, here''s my picture with my master in his office, but I'm not Welsh - I'm English. In fact I come from the north-east, from Alnwick in Northumberland. Like Bangor, I came along when Fr Matthew was on one of these pilgrimage things in 2018. A nice lady called Linda thought that Bangor might like a friend. So here I am.. 

Now part of the problem with me 'n' Bangor is that although I'm a bull and have lovely big horns, I'm, um, a bit small, much smaller than Bangor.  And he doesn't let me forget it!  These priests go on about loving your neighbour, so we try our best, but it's not always easy is it? Especially if you're sitting on a Welsh dresser day in day out. But, you know, if we three presbytery animals can get on despite being stuck inside, I'm sure you humans can do the same.

Oh, I better go now, because I think Fr Matthew is going to do another of these Mass things with us, and I want to pay attention and learn what it's all about. We'd love it if you wanted to leave a comment at the end of these posts.  Don't worry if it doesn't appear straightaway, because Fr Matthew has to sort of approve comments before they appear.   Byeeee, and oh it's Freddie's turn tomorrow. He's an elephant, you know...

  

This is Alnwick by the way, where I come from; I'm a long way from home...

Meet Bangor

Hello. I'm Bangor - and this is my, er, master, Father Matthew. As you can see, I'm a toy dog, but a clever one.  Unfortunately, I haven't learned how to type yet, so I'm depending on my boss - though he isn't much good at it either!  I think I am a cockapoo, but neither of us is an expert. Perhaps you can identify what I am?

I'm a Welsh dog, as my master bought me at Portmeirion in 2017, where he saw me sitting on a gift shop shelf. I was taking a rest and wasn't really looking for an owner... ah well. Apparently he and a big load of humans were doing something called a pilgrimage, whatever that is. Felt more like a holiday to me - but don't knock it! Perhaps I'll learn more about it.
Talking of which - guess what? These guys talk a lot about what I think is religious stuff, and often they mention "Mass". But I haven't had a clue what they're on about!  Until today...Yes, I've been to my first Mass. Seems the Fathers can't do this Mass thing in public at the moment, so Fr Andy did one in the church, and Fr Matthew did one right in front of Mash, Freddie and me in the dining room just now.
I think it'll be a while before I quite get it, but it was beautiful, just my master plus we three sitting on the Welsh dresser.  It was very peaceful and Fr M seemed very into what he was doing. The three of us - you'll meet the other two soon - just sort of relaxed into it and we got a lot from it. There was a kind of presence, almost as if there was someone else in the room with us. Oh, and there was mention several times of this chap Jesus. 
I think this is where Fr Matthew found me at Portmeirion- but not in the cosmetics department!... 

 

Bangor, Mash and Freddie

Hello, we are Bangor, Mash and Freddie. We're friends of Father Matthew and Fr Andy, and we'd like to be your friends too.  Because it looks like there's a lot of bad stuff around at the moment, but we don't really understand. Also... we're a bit shy... so we haven't put our pictures on here yet. Also it's because we are a toy dog, little bull and elephant. So it's a bit hard to type. But we feel sad for you humans, so we'd like to help with a bit of fun. You might want to leave a comment for us. Because that would be a nice thing to do...  
Anyway, here's  a pic of where we live...

 

St Teresa of Avila

Well, you learn something new every day etc.  I was whiling away a few minutes waiting for a visitor today and I found myself looking at stuff on the internet about St Teresa of Avila, of whom I am a Big Fan. To my surprise I gathered that she was born in a village called Gotarrendura.

Now it's only about 15 miles from Avila, but I always presumed she was born in the city itself. Wikipedia says that it is suggested she was born in Gotarrendura because her parents were definitely married there. But drifting around on the net a bit more, I think it looks possible that this was the place. The house they owned has gone, but there survives, of all things, a dovecote, left, that Teresa refers to in one of her letters. Pilgrimages are on the up at the moment, led by the Camino to Santaigo de Compostela in Spain, but apparently there is now a St Teresa Camino, which calls in at Gotarrendura. Incidentally the tiny village is also on the Southeastern branch of the Santiago Camino.

I first came across Teresa of Avila via St John of the Cross, whose poetry we had to study for Spanish A level back in 1970.  It was very striking stuff, spiritual poetry as love poetry, or vice versa. As I continued doing Spanish in university I moved on to St Teresa and was fascinated. This was at a time when my faith was pretty weak, but this dynamic woman so down to earth yet so amazingly switched on faith-wise really caught my attention. I was studying her as literature but she sort of got under my skin, probably more than I realised at the time. It was during my last year at university that all the pieces came together again on my journey and eventually led to my vocation exploring from April 1974.

Anyway, fast forward to summer of 1993 and I pay my first visit to Avila with a (secular) coach tour. While we saw some of the sites associated with Teresa at Avila, the Convent of St Teresa, built on the site of her family home, wasn't on the itinerary. In a spare few hours I hurried across the city and spent a moment in the church there. Suddenly I realised I had about 10 minutes to get back to the coach, and jumped up to hurry out.

As I did so I looked at the statue, right, and asked Teresa to pray for me. To my surprise I felt a kind of answer; "Pray for yourself, as many are going to hell". Now I'm not given to "words" or unusual spiritual experiences - honestly. Neither am I a big fan of hell, so to speak. Anyway, as I dashed down the aisle to the church door, I heard - in Spanish "Reforma la vida" - roughly translated as "Sort your life out" and this was followed, most powerfully by "I am the mother of your vocation". Having thought a lot about that moment, I realise how big a part she played in putting my faith back together back in those university days, and given that this process led straight into my applying to the diocese to be  a priest, it all makes sense.  For some reason, St Teresa of Avila appointed herself - or was appointed - the mother of my vocation.  Make of this what you will...

Time to blog?

Yesterday and today I watched Gareth Malone's latest attempt to form a choir - this time in Aylesbury Young Offenders Prison. I found it fascinating and moving, and in particular it took me back to 1981, when I started as a part-time chaplain at Cardiff Prison. That nervousness in me, the sense of suppressed trouble in the prison - and the journey that you are able to make sometimes with individual men. The picture left shows Gareth working with the amazing Lewis. There was a lot in the programme I could understand. It got me thinking again about the blog.

What's more, during the last six months I have been diagnosed with osteoarthritis, in the hip and maybe the back. It's meant a few changes in my life, routine etc.  The arthritis means I cannot kind of whiz around as has been my custom doing this that and the other - I have to slow down. So maybe that slowing down also points to taking up the blog again - we'll see.

Any way folks, if you're reading this for the first time, welcome, if you're a former reader, welcome back! 

Tail chasing

It's that crazy feeling when you realise you have so much to do before going away. What's changed in the last years is the difficulty in getting resident priest cover, but that has all fallen into place, thank God. 

Now in recent years I've got used to a kind of 3 part holiday - pilgrimage/my week/family time.

I've been part of the September Pilgrims group since 1990. When people say to me "Well, that's not really a holiday", well, I say it is. Away from the parish, no phones or doorbells. Yes I am with folks who are largely parishioners but the atmosphere is very different - relaxed, fun and strangely unpredictable. We're off to North Wales on Friday, staying at Llandudno.

Then my "me-week", when I go off entirely on my own. It's such a blessing to just be nobody, for people to not see the dog collar first and to enjoy all that stuff that goes with holiday, getting up when you want, eating where and what you want and so on.  Over the years I've been going to various cities that appeal or that others rave about. After places like Munich, Bruges, Amsterdam, Milan, this year it's Berlin.

Amazingly the best place to fly direct at a reasonable time is good ol' Cardiff!  10am flight - great.

Then, instead of zooming off to stay with my brother or sister for part three, family are coming to me! I'm baptising my first great-nephew, Theo Xavier, which I'm really looking forward to.

In fact, I'm really looking forward to it all. So I better go now and get on with my preparations..

Dear Mrs Fitzpatrick

These are the opening words of a letter to my great-grandmother sent 31^st August 1917. Her first husband, and father of her three children, George Goodwin, had drowned in Cardiff’’s East Dock back in 1881 when baby George was 2 and my grandmother not yet 1 year old, and she had remarried a Thomas Fitzpatrick.  The letter continues...

“It is with deep sympathy that I write to tell you of your son’s death, G.Goodwin, 23232. A short time ago he gave up his three stripes at his own request.  Just before he went into the Battle in which he was killed, he came to confession to me, and I gave him Holy Communion, so he went well prepared to meet Our Divine Lord, and I know this will be a great solace to you in your grief.

Always brave and regardless of danger when a stretcher was required to carry a wounded comrade, he immediately volunteered and started to cross to the Aid Post over the ground which was absolutely swept by machine gun bullets.  Thus he was killed by a bullet, and so gave his life for a comrade.

I shall offer Holy Mass for him the first time I have a chance.

     Yours in sincere sympathy

          M. Mac Kenna C.F.[Chaplain to the Forces]”

And so the body of great-uncle George was lost in the mud of Passchendaele, the 3^rd Battle of Ypres on 27^th August 1917 – 100 years ago today. You may have seen on TV a few weeks ago events to remember this appalling battle which claimed about 500,000 lives from both sides. Some 35,000 bodies of British soldiers, including George, were never found, and are commemorated on a great wall monument at Tyne Cot Cemtery.

These kind of numbers can be just that - figures that numb. George was just one - but he was my great-uncle, and like all those others he was not just 23232, but somebody, an individual with a loving mother and family back here in Cardiff. This Sunday I offered Mass for him, and remembered all those lost in the mud of Flanders. 

To be a pilgrim

September is around the corner, and for me that means it's pilgrimage time. As some will know, I have taken part every year since 1990, give or take a couple of years, in a pilgrimage in September. Israel, Rome, Fatima, Ireland, Poland, Assisi, Loreto etc etc - it's a long list. We strike a balance between the spiritual, focussed on our daily Mass where I try to develop a theme day to day to create a kind of retreat-on-wheels, and the holiday element, taking in all kinds of local sights.As the saying goes, we must be doing something right - we still get close on 40 people wanting to come! 

After 20 years or so of gallivanting (spelling??) around Europe and Israel, we thought last year we had better also check out the UK pilgrims' scene. So we went to Norfolk, visiting obviously the venerable shrine at Walsingham (the Slipper Chapel left), and taking in other experiences such as the church/hermitage of Julian of Norwich, Mass at the University Chaplaincy at Cambridge, and afternoon at Holkham Hall and a few hours at sunny and quaint Wells-next-the-Sea.

So this year - next Friday - we are heading off to North Wales, where Holywell, shrine of St

Winefride (right), is close to Pantasaph, retreat centre of the Capuchin fathers and national shrine of St Pio of Pietralcina, better known as Padre Pio. We will be based at Llandudno, and take in Snowdonia, Anglesey and Portmeirion to the west, and to the east Chester and Liverpool, where I am looking forward to celebrating Mass in the Blessed Sacrament Chapel at the Cathedral.

No doubt, as always, the Lord will have some interesting experiences up his divine sleeve. Last year we were not able to have our own opening Mass at Norwich, but joined the parish Mass. I had a quick moan to the Lord, suggesting he find a little spot later in the day for us to mark the beginning of our pilgrimage. When we got to the church of Julian of Norwich (left) in the afternoon, lo and behold, it was completely empty. I was able to speak, and we were able to reflect and pray, setting the scene for the days ahead, helped by some of her thoughts.

God is good - or as Julian would say "All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

Musical morsels

Hit single of the year, so I gather, is "Despacito" by Puerto Rican Luis Fonsi and Daddy Yankee later remixed with Justin Bieber no less.  Well I'm more than happy to inform you that curiosity triumphed, and so I became number 501,505,533 to watch it on YouTube.  Half a billion views - absolutely amazing.  Then I discovered that the pre-Bieber original video has amassed, er, 3,333,741,910 - yes three and one third billion views. Apparently tourism to Puerto Rico has rocketed - because of a song! Incidentally, speaking a little Spanish, I can tell you the lyrics get, um, sort of raunchy as they say - amazing what I learned in three months in Spain back in 1971 living with students.  Another century, another life...

Since I was last blogging what have I been listening to?  Well, via their big hit "Pompeii" I got into the band Bastille and their two albums "Bad Blood" and "Wild World", each of which has got a clutch of excellent songs.  Jack Savoretti's "Written in Scars" (live here) caught my attention as did James Bay's "Hold Back the River" with its universal feeling of wanting to stop time.  Christine and the Queens and their strangely beautiful video to "Tilted" is very unusual, as was Rag'n'Bone Man's "I'm Only Human", which made into a sermon one Sunday. Then via the film "The Way" whose soundtrack includes Alanis Morissette's song "Thank U" (nice unplugged version here), I've been listening to some of her stuff - only about 20 years late! 

On Youtube I recently bumped into a big American percussion-based band called Stikyard (right).

A dozen or so young guys bashing their drums and stuff for the Lord, they are Christian in origin, it seems they also perform at "secular" gigs. Their version of "Then Sings My Soul" is pretty amazing - best played loud! On the classical front I seemed to reach a plateau a few years back, and have  a huge store of CDs covering a wide spread. Lastly, the 50th anniversary of Sergeant Pepper's got me dusting that down and rediscovering it. I remember well it coming out, learning it as fast as I could, every word, and singing it with my friends. Hard to imagine nowadays one band or singer dominating the scene as the Beatles did. If you hadn't learned the words, you were nobody...  There was some kind of simplicity about it, and, despite the hints of drugs etc etc there was a deep humanity and goodness.

Cardiff Now and Then...

Regulars may remember that two of my interests are my own family history and the history of my home city of Cardiff.  I actually have over 3,500 people on my family tree - as in "get a life". A great resource for things Cardiffian is "Cardiff Now and Then".  

This is a group on Facebook, and I can really recommend it to anyone with an interest in Cardiff both present and past. Like all groups there, once you have joined you can post anything to do with the city, see what everyone else has put on - and, sometimes the most interesting part of all - read the comments, which sometimes run into dozens, as folks share their stories and views.

Some of the most fascinating and thought-provoking pictures are of the poorer parts of Cardiff. Special mention must be made of the "courts" - tiny cramped collections of humble homes squeezed in between the main streets like St Mary Street and the Hayes. My great grandparents lived in Giles Court at one point. Historians estimate that there were over 50 such courts scattered through what is now the city centre, but only one or two survive, including Jones Court off Womanby Street near the Castle, now turned into comfortable office spaces.  According to Wikipedia "Each of the original 50 houses had just two rooms, and with no water supply or drainage, the occupants fared poorly in the cholera outbreak in the city in 1849." Many of these courts would have been populated by the Irish brought in or washed up to build the docks etc as Cardiff exploded in population in the second half of the nineteenth century.

Landore Court, further south, off St Mary Street and long gone, has become rather famous - or infamous - because of a couple of photos of it which survive, and surface from time to time on "Cardiff Now and Then". These seem to capture the scene very well, and remind us of what went into, and was the cost of, the foundations of modern Cardiff.  I'll leave you with them...

Anxious August

A levels results day - I can just about remember it, back in 1968. Looking at the evening news today, some of the young people were lamenting how hard it is that the system is going back in the direction of everything depending on a final exam.  This was always the case back in them there days of course. One girl was expressing her difficulty in remembering stuff she had learned at the beginning of Yr 12  (lower sixth OK?).  Bless...  What about all the stuff you have to learn throughout life?...

Anyway... I was the last year of the 11-plus, 1964 in Cardiff. Our headmaster at St Illtyd's, Br Claude, was out of step with the incoming tide of comprehensive education - he had enabled the brightest stream in our school to do O-levels (sort of GCSEs - keep up there) a year earlier. So that meant you did A-levels early too, in turn meaning that if you wanted to take a shot at the Oxbridge entrance exams at the Christmas

afterwards, you could, and still not lose a year.  Now that was a killer week of exams - I did them in French and Spanish, three hours each morning and afternoon  Monday to Wednesday in one week, with a final one of Friday. I remember dragging myself up the school drive on the Friday at 4.30 or something, after everyone else had gone. I was relieved, of course, but suddenly realised this was also my last day in school, a dramatic moment. 

I can remember the day just around Christmas that the vital letter from Downing College, Cambridge (below, my first year room 2 windows immediate top right of portico) plopped through the letter-box. I was still in bed, when Mum or Dad brought it up. I opened it and read the contents - then turned over and stayed in bed a bit longer!  Typical teenager I guess.