October 2018

As threatened or promised, this offering is late. But I am now back in situ after nearly a month spent gallivanting in furrin parts, during which time I was able to put my despair over the state of the world on hold. Alas, now the dreadful consequences of the Indonesian tsunami and earthquake are naturally on every telecast, as is the dire business of the U.S. Senate hearing involving the unlovely Brett Kavanaugh. Just as you think things cannot get worse, they do.

Still, it is our duty, I think, to dwell on positive things, and there are many of them, thank goodness. Everybody should have a fairy godmother; I have one, and her magic wand enabled me to dash about the dis-United Kingdom for about three weeks. And that, of course, was a very positive thing to do. The sceptr’d isle is just as beautiful as ever, and I felt it a pity I could only ‘do’ England, when there is so much to see in all four countries. But I am not complaining.

Before I went I wondered whether I should mention the dread Brexit, but in the event found people all too ready to talk about it. Predictably, my friends, most of whom are of a similar persuasion, are moaning and groaning in quite real distress. I remember thinking at the time of the vote that nobody could predict the consequences of a Leave decision and for once in my life I was right: the result so far is an unholy mess. And I don’t think Theresa May’s dancing can put any sort of gloss on the matter…

As usual, I tried to do too much in too short a time, but am now pleased that I covered so much ground in a bid to see friends who live at either end of the country. So I visited Hexham in Northumberland, Penzance in Cornwall, Chichester, London and Norwich. And seemed to be on the go most of the time. In the north I visited a new visitors’ centre on Hadrian’s Wall, walked a lot, and entered a hide for the first time. ‘It’s rather like church,’ said my friend, ‘in that nobody talks.’ Sure enough, the assembled birdwatchers sat in sepulchral silence, binoculars clamped to eyes as they sought out swans, herons, and smaller feathered friends.

While in the north, I visited York Minster. At last. I have glimpsed it several times while the Edinburgh bound train was paused at York station, but had never got any closer than that until last month. Of course it is quite overwhelming, unsurprisingly, seeing that it is the largest medieval Gothic cathedral in Northern Europe, and about 800 years old. I learned, however, that the history of the site dates back about 2000 years, and that there were two former Minsters there, while during the 1960s and 70s the remains of Roman barracks were discovered. It was in York that the Roman Constantine, he of the momentous conversion to Christianity, was proclaimed Emperor. Friend and I wandered the Minster for nearly three hours, and there was still a lot that we missed. The stained glass, some of which dates from the 13^thcentury, was uniformly stunning, but I think our agreed favourite was the ceiling of the Chapter House, with its star and rose pattern. On the right of the Chapter House doors, which also date from the 13^thcentury, is a Latin inscription that translates as: As the rose is the flower of flowers, so this is the house of houses. Agreed.

There is still a great deal to report, of course, and I will have food for thought for months on end. And there is always an amusing incident to record. My favourite concerns the fact that I was in North London, home to a large Jewish community, at the time of the Jewish Feast of the Tabernacles, or Sukkot,during which time devout Orthodox Jews eat and sleep in shelters which remind them of the temporary dwellings used during harvests and during the years of the long Jewish exile. 

I was walking up St John’s Wood High Street when I noticed a big black car with a tabernacle hitched on behind. There were three Hasidim men in attendance, with the usual black coats, wide hats and side-locks. They were also clutching specimens of the four species: a citrus fruit and fronds from the date palm, myrtle and willow. These have to be waved during prayers. I think the idea was that passers-by could stop and perform a mitzvah without too much trouble. 

One man approached me. ‘Are you Jewish?’ he asked enthusiastically. I had to disappoint him, but smiled as I shook my head. (I have been asked this question before.) Alas, there didn’t seem to be too many takers. But for me, at least, the memory will linger on.