On Easter Monday, the day after Easter Sunday, I rang my brother and wished him a happy Easter. ‘That was yesterday’, he replied. I said that we celebrated it for a whole week. ‘How many Easter eggs can you eat in a week?’ was the reply I got. Actually we…
On behalf of my community at Turvey Abbey I would like to express my gratitude to everyone who contributed to our ‘Clock in Distress’ fund to make it possible to have our two hundred year old tower clock restored. It was 12 December 2022, there was snow on the ground…
I was at All Saints church several times before Br Herbert’s funeral, and while I was there I said hello to one of my favourite dogs. He has been chewing at his mistress’ gown for centuries—it must be good material, he hasn’t made any impression on it so far. I mean,…
Labels, and names, are definitely useful, we couldn’t live without them, but how easy to misunderstand them—or misuse them. Down the road we have a water meter on the pipe that serves the trough in our field—it says ‘one trough’ on the bill. The meter is a challenge to read,…
Platinum Jubilee! I remember getting a name muddled. It was 1953, and I had just turned four years old. Mum had carnations in her little garden in Liverpool, and I was calling them ‘coronations’ it was a word I had heard a lot, it must have been the main news…
Out of Bounds ‘Out of Bounds!’ A tiresome school rubric which, loosely translated, meant: ‘If you are planning to go to that area, keep your head down’. I’ve been thinking about boundaries—a subject that could fly off unbounded in many directions, nearly all leading to philosophy and deep water. What…
It’s forty years this summer since my community moved from Cockfosters to Turvey Abbey. We didn’t all move on the same day, but by September 1981 we were all resident at the Abbey. I was with the community at the time, having become a novice in May that year. Here…
There are many possibilities for circular walks along the footpaths and bridleways around Turvey, and I have been enjoying trying them out. I like to see how the current paths compare with those shown on the old maps of Turvey Parish. Sometime last year I had walked to Picts Hill…
Actually, it’s not summer, but mid February. On the footpaths it is mud, glorious mud, the snowdrops at the bottom of our garden need little life jackets, lesser celandine is coming up all over the place, the days are lengthening . . . spring is creeping into our strange lockdown…
They’re after money again! Latest bright idea?—Tax the whole world. How? Conduct a census, order everyone back to their own town. It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, and you’ll get more than a fine if you ignore the Romans. Mary is expecting her first child at any time,…