Author: Peter Toon

“Nothing, to my way of thinking, is better proof of a well-ordered mind than a man’s ability to stop just where he is and pass some time in his own company”

Not as you might think a quotation from some guru during the recent weeks of lockdown, but words from one of the letters of the political adviser and philosopher Seneca, written in the first century AD.

Generalisations are always false (including this one) but it seems to me that whilst many younger people mostly feel constrained by the lockdown and long for it to end so we can “get back to normal” – (whatever that will be), a lot of older people are thoroughly enjoying it. I can remember when I was young feeling strange if I did not go out all day, even if it were only to the corner shop; now not going out seems normal, and if it were not for the demands of Poppy for the sniffing and poo-ing opportunities the wider world offers (and a slight guilt about becoming a coach potato) I often would not have taken up my daily exercise allowance.

For fifteen years following the fall of communism in Eastern Europe I travelled a lot for work; perhaps twenty trips to Russia, flying to Northern Macedonia every month for early three years, and lots of other teaching visits and a few flights for pleasure. As a consequence when I retired from academic life in 2009 I was sick of travel and particularly sick of airports. Since then I have flown only once, to Rome – and that only because bizarrely there is no other sensible way of getting there from the South of France.

When I was a student equipped with a Eurail pass I travelled overnight from Paris, down the Rhone valley and woke up on the coast where the Alps meet the Mediterranean and Italy meets France and arrived in Rome at tea-time. It took 20 hours and was hot and sticky, but it was possible. Now in the age of the TGV this service no longer exists and the train journey involves three changes which would have been too much for Yvan’s mother, so we flew from Lyon.

Apart from that the only major trips I have made have been by bicycle – Arles to Compostella in 2012 and Cape Wrath to Broadstairs in 2014. That and shuttling between Canterbury and Avignon by train or car has provided all the variety of place I felt in need of.

Lockdown for me has therefore just accelerated a process which was already going on – journeying not around the world but into the rich world which can be reached without moving from home. By this I don’t mean internet substitutes for travel; Zoom conversations or travel documentaries, fun though those can be, but the exploration of the worlds of ideas and activities which can be done without going outside one’s front door.

The phrase “Travelling in” is sometimes used for spiritual exploration, as in Monica Furlong’s book of that name. Teresa of Avilla uses the same idea in her image of exploring the interior castle, whilst from a different branch of the Christian tradition John Bunyan sees life as a journey through time to the Eternal City, whether one moves in space or not.

This may well be part of it, but whilst medieval anchoresses may have been able to spend three quarters of their day in prayer I do not have the spiritual stamina for that. For me the travel of the mind is exploring new areas of the immensity of human knowledge; learning about the history of Rome, Byzantium China and Japan through podcasts; discovering or rediscovering authors like Rose Macaulay and Alexander McCall Smith, whose use of language and exploration of human relationships is a tremendous delight (and perhaps a contribution to spiritual growth in a sense broader than Lady Loretta or Teresa of Avilla might have seen it). Being cut off from libraries and charity book shops, where I have always enjoyed wasting time, I was forced to explore the unread or forgotten riches of my own book collection which has borne great fruits. I have even gradually developed the courage to tackle some of the weightier works of theology and philosophy which reflect the triumph of aspiration over experience which so often motivates our book buying habits.

But travelling in does not have to be intellectual – or even mental, in the sense that reading or listening to PG Wodehouse or Agatha Christie is mental but can hardly be considered intellectual. Practising (in both senses) manual skills is an important element in the mix, both because they are intriguing and satisfying and because variety is important for interior as for exterior travel (as anyone who has endured the endless unchanging landscapes of the American mid-West or Western Australia will understand). I am not a manually skilled person ( I was advised against a future in surgery very early in my career) but I have found knitting,pottery and marquetry and pottery immensely satisfying worlds to explore.

Through marquetry one learns to look seriously at wood, feel its texture, experience its smell and the fine details of its colour and pattern, as well as develop the (harder than it might appear) skill of cutting it precisely where you want it to be cut. Pottery similarly draws one into shapes, substances and manual skills – though it is not practical in lockdown as it can’t really be done at home as you need too much equipment and varied materials.

I recently started to learn to knit. So far I can only do scarves, but have found it very restful and relaxing – somewhat like needlepoint which I had done before, but with more practical products. It makes a very good accompaniment to listening to music – another interior continent to visit, with familiar lovely landscapes as well as huge unexplored forests. My lockdown project is to work through the Bach cantatas – an extraordinary collection of over 200 works, mostly rarely performed and little known but some of them including music just as good as the familiar Passions and Christmas Oratiorio.

So perhaps Seneca is right – lockdown is giving us a chance to order our minds and learn to stay where we are.

Instead of “Stay at Home” we are now being asked to “Stay Alert”. No-one seems quite sure what this means, but it feels as if we have been gradually developing our alertness skills since lockdown started.

As I see it, the basic principle of alertness must be to assume that every person you see is furiously shedding coronavirus, and every object outside the house is covered with it.

Whilst 2 metres is the statutory minimum of social distancing, alertness means going further than this whenever you can. I feel like a Talmudic scholar, “putting a fence around the law” when I cross the road to avoid someone coming the way when the distance between us closes to 10 metres. I’ve noticed that when people do this (and we aren’t the only ones who have this policy) then they give a cheery greeting to negate what would formerly have been seen as an offensive snub.

We try not to touch anything we haven’t brought with us when we are outside the house – I’ve developed a neat flick of the wrist to get Poppy’s filled poo-bag into the waste bin without touching the sides. Just before lockdown I saw some white cotton gloves in the chemist and bought two pairs. I think they are intended for people with skin diseases of the hands to stop them scratching and keep oily ointments off everything they touch. They work very well as a protection when one has to handle things from the virus-laden world – although they make me feel a bit like the White Rabbit in Alice in Wonderland.

A medical education (coupled with a mother who, like Marcel Pagnol’s, was convinced everything is covered with “les microbes”) comes in very useful when living through an epidemic; those years of being shouted at by bossy theatre sisters are at last reaping dividends! So for example it is second nature to peel off my cotton gloves (or the disposable plastic ones which we found in the garden shed, having been bought to protect against creosote rather than Covid) so that they end up inside out. That way they can be disposed with the viruses carefully trapped inside, or in the case of the cotton ones washed in 10% bleach. This has over the weeks turned them a rich cream,, so I look like a White Rabbit whose mother doesn’t use Persil, but since we are told that this mixture kills the virus in one minute that is a small price to pay.

When I have just come in or touched something suspect I find myself walking about with my hands in the air, arms bend upwards at the elbows like a surgeon waiting for the patient to be wheeled in, and opening door with my elbows (unfortunately we don’t have taps that you can do that with).

I’ve developed a no-touch technique for opening letters without touching the envelope, using a paperknife in one hand and holding the envelope in a piece of kitchen roll in the other. Given the speed of the mail I think I can safely assume any viruses on the hand of the person who wrote it will have died – probably years ago.

We have established a decontamination zone just outside the back door, where groceries and other incoming goods can be swabbed in 10% bleach and then rinsed off after a few minutes. Most things which can’t survive this treatment, such as vegetables, or things we don’t need for a while, can go into a quarantine zone we have established in a large plastic box in the former coal-hole.

Doing this takes a certain degree of obsessionality (which is where the Pagnol mother and the surgical education come in handy) but it soon becomes second nature. And it’s probably worthwhile, not only to reduce the risk of actually getting the infection, but to reduce the viral load if we do.

Viral load is an important concept which hasn’t appeared much in Government briefing. Basically how sick you get if you get infected depends partly on you – age, gender, chronic health problems all affect your vulnerability. But so too does how much virus you get when you get it. If you only get a tiny bit – say from touching a contaminated doorhandle or an envelope – the chances of you getting really ill are less than if you get a big dose, being breathed over by someone incubating the virus for a 20 minute tube journey. That may be why people like bus drivers, care workers and hospital staff have died even though they were young and with no vulnerability factor.

Quite early on in the epidemic I saw a Facebook post which said the way to what we now have to call “staying alert” was to pretend you are in Holby City (or Casualty, or whatever your favourite medical soap is). Perhaps we should all watch a few episodes on Youtube as part of our preparation to “Stay Alert”. This looks like having to become a way of life for everyone.

Like a lot of people, I am using some of my lockdown time to sort out things in the house. Actually I had already decided to do that because my mother died last autumn, and making room for the stuff from her home we didnt want to give away or sell meant some de-cluttering was necessary in any case. But the peace of social distancing has encouraged me to go further with this than I otherwise might have done.

My bookshelves are full of books which I bought and never got round to reading, or read long ago and have forgotten about. One of the great pleasures of enclosure has been finding and reading or rereading some of these:

Sara Maitland’s book of stories inspired by the Stations of the Cross in St John’s Bethnal Green. I read Simon of Cyrene in my Passiontide meditation, but the others too are well written, and several moved me to tears. The story of Veronica is also deeply moving – it emerges she was the woman whose haemorrhage was cured by touching the hem of the garment Jesus was wearing, and so wiping his face was a small repayment for her healing. That will defintely come out next Lent.

A book written by a patient of mine twenty-five years ago when I was in London; I probably read it at the time but had forgotten all about it. I reread it and found it was a well written, thoughtful fairytale which like Tolkien or the Narnia stories tells great truths about the nature and purpose of life. I found the email address of the author on the web and got back in touch with her, to our mutual delight.

I found and re-read “The Hound and the Falcon” – a strange but fascinating set of letters by Antonia White, written during her return to faith in the early days of World War II. Some people have compared the current crisis to those times, but reading a contemporary account makes it clear it was very different and much, much more terrible – not least because it was unleashed deliberately by human beings on each other.

A E Housman’s “A Shropshire lad” was lodged between two scores in my printed music collection. How it got there I cannot imagine but finding it again I cant resist sharing one of my favourite poems in it:

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now, of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

Sorting out the CD’s has produced some finds too; Dvorak’s Mass in D I sang on a tour in Avignon twenty years ago – a lovely and underperformed piece. Underperformed too are the Bach Cantata’s which we bought as part of a very cheap box of his collected works some years ago. There are over 200 and many of them contain music as fine as in the Passions and the Christmas Oratorio which we hear regularly. I’ve printed off a list and hope to listen to them all in time, though we will probably have a vaccine for Covid 19 before I have finished them.

Not everything is worth keeping; the garage is slowly filling with boxes to go to the charity shops when they reopen. But I amrealising that by having fewer books, less stuff in general, it is easier to see and appreciate what I do have and to use it properly. Perhaps a metaphor for life in general.

This morning I found a book of French poetry which includes this gem I had never read before, by Marcelene Desbordes- Valmore whom I had never heard of:

‘irai, j’irai porter ma couronne effeuillée
Au jardin de mon père où revit toute fleur ;
J’y répandrai longtemps mon âme agenouillée :
Mon père a des secrets pour vaincre la douleur.

J’irai, j’irai lui dire au moins avec mes larmes :
” Regardez, j’ai souffert… ” Il me regardera,
Et sous mes jours changés, sous mes pâleurs sans charmes,
Parce qu’il est mon père, il me reconnaîtra.

Il dira: ” C’est donc vous, chère âme désolée ;
La terre manque-t-elle à vos pas égarés ?
Chère âme, je suis Dieu : ne soyez plus troublée ;
Voici votre maison, voici mon coeur, entrez ! “

Ô clémence! Ô douceur! Ô saint refuge ! Ô Père !
Votre enfant qui pleurait, vous l’avez entendu !
Je vous obtiens déjà, puisque je vous espère
Et que vous possédez tout ce que j’ai perdu.

Vous ne rejetez pas la fleur qui n’est plus belle ;
Ce crime de la terre au ciel est pardonné.
Vous ne maudirez pas votre enfant infidèle,
Non d’avoir rien vendu, mais d’avoir tout donné.

Very comforting for someone who often feels like a flower that is no longer beautiful.

When I decided to call myself “an involuntary anchorite” in my lockdown blog, I realised that it was either a joke (like a duchess calling her stately home “my little place in the country”) or immensely arrogant. Loretta lived in one room about the size of our parlour: I have two other sitting rooms as well as a bedroom and a garden in my “enclosure”. I have three or four hundred books to read – and can get more for my Kindle anytime I wish – whilst she would probably have had three or four at most – before the invention of printing even great monasteries would have fewer books than I do.

I also have a kitchen, which means that my life can include the practical pleasures of cooking and soothing physical jobs like washing up. Like any noble lady Loretta would not have cooked for herself even if she had access to a kitchen. Presumably she must have cleaned her own room as there was no-one else to do it, but otherwise her life would be a bit like living in a retreat house, with others taking responsibility for the practicalities of life.

I am sharing my isolation with my husband Yvan and Poppy – a delightful shit zui dog inherited when my mother died a few months ago, and an excuse for walks and a constant source of joy and amusement. Anchoresses were only allowed a cat, and as dog person I would consider that a very poor substitute. And I do wonder how they stayed healthy enough to live into their 80’s, as Loretta did. Despite taking Poppy for a walk most days when on the first nice day for weeks I went out on my bicycle for 20 minutes I realised that I had become seriously unfit. It will take a few months of trips considerably longer than the hour we are allowed before I am fit enough for that other great medieval activity – going on pilgrimage.

So like many people in the 21st century I am in many ways much better off than any 13th century noblewoman, let alone an anchoress. But there are similarities too. Loretta had a window through which she could talk to those who wished to do so, and a manservant who could take messages around the country; I have email and the telephone. Both are ways in which one can influence others – as we know Loretta did by encouraging the Franciscans. I’m not sure my messages will be as effective but the intent is similar.

Another similarity is the relationship to the mass; Loretta took part in it through a window into the church; I can share in the Eucharist through the screen of my computer. In both cases the participation is real but somewhat different from the experience of Communion we are used to. But actually our experience now is perhaps closer to that of most Christians at most times. For most of us these days when we go to the Eucharist, Mass, Lord’s Supper or Holy Communion – whatever we call it – we expect to share physically in the bread and wine. But although the Ancrene Wisse advises that anchoresses should “attend” mass daily, they are only to take communion 15 times a year. By medieval standards this was frequent communion – many Christians would only receive once a year. In Orthodox churches it is still common for a minority to take communion at most services and even my parent’s generation were taught to take communion once a month, usually at a service at 8 am.

It is said that familiarity breeds contempt, and whilst it would be wrong to say that modern Christians are contemptuous of the Sacrament, we do perhaps rather take it for granted. An important reason for infrequent communion amongst so many groups of Christians was not that they didn’t think it important (although that may have been the case with some Protestant groups who saw the Lord’s Supper as merely a memorial meal) but because they thought it was VERY important. Careful preparation was needed – by confession to a priest, or by careful “self examination” for those wary of that practice. And fasting beforehand was important too – hence those early services, with much discussion as to whether a cup of tea beforehand was legitimate or not.

Perhaps taking part in services online where we cannot physically take the Sacrament will make us appreciate it more when we can do so, and also understand that there are other ways we can participate in the heavenly banquet.

So – my first Easter in lockdown; though perhaps not the last, if the worst predictions about the virus’s ability to fight back – mutation, the possibility of second infections – is true. How different has it been from normal?

In a way it’s been busier. Instead of singing in the choir and preaching one sermon, on Easter Day, I was asked to write and record three reflections; on the Lamentations of Jerimiah for Holy Monday, on Foot washing for Maundy Thursday and on the Harrowing of Hell for Holy Saturday. We usually open our garden as a quiet space, and the Quiet Garden Trust who support us in this have asked for virtual quiet gardens, so that was another recording with pictures this time. So it felt as if I spent much of Holy Week on the computer.

When we got to Maundy Thursday I joined in the Bishop’s service which replaced the Chrism Mass in the morning, and the Mass of the Last Supper in the Evening. I kept the vigil in my bedroom with just a candle and the dog asleep on the bed (she is why it had to be in the bedroom – she would have complained if I’d left her alone in the evening!) after a short vigil in the garden – also with the dog, which was why it was short – she didnt like staying out in the cold! I was surprised to experience the same deep silence as at the Altar of Repose. I was able to “drop in” to St Mary’s Primrose Hill, where the vicar had made a small altar of repose in a corner of her house as well as read through the last supper discourse in John’s gospel – one of the most beautiful sermons every preached.

The realisation that I was part of the whole Christian world keeping the Tridium was perhaps the most powerful element of the experience of the three days. I was able to hear the Passion sung to Stephen Barker’s contemporary setting, but also the Passion of Victoria which I have been singing for 50 years sung by a virtual choir in Wakefield; the new fire and pascal candle lit in a North London vicarage garden, the Exultet sung by a friend who is a deacon in Deal, and the Eucharist celebrated in the Archbishop of Canterbury’s kitchen.

The other thing I have become aware of this year, writing reflections and watching different services online at different times, is that Holy Week and Easter are a unity As a singer Holy Week and Easter are always a bit muddled – you have to practise the “alleluias” of Easter Day before you have sung the “Hosanna”s of Palm Sunday and the “Crucify”s of Good Friday ( though I did hear that one choirmaster made his choir sing “Four and Ninepence” instead of the word “Alleluia” when rehearsing during Lent). But going through it in time at one church as we usually do it is easy to experience it as one Easter video suggests as a ”comeback” after defeat. But this is wrong. As one commentator on that video said “ Jesus didn’t lose on Good Friday, but was victorious. The world just saw it on Easter Day.” That’s something to think about during this next forty days whilst looking at the many passion meditations and expressions of Easter joy which have been posted this year.

Christ is Risen – Alleluia – a Happy Easter to all!

Holy Week has some great dramatic services : The Palm Sunday Procession followed by the dramatic reading of the gospel, the Blessing of the Holy Oils on Maundy Thursday morning or the Foot washing and Stripping of the Altar in the evening, the starkness of Good Friday – the church bare, the Passion sung, the Cross unveiled and venerated, the simplest of communions. And greatest of all the Easter Vigil, with the solemn reading of the Old Testament story of salvation from creation onwards, preparing the ground as it were for the birth, death and resurrection of Jesus, the kindling of a fire, the lighting of the Pascal candle and its light spreading through the whole congregation the joyful proclamation of the Resurrection in the Exultete, followed by a cacophony of organ, bells and every other musical instrument leading to the singing of the Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

I will miss doing those at church, but if Palm Sunday is anything to go by the online service will be a reasonable if not ideal substitute. I certainly enjoyed waving my home made palm branches in the garden and putting them on the door as a sign that it was Palm Sunday afterwards.

But the thing I love best, and the thing I will miss most this year is the Watch after the Maundy Thursday Eucharist. Sitting in silence before the Blessed Sacrament . Sitting with others gazing at a piece of bread which encapsulates the mystery of God becoming human for us.

For some reason the silence is much deeper, the presence of God more tangible at this time then than at any other time of the year. I’m not sure why this is: Perhaps it’s partly sharing the silence with others; I had planned to go to a Quaker Meeting for Worship the first weekend that the churches were closed, and though I tried to spend the time sitting in silence listening to God it wasn’t the same on my own. Perhaps it’s because of the amazing service which has just happened, an emotional roller-coaster from singing the Gloria for the first time since the start of Lent though the foot washing which turns the world upside down, to the desolation of Psalm 22 and the stripping of the altars which ends the service. Perhaps it’s the effect of a pool of candlelight in a dark church, the smell of candles and flowers which honour the Sacrament and recreate the Garden of Gethsemene for us. Perhaps it’s that we are in a way in that Garden, where the bit of the Passion which for me is closest to our own experience; knowing something unpleasant has to be done and wanting to run away from it.

I’m not the only person to feel this is the most important part of Holy Week and Easter – someone described this time thus: ”In the candlelit silence in the chapel, seasoned with the prayers of generations of believers, sitting before the true presence of Christ, the radiant peace and gravity of Christ’s presence is palpable. The time here is markedly different from all others during the church year. “

The church sees the Watch as a re-enactment of that time in the Garden, and these days it ends with the reading of the arrest of Jesus from one of the Gospels. When I was young the Watch was kept on a rota through the night until the Good Friday Liturgy – a custom which perhaps originated in a concern that some evil person might carry of the Sacrament and use it for satanic purposes. Traditionally people try to watch for an hour, which always feels a bit like trying to outdo the disciples who fell asleep, and to whom Jesus said “ could you not watch with me one hour”? Sometimes I manage an hour, but more often like the disciples my flesh is too weak to last out that time.

I’m wondering how to keep the watch this year:

If the weather permits I might go into my own garden for a while after the Maundy Thursday service. That would feel like following the example of the disciples in a different way from usual. However April being the cruellest month, its unlikely to be warm enough to stay outside for an hour – and certainly not warm enough to go to sleep!

I may try sitting on my own in a dark room with just a candle lit – that might remind me of the atmosphere at the altar of repose.

These days I often wake up in the night – perhaps instead of trying to go back to sleep I can do a bit of watching then?

The watch ends with the reading of a gospel account of the arrest of Jesus: this year it is Luke 22.31-62. I think I will try to read this last thing before I go to bed.

The Church also provides a number of other Bible passages which may be read during the watch:

John 13.16-30
Psalm 113
John 13.31-end
Psalm 114
John 14.1-14
Psalm 115
John 14.15-end
Psalm 116.1-9
John 15.1-17
Psalm 116.10-end
John 15.18–16.4a
Psalm 117
John 16.4b-15
Psalm 118.1-9
John 16.16-end
Psalm 118.10-18
John 17.1-19
Psalm 118.19-end
John 17.20

I may try to spend part of the evening reading John’s last supper discourses – not sure I can cope with all those psalms!

A priest friend once told me he tried to pray for everyone he knows during the Watch – that sounds
like a good thing to do at this difficult time.

I wonder what it would be like to spend 40 minutes (the longest you are allowed unless you pay a fee) on Zoom with others in silence?


What do you think? You can add comments to this blog – please add your suggestions as to how to keep the Watch in this year of lockdown.

Also it would be good if you could tell us which bits of Holy Week mean the most to you, and any ideas on how to make them as real in this year of lockdown as they usually are.

Cooking and Food March 30

The Ancrene Wisse advises anchoresses:

You shall eat twice every day from Easter until the Holyrood day, (14th September), except on Fridays, and Ember days, and procession days and vigils. In those days, and in the Advent, you shall not eat any thing white, except necessity require it. The other half year you shall fast always, except only on Sundays.

 You shall eat no flesh nor lard except in great sickness; or whosoever is infirm may eat potage without scruple ; and accustom yourselves to little drink. Nevertheless, dear sisters, your meat and your drink have seemed to me less than I would have it. Fast no day upon bread and water, except you have leave.

So they were vegetarian all the year round, and in the coldest half of the year followed fasting rules, which was only one meal a day taken after 3 pm (the hour Christ died on the Cross).

Loretta, like many anchoresses had a maidservant who cooked for her – as a noble woman she wouldn’t have been used to cooking and in any case it would probably have been impractical if not lethal within an anchorhold.

For us modern anchorites eating and cooking are one of the pleasures of our enclosure. Since buying fresh bread is impossible without going shopping frequently ( this must be one of the horrors of lockdown in France where people buy bread once even twice a day) I have gone back to baking my own. The act of mixing and kneading is soothing and contemplative, I’m not going out so I can put it to prove and check when it is ready to bake, and the sight, smell and taste of bread you have made yourself is very satisfying.

I’ve also tried some breads made with baking powder instead of yeast. The Jewish Cheese bread was a particular success. If you were caught without yeast when lock down hit and want to try it email me for the recipe!

Another Anchoress – March 31^st

Our anchoress  Loretta  at St Stephen’s had a sister, Annora. She was imprisoned by King John but unlike her brother and mother she survived. She followed her sister’s example and became an anchoress – at Iffley, near Oxford. Last year I met Dr Hilary Pearson, an expert in medieval spirituality who lives in Iffley so naturally has an interest in Annora. Like me she sees the anchorite life as having useful lessons for our present experience. She writes:

Ancrene Wisse gives a lot of guidance for dealing with the temptations that the anchoress is likely to experience. Some of these we are also likely to experience, particularly once the novelty of our situation has worn off and no end is in sight, such as anger, sloth and envy. The anchoress is told that she must always be on her guard, and that the only way to defeat these temptations is to have concern for others, and to constantly pray and meditate on Christ’s life and sufferings. So, we should use this time to care for others in any way possible, and to keep in touch through phone calls, emails or social media. And perhaps we should use some of this free time to learn more about our faith through reading and meditating on the Scriptures, and through books or materials on the Internet.

You can read her whole article and also find links to more about Annora and Anchoresses  (as well as  to information and pictures on one of the most lovely Romanesque churches in England) at https://iffleychurch.org.uk/heritage/self-isolation-lessons-from-annora/

Lost in Space Saturday 4th April

I haven’t written much in my diary this week. Most of my writing energy has been devoted to preparing for Holy Week. Instead of just one sermon, which was what I had expected to do this week before the lockdown, I have written four meditations: and all these have to be recorded, and suitable images found to illustrate them. It’s enjoyable creative work but it doesnt leave much time for diarying.

Something which has also taken my attention this week is the problems faced by those who were away from home when the virus struck. A Russian friend of mine emailed me to say she was stuck at Luton Airport. She was travelling from St Petersburg to Switzerland to work at a conference as an interpreter – because of the bizarreness of airline ticket prices she had booked to get there via Luton, England. Unfortunately, whilst she was en route to Luton, Switzerland closed its borders and she was not allowed onto her connecting flight. After Switzerland she had planned to go to Israel (although she is Russian she has an Israeli passport) so she tried to change her ticket to go there directly from Luton. Although the airline was prepared to do that, the flight the next day was full, the flights for the next three days were cancelled, so she was booked to fly in four day’s time. She spent these four days and nights living, sleeping and eating in the airport.

Unsurprisingly during those four days the euros she had brought with her for her trip began to run out, so she contacted her friends to see if we could help her. Some of us managed to transfer money to her account (not easy – the bureaucracy involved in sending money to Russia can be difficult – I remember one occasion when a distinguished professor and I flew to St Petersburg with two thousand pounds from a UK Government Grant hidden as dollars amongst our underwear in our suitcases, because there was no other reliable way we could get it there!).

After my friend had waited four days for her flight, it was cancelled at the last minute. She was given one night free in an airport hotel as compensation (which at least meant she got to sleep in a bed) but was then returned to the airport to wait for the next flight, another four days away. After another day and night in Luton Airport she was told all future flights to Tel Aviv by her airline were now cancelled and she would have to leave the airport. She decided that the only way to get to Israel was to go to Heathrow. Fortunately whilst she was travelling there enough Euros arrived in her account to buy a new ticket with another airline, and she got to Israel the next morning. She is now self-isolating for two weeks in case she has caught the virus on this complicated trip.

A harrowing story which makes me grateful I was at home with a garden when all this started.

I’ve decided to keep my diary manageable I will start a new page on my blog every Sunday. If you want to start from the beginning the go back to the page without a number

Getting real – Mothering Sunday

Even though it has changed our lives, for most of us Covid 19 is still something pretty abstract – we hear the death figures on the news, but so far a lot of us (me included) don’t actually know anyone who has had the virus, let alone died of it. But in the last few days I have heard of two people whom I do know who have lost a friend or relative in the epidemic. One is someone my mother-in-law was at school with in France, whom we have often visited; she is French but of Italian origin, and two relatives on the Italian side of the family have just died. The other is a priest who spent a few months in our parish during his training – he has lost a friend from college.

The other thing which has made it real is that it is Sunday. Now I dont work I quite often have a quiet day at home – reading, writing, cooking, gardening – so although a series of such days is unusual, none of the last weekdays has felt that strange. But on Sunday I almost always go to church – twice to sing in the choir if I am at St Stephen’s, maybe preaching or taking Evensong. When we are in France I go to the local Roman Catholic or Orthodox church in the morning, and often there is a concert in a local church in the afternoon – a different sort of churchgoing.

Today I had planned to go to Quaker meeting – partly because I do that sometimes, and partly to avoid the Family worship. Avoiding the inevitable Rutter anthem is always attractive, but also this being the first Mothering Sunday when I no longer have a living mother I preferred not to be so forcefully reminded of what I had lost.

I tried to sit quietly as in Meeting for Worship alone but its much harder not to be distracted and I only managed half an hour. I did however manage to “attend” the midday Eucharist streamed from the Cathedral – albeit a bit behind time as although I can hear the bell from my garden announcing the service I havent quite got the hang of how to get on as soon as they start streaming. But one advantage of an online service is when you’re late you can just rewind time and dont miss anything (the other advantage is that you can knit through the sermon, but don’t tell the Dean!) It was a simple but beautifully done service which if you couldn’t join in a service you can still see it below.

Monday 23rd March The Wisdom of beasts

The Ancrene Wisse advised anchoresses “you shall not possess any beast, my dear sisters, except only a cat. ”. St Julian of Norwich, probably the most famous anchoress, is usually portrayed with her cat. For the medieval anchoress a cat was probably a practical necessity to keep rats and mice away from her anchorhold. I don’t have a cat in my involuntary anchorhood, but I do have a beast – a small dog.

I should tell you about Poppy. She was my mother’s dog and a great comfort to her in her days of solitude after my father died. We often wondered what we would do for Mother when the dog died; in the event we found ourselves involuntary dog keepers when Mother died last September. I say “keeper” because to talk of dog owners is quite false – it’s as true to say they own you, for often they set the agenda and the pace, not you. I’m writing this on the sofa rather than in the library where I usually write because Poppy can sit beside me here.

Poppy is a great example of how to live. Her needs are simple – basically food, walks, sleep and human company. Her trust is amazing – she knows that if she barks eventually doors will open, food and water will appear, and someone will appear for company. She copes with abrupt changes in her life without fuss – small ones as when I decide to move around the house and pick her up and take her with me, to big ones like moving from Worcestershire to Canterbury to Avignon and back.

She is a perfect image of asking in faith “ the eyes of all wait upon Thee O Lord and thou givest the their meat is due season”

I suspect Loretta and her fellow anchoresses also learnt a bit about holiness from their cats. I hope I can be as content and as trusting as Poppy in the next few months.

A mistaken analysis – 24^th March 2020

Yesterday the Prime Minister announced legal measures to force people to stay at home to fight this epidemic. This morning I got a long email from a Russian friend, arguing that this was just another form of influenza and that we should fight it by carrying on as normal : “Stop doing nothing. Regain your human thinking, feeling, doings of the will. Move around, meet with people”

Otherwise, she argued, we would lose creativity, submit to fear and stop caring for the poor and disadvantaged.

I thought I would share my reply to her with you:

Thank you for your texts. You are right we are in a wartime situation, but I think you are wrong about its consequences and your response.

This is the first global pandemic for 100 years and the first time we have have had a chance to control it because of modern information technology . In the Black Death in 1349 one third of the population died. In 1919 between 20 and 50 million people died. If we just carry on as you suggest then as many could die in 2020 as in 1919. But China has shown that if everyone stays at home the epidemic can be controlled.

As for fear, although I am sure many are frightened most people seem to be supported by the love and care of their friends and neighbours, which does not need physical contact to be expressed. ? They are staying at home to protect their friends and those in the community they dont know but still care about Again we are fortunate – we have the telephone, email and skype to keep in touch which did not exist in 1919. We have radio and television to tell us what is happening throughout the world and keep us entertained.

As for creativity, it does not stop because we are at home; indeed the end to frantic rushing and pointless activity frees up time for creativity. I am writing, cooking new recipes, making bread, making music and knitting presents for those I love – all things I might not have found time for in normal times. Others tell me similar stories.

As for the poor, as always they will suffer most if the epidemic gets a grip. But in England we have seen the most right-wing government in decades spend huge amounts on supporting those whose livelihoods are threatened by the epidemic – a government which in normal times would expect people just to get on with it and let market forces rip.Let us pray that the changes we are seeing now will put a permanent end to the mad pursuit of wealth and exultation of economics over people which is and always has punished the poor and is destroying our planet.

And as for doing nothing, in two weeks time we will be remembering the death of someone who “did nothing ” and by his patient doing nothing – his suffering and death – transformed the world. Jesus who described himself as the Son of Man was as he predicted “given over into the hands of cruel men and crucified” . Whatever you believe about the Resurrection, think of the creativity, the care for the poor, the casting out of fear which his ” doing nothing” has unleashed. It has led to Bach, Gregorian Chant, Chatres cathedral, the roof of the Sistine Chapel – hows that for creativity? It has led to care for the poor – to Mother Theresa, St Francis, to the campaign to abolish the slave trade, to the prison reforms promoted by Elisabeth Fry – how is that for care for the poor? It led to Maximillian Kolbe taking the place of someone else in a Nazi death chamber; it led to Archbishop Romero speaking out against the oppression of the poor and being shot at the altar; it led to Perpetua and Felicity a slave girl and her mistress going hand in hand into the arena in Rome to face their death – how is that for casting out fear?

And all become someone 2000 years ago didn’t do anything. Let us all go and do nothing with such consequences.

Thursday 26^th

I’d imagined that lockdown would leave me oodles of time to do the things I don’t normally get round to. This has been true up to a point, but it is surprising how the days fill up – yesterday so much that I didnt get round to writing an entry in my diary. There were the normal things – walking Poppy, preparing dinner, washing up etc. Also my first attempt at a Tesco delivery which took me ages – partly getting used to the software and partly because I kept on thinking about things I’d forgotten – and a first and unsucessful attempt to record the meditation I had planned to do in person next Sunday in Sittingbourne and Canterbury. Software learning takes time – but one good thing to come out of this is that we’ll probably all be a lot more skilful.

I think also I’m doing less because the change of pace has slowed me down – in the same way as you slow down on holiday. I’m sleeping better and longer, despite the limitations on exercise, and it feels harder to keep going. Also the first sunny day it was fit to be outside was a temptation just to sit and doze in the sun. In a way it is nice to feel so relaxed – but I wonder if this goes to far it leads to accidie, the problem monks had of being listless depressed and unable to do anything in the middle of the day. Need to watch that.

If I should die….Friday 27th

According to data from China, the death rate from COVID-19 in those between 60 and 69 – my age group – is 3.6. Men are about twice as likely to die as women, which puts that up to around 4.8%. I have mild asthma which probably adds another 2 or 3 percentage points. That compares with a risk of around 1 % general mortality for a man of my age in the UK in normal circumstances; probably a bit less than that for me as I am not aware of having a disease likely to kill me.

So this pandemic increases my risk of dying this year about ten times. We all know we are going to die, but we avoid thinking about it most of the time. This virus makes us all more aware of our mortality. For me this awareness has made me more conscious of good things; having a nice meal, sitting by the fire listening to music with Yvan (my husband) and Poppy (our dog) feling the heat of the sun on my face.

A E Housman writing in the persona of a twenty year old that he could expect to see fifty more Springs (life expectancy has increased a bit since his day) , and that “ to look at things in bloom, Fifty springs are little room” so he would spend his time looking at the cherry blossom.

So as well as making sure my executor can find my will and sharing my funeral instructions, I plan to spend as much time as possible looking at the spring flowers in the garden. They are much more beautiful when I know this may be the last yearI see them

Poetry 28th March

Before all this started I had decided one of my Lenten tasks would be to sort out and cull my books. Like most of my aspirations for Lent it will only have been partly kept, but I have found and organised my books of poetry, and one of the slots I am trying to keep in my day is a time to read some poetry. Today I opened Alexander Pope for the first time for years, and found the Essay on Man:

Know then thyself, presume not God to scan
The proper study of mankind is man.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state,
A being darkly wise, and rudely great:
With too much knowledge for the sceptic side,
With too much weakness for the stoic’s pride,
He hangs between; in doubt to act, or rest;
In doubt to deem himself a God, or beast;
In doubt his mind and body to prefer;
Born but to die, and reas’ning but to err;
Alike in ignorance, his reason such,
Whether he thinks to little, or too much;
Chaos of thought and passion, all confus’d;
Still by himself, abus’d or disabus’d;
Created half to rise and half to fall;
Great lord of all things, yet a prey to all,
Sole judge of truth, in endless error hurl’d;
The glory, jest and riddle of the world.

As well phrased and as true as when written nearly 300 years ago.