5/6/18 Last night I went on Ipswich Community Radio to talk about my church project on Get Classical with FJ. You can hear the interview here: www.mixcloud.com/ICRfm/04-06-18-get-classical-with-fj/
It was my first church outing since my Badley concert the previous Sunday, and I was feeling achy – probably more from my week’s gardening efforts than any residual concert tiredness – but I went out for the day with the aim of ‘tinkering’: it felt like a pleasant change to be able simply to have a quick play through a few pieces that I would be preparing over the coming months, in order to establish what needed most work, rather than having to sit down with the intention of practising seriously in each church. It also meant I could enjoy more church visits with rather less effort than in recent weeks.
St Mary’s, Earl Stonham
Outdoor temperature: 22˚C; indoor temperature 13.8˚C, humidity 61%
St Peter’s, Nowton
Outdoor temperature: 16.9˚C; indoor temperature: 14.8˚C, humidity 66%
It is rare that a church visit makes me cross – at least, if I manage to get inside. Nowton did, however. It reminded me of my potential for extreme irritability with both locked churches and stained glass.
St Margaret’s, St Margaret Ilketshall
Outdoor temperature: 22.5˚C; indoor temperature: 18.1˚C, humidity: 62%
I was starting to struggle with the Ilketshalls and the South Elmhams. I wasn’t entirely sure which I was in, as my map, road signs and the church sign simply said ‘St Margaret’. I found out eventually though, from the various documents posted on the church noticeboard. It was a round-towered church, my first since my trip to the Beccles area in February. White doves were sunbathing in the gutter.
St Michael’s, St Michael South Elmham
Outdoor temperature: 21.7˚C; Indoor temperature: 14.4˚C, humidity: 73%
I was greatly looking forward to the day’s church visits. I was spoilt for choice: within a fifteen minute drive I could have chosen any of about twenty churches, perhaps more. I had arranged to meet my cellist friend, Will, at Rumburgh for a late morning rehearsal, so I settled on St Michael South Elmham nearby. My decision involved some confusion around village and church names, as I found another church named on the map as ‘St Michael’s Priory church’. Having trouble finding out any further information about it, and feeling distrustful of its public access precisely due to the fact it was labelled, I decided to avoid it until later in the day, when I would be passing anyway and could investigate without causing myself any inconvenience.
St Mary’s, Withersdale Street
Outdoor temperature: 22.1˚C; indoor temperature 17.4˚C, humidity: 65%
Karen and Nick, at whose B&B I was staying, had told me the previous evening that there was a lovely church a mile or so down the road which was walkable via a footpath. Since then I had been tempted by the idea of my first ever cello hike. It was such beautiful weather, and I felt it was a short enough distance for a trial. So, after buying some lunch supplies at the village shop and sitting for a while in the sunshine, I emptied my bag of everything I didn’t absolutely need – including my music stand – and set off for Withersdale Street, in the knowledge that I could always abort the operation if it turned out I was being overly optimistic about the lightweight qualities of my new cello case.
St James’, St James South Elmham
Outdoor temperature: 19.3˚C; indoor temperature: 12.5˚C, humidity: 77%
I had arranged to play at Metfield church at 11am, in order to have time to warm up in another church beforehand. Consulting the map, I decided to make a start on ‘The Saints’, the 12 villages of South Elmham and Ilketshall all named after saints, of whose churches 11 are still in existence. I hadn’t realised they were all so close to Metfield.
The drive outside the church was busy: the noise of chainsaws and a wood chipper accompanied the sight of tree surgeons in their customary orange hats, and a truck full of gravel was parked by the churchyard gate. Two men were laying it on the church path, and the chancel was missing its roof. It appeared to be raining, but it wasn’t water coming from the sky. I couldn’t tell what it was; I thought perhaps it might be ash from a nearby bonfire.
I had missed a weekend over Easter, and I was also in desperate need of some serious cello practice for a concert in less than two weeks’ time, so I decided to treat myself to two nights away visiting churches. A friend’s parents who had recently moved from Felixstowe to Metfield – about an hour’s drive from my house, near Harleston on the Norfolk border – had asked me to let them know when I was planning to visit Metfield church as they wanted to come along to listen. I didn’t realise until later that they had moved to, and were going to run, a B&B in the village. What could be better than combining a stay there with church visits, I thought; so after lunch on a Tuesday, I set off, intending to visit Athelington on the way. It was a church which I had planned but failed to visit after Redlingfield the previous week.
The second year of my church project began as I hope it will continue: with cello, churches, chickens and a quite a few laughs.
While I was practising the cello at home, I suddenly had a flash of inspiration.
‘I’ve just come up with the most inspired excuse yet to get more chickens’, I texted my friend Jo.
You may be wondering what chickens have to do with cellos, or churches for that matter. The answer is quite a lot, if I have anything to do with it. But before I continue, a few pieces of background information may be required. The first is that my ‘creature maths’ is notorious for roughly observing the pattern of the Fibonacci sequence: if one chicken dies, no fewer than two new ones are needed to compensate for the loss. The second is that my friend Jo is the reason I started keeping chickens; third, she is a bishop; and fourth, she christened my three trousered and ridiculously fluffy-bottomed Brahma chickens Knicker, Bocker and Glory. (Photo right: foreground, a Glorious bottom; background left, white chicken with black tail: Bocker; background far right, grey chicken: Knicker)
My explanation to Jo continued: ‘I use the coins from my egg sales to leave donations in the churches I visit, and I keep running out of coins. I need a more constant supply of coins = I need a more constant supply of surplus eggs to sell = I need more chickens. How about that for good maths!’
30/4/2018 I love swallows. I could tell you what I love about them: their chattering, aerial acrobatics, colours and streamers. I cannot think of their migration to and from Africa every year without a sense of awe – almost disbelief. I look forward to their arrival in spring, feeling that they carry the new season on their wings, regardless of the weather – and we are shivering in yet another cold and rainy spell.
But none of this really explains my feeling for them: they are far more than the sum total of their characteristics. They carry a whole world of delight and symbolism within their weightless bodies; they are the stuff of poetry and folklore. One day – if I can work out how to do it, and make my peace with libraries – I would like to create an anthology of swallow literature.