Thurifer
A correspondent writes, without comment: ‘Rosemary Hill, God’s Architect: Pugin and the Building of Romantic Britain [2008] p. 113: ‘ …with that Welby family talent of which Pugin himself was not devoid, for stating the uncomfortably obvious in the most platitudinous terms…’
u
A resident in my leafy suburb, reckoned a major scholar and author in his own household, has dining rights in his former Oxbridge/Camford college. He received notification of a change to the booking system and charging when he exercised his rights. What annoyed him was that the email ended with the suggestion that if there were any questions that arose he should ‘reach out’ to the Bursar. ‘What is this ‘reaching out’ drivel?’ he asked. ‘Why not, ‘if you have any questions, please contact, ask, write, email’? If someone ‘reached out’ to me, I would slap their wrists. Impertinence.’ He has not yet come to terms with this brave new world of institutional angst.
u
To the Shrine of Our Lady of Walsingham for an autumn retreat. There were modest numbers of pilgrims but there was the usual buzz of conversation over bacon, sausage, hash browns, eggs, mushrooms, toast and coffee at breakfast in the Refectory. By happenstance a friend of some thirty years and his wife were also there and we had last met at the Shrine before the pandemic struck. It felt like a survivors’ reunion. Norton’s was closed in the evenings which signalled that perhaps not all had returned to normal at the Shrine. Numbers were impressive at the Roman Catholic National Shrine and Basilica for the mid-day Masses. Members of the Walsingham Association were there on retreat and it was a delight to see one or two members whom I knew from days before the schism. There were two excellent homilies at the midday masses, one by Fr Michael Rear (sometime Vicar of Walsingham) and the Rector, Rt Rev Mgr Canon Philip Moger. Last year there was a gratifyingly fierce sermon/homily, in content if not delivery, from one of the resident Friars. It had a distinct pre-Vatican II flavour to it. It may be entirely co-incidental that Mass in the Extraordinary Form is offered on the second Saturday in the month at 9 a.m. At the Anglican Shrine Wednesday Evening Devotions there was a very fine address by the Administrator before the candle-lit procession around the grounds and back for Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament.
u
There are ancillary delights in and around Walsingham. By tradition with my fellow retreatant we paid a visit to South Creake to wallow in the medievalism, both real and faux; and on to Binham Abbey for its remarkable survival and architectural oddity. Also to St Nicholas, St Mary, and St Thomas Becket, Blakeney for its spaciousness and elegance, which admirable features are blunted by a great deal of the inevitable clutter of parish life. A former incumbent was Bishop Mowbray Stephen O’Rourke whose effigy, under which his ashes are buried, is in the Walsingham Shrine, as you enter through the west door. It was Bishop (formerly of Accra) O’Rourke, who was enlisted by Fr Patten to consecrate the restored Shrine in 1932.
u
Blakeney is within the Norfolk Coast area of Outstanding Natural Beauty. It is recorded in Domesday Book and was a commercial seaport until the early 20th century. Its silted harbour is now a haven for small boats and birds. As we ate our picnic on the quayside on a beautiful sunny autumn day we saw flights of migratory birds swirling, wave after wave, over us in wave after wave. It was once to have been the destination of a railway line but those plans were never implemented. There is, however, a large and excellent hotel where, some years ago, was spent a agreeable and gastronomically satisfying Easter week.
u
This year with my fellow pilgrim, he is Don Quixote to my Sancho Panza, we sought out the grave of the Rev’d Harold Davidson, sometime Rector of Stiffkey. He made headlines in the Thirties for all the wrong reasons. In 1932, after a Consistory Court, he was defrocked for immorality. While Rector of Stiffley, he spent most of his weeks in London as the self-styled ‘Prostitutes’ Padre’. His defence was that his aim was to rescue young girls from falling into vice. His previous form did not help him. While a Chaplain in the Royal Navy during the Great War, he had been arrested in a brothel in Cairo. His hapless attempts to rescue his reputation and raise money for an appeal were as absurd as they were tinged with pathos. He revived his former career on stage as an entertainer and appeared in sideshows at Blackpool. However, it was in Skegness that his act of delivering an address before entering a cage with two lions ended the tragi-comedy of his life. His long-suffering and admirable parishioners took him back to be buried. On one of my earlier visits to the church, I spoke to an aged parishioner who was tending the graveyard. He had an early childhood memory of the Rector. Quite a moment. Books by Ronald Blythe and Matthew Parris are recommended.
u
Interviewee (Today Radio 4) ‘for me my personal self’.
u
When the rains came after the summer heatwave, as thunder and lightning rolled across the sky, as rain poured in torrents, Thames Water announced its hosepipe ban. Genius.