Wednesday 29 February 2012

"It's all clever stuff I'm giving you..."



It seems all Brightonians are born with a Max Miller-ish take on humour: look for it and you'll find it everywhere; don't look for it and it'll probably trip you up. Since I moved here, I've learnt that Max kept two notebooks for jokes: a white one for clean ones and a blue one for "adult" ones. Coming back on a train from London last night, I encountered a "junior" Maxie.
I am already missing my chocolate, I admit. I'm being very careful and am turning away the tiniest choc-chip in a cookie. So I found myself fascinated by a small girl on the train who had peeled a large, family sized bar of caramel chocolate and was just munching down it, as though it was a banana. No breaking it into the separate sections, and certainly no sharing it with her slightly older brother. She was about six and she eyeballed me intently as she sat munching. I used to peel back large bars of chocolate and bite into them in exactly the same way when I was younger. Alright, until Ash Wednesday last week to be precise. She suddenly thrust the half demolished bar at me and said "You!" Her Mum laughed and said Clara NEVER shares her chocolate and must want me to have it. I explained that I couldn't, eventually telling the mum that it was because it was Lent. I'd no idea the little boy was listening, but he suddenly piped up "It's not lent - she won't want your bit back after you've had it!"  Just to emphasise his cleverness, he finished off with "Boom boom!"
No, I didn't eat any. Yes, lovely  Clara did manage to smudge some on my face anyway.

Sunday 26 February 2012

Two by two...

The Lady in Red is wearing well at 150



For a collective of villages that calls itself a city but is really a town, Brighton and Hove boasts 11 Catholic churches. Some of them are prettier than others, some are more impressive than others. St Mary Magdalen's Catholic church, situated in what used to be called the Montpelier area, is both, as well as being a Grade II listed building, although it's restoration is ongoing. This year, the church is also 150 years old. Built by the ecclesiastical architect Gilbert Blount, contemporary of Isambard Kingdom Brunel, the church stands on Upper North street, which connects Brighton with "upmarket" Hove. Until 1861, Brighton had only one Roman Catholic church; St John the Baptist in Kemptown, built in the 1830s and also very impressive.





St Mary Magdalen's was commissioned when a "mission district" of West Brighton was established in 1860. The sanctuary was completed in 1861, with the naive added a year later. The red brick church has an elegant spire and gorgeous stained glass windows. There are several beautiful statues of "favourite" saints, including St Mary Magdalen herself, a poignant figure in a scarlet robe. There are 3 masses on Sundays, including a sung mass and one in Polish, in recognition of the cultural mix of the area. There is currently a Latin mass every Friday.
The parish of St Mary Magdalen was already in a mood of anticipation, following the progress of Mother Riccarda Beauchamp Hambrough. The Brighton nun was baptised at the church and is now on the road to sainthood, in recognition of the bravery she demonstrated offering sanctuary to Jews and others during World War II. (More of Mother Riccarda's story can be found in an earlier post). Now, the second oldest church in Brighton is celebrating it's 150th anniversary with a fine programme of events organised by the redoubtable parish priest, Father Ray Blake. He's the author of an eponymously named and recommended Catholic blog and is reassuringly vocal about many, many things. He's chosen to open the 150th anniversary celebrations with a Traditional High Mass to commemorate the first mass, held when the naive was opened. He points out that the naive was built to accommodate not only the growing number of Catholics in Brighton, but also to draw in and encourage non-Catholics. In 1862, Father Ray's predecessors employed an orchestra and professional singers to perform the Hayden Imperial Mass with the intention of creating a spectacle of Catholic worship. He points out that "They simply wanted people to come, to take pleasure in what was happening, to be moved, to find others were praying around them and experiencing (our first) High Mass as a profound spiritual but also cultural and sensual experience".
His programme of events kick-starts an evangelisation initiative. Father Ray has emphasised that his passion throughout the celebrations is to welcome people back to the church or into the church for the first time; initially engaging the senses through the music and ritual of High Mass. The parish has been asked to invite non-Catholic friends and in particular younger people along to the anniversary mass: the Traditional Mass is intended to be "approached on many different levels by different types of people".

The mass, on Monday 27th February at 7.3opm, should be pretty rousing all round. The preacher will be Father Tim Finigan, Catholic commentator and author of the blog "The Hermeneutic of Continuity". St Mary Magdalen's church has it's own renowned choir; they will be boosted by local semi-professionals as well as young Oxford based professionals.
On Sunday 4th March around midday, Father Ray will be blessing the number 7 bus which Brighton and Hove's bus company has named after Mother Riccarda - wonderfully, only in Brighton!
On Friday 9th March at 7.30pm, internally acclaimed classical composer Dr James MacMillan introduces a series of talks with the “The Future of Music, Modernity and the Sacred; a composers perspective”. His Catholicism has inspired much of his work. Lectures by notable speakers continue in May and June, focusing on the future and direction of the Catholic church. Sadly for me, I won't be in Brighton for Monday's mass or the blessing of Mother Riccarda's bus due to family commitments around my own birthday: I'm not actually 150 years old although it feels quite like it... I do hope to attend some of the other events and the programme is still being added to: Monsignor Keith Newton of the Ordinariate has agreed to come and speak about "The Future of Ecumenism". Apparently, there has been talk of a street party and even a blessing of the sea! This may sound ambitious for an aged red brick church, but this is Brighton, and St Mary Magdalen's. If you're in Brighton on Monday, or on any of the other dates, you'll be very welcome.



Friday 24 February 2012

Catholics - parts one, two and three



"I will give you shepherds after my own heart"
(Jeremiah 3.15)

A new three part series of documentary films opened on BBC4 last night, simply titled "Catholics". The episodes focus on priests, children and finally women. The series was commissioned by BBC4 controller Richard Klein. "Catholic Christianity is at the very centre of many of the Western world's cultural and institutional sensibilities, and yet Catholics today can feel at times like they are set apart from mainstream society. So this is a series that asks a simple question: what is it like, being a Catholic?" Klein  has said. The Archbishop of Westminster, Vincent Nichols, has recommended the series, praising it's sensitivity and "great beauty".
The Diocese of Westminster featured heavily in last night's episode, filmed mainly around Allen Hall in Chelsea; one of only three remaining Roman Catholic seminaries in England. Bafta nominated filmmaker Richard Alwyn directed and produced the series and seems to have been allowed extraordinary access to the seminary and some of the men there, at various stages of their journey into Catholic priesthood. This lent the programme exceptional candour. Alwyn was allowed to film at the seminary for six months. Training for the Catholic priesthood is long: the Catholic church prefers to call it "formation". Usually, 2 years of "in-house" instruction and guidance will be followed by a year of practical placement within a parish, culminating in a three year Theology degree. We were shown that the instruction at Allen House covers Latin and Greek, philosophy, the Liturgy and more particular subjects such as celibacy and "special morality"; the latter including war. It costs around £20,000 a year for each seminarian to receive formation at Allen Hall. Although the Catholic church has struggled to recruit young men to the priesthood in recent years, there are currently 45 seminarians at Allen House: a ten year high. However, it must be noted that, with 5 million Catholics in Britain today, only 19 priests were ordained across England and Wales in 2010.
We met some of the seminarians,  most memorably Robert Hunt in his first year. Robert described himself as a "cradle Catholic", but said he had felt he had as much chance of becoming an astronaut as a priest when he was younger. Slightly terse and with a dry, almost dour humour, he made me think of comic Ade Edmondson if he were ever to become a monk. Robert had been in several "imperfect" relationships and had spent ten years of his life as a a roadie for a rock band. He'd always felt that his taste in music wouldn't be appropriate for the seminary; he'd brought his cds and downloads with him, along with his boxed set of The Sweeney for light relief. He pointed out that he still has female pin-ups, although these days they tend to be Saints Bernadette and Therese of Lisieuix.
In his final year of the seminary, Andrew Gallagher is 30 years old. He worked for a city law firm before what might seem a startling career change. Andrew said he didn't realise he had a calling while he attended non-Catholic school, although he always felt rather different and his fellow pupils had nicknamed him "The Priest". Interestingly, he felt his time working in the city literally "pushed" him towards the priesthood. He didn't recall being particularly holy as a child, although he was strongly influenced by his Catholic Irish grandmother (I do have a personal theory that every Catholic in England and Wales is mostly likely to have had an Irish grandmother somewhere). Considering his background, Andrew was edgy and diffident, and as excited as a child when he spoke about finding the right chasuble.

The simplicity of the film-making highlighted the rich and complex nature of Catholicism. Many non-Catholics appear almost fascinated by the ritual and tradition of the religion; the "smells and bells". Certainly the reverence and poignancy of ceremony in the Catholic church was displayed beautifully in this film. Alwyn remarked that a Catholic priest is the bridge between man and God: the seminarians came across as ordinary blokes who were at the same time somehow extraordinary. With (uncredited) mesmeric music trickling throughout, the film offered insight but ultmately maintained the mystique which is at the heart of Catholic faith.


Dirty Money



On a day when the Royal Bank of Scotland announced that the bank's "losses" had doubled since last year, it also announced that bonuses for it's FatCat bankers would double this year. Maths wasn't my most favourite of subjects at school: but I defy Carol Vordeman to make this add up. The British tax payers own 84% of the RBS, having had no say in whether we wanted to bail them out or not. We continue to have no say in whether or not they should be rewarded for continuing to mess up.

The average bonus this year for RBS FatCats will amount to around £23,000. The current average national wage in the UK is around £23,000. With public servants' pay being frozen year after year and tens of thousands of public service posts already cut, why are we paying Mr Blah de Blah the equivalent of another worker's wage? Yes, I understand that the bonuses will be capped at £2,000 cash, with the rest payable in RBS shares "as a further incentive": this seems even more incestuous. It's also a cover-up, as the the bankers will be able to cash in the bonds as early as June. While the national average wage is still on the tip of my tongue, lets remind ourselves that although the average wage for an investment banker has dropped from £160,000 in 2009, it is still around the £150,000 mark. Take into account (no pun intended) that RBS has sacked 21,000 of it's frontline staff in response to it's losses, and that seems like a very black mark indeed.


Social commentators frequently describe how the unions have held the UK to ransom over the years. At the moment, the British taxpayer is being punished for allowing himself to be mugged and robbed by the big banks.

I'm citing RBS because it's figures are in our faces at the moment. I don't believe it's performance or behaviour differs much from the other large banks. And this isn't a party political rant. The previous government were also known to roll over in moments of fecklessness while the FatCats toyed with them. It cuts deeper than politics: it's a question of morality.

Wednesday 22 February 2012

For Ash Wednesday...



...guilty pleasures






Because I have just given it up for 40 days and nights - "Chocolate"


"Chocolate"  Snow Patrol

(Perhaps I should have given up Snow Patrol too)

Beating the Ghosts



This New Year's Eve in the UK, whilst watching Jools Holland's Hootenanny, many of us may have raised a glass in the face of recession, social division and the widespread hardship of the past year. Today, 22 February, is the start of " Losar", the Tibetan New year: 2012 is the Year of the Water Dragon. Traditionally, festivities would commence on the eve of the new year, with a religious based and monk-led ceremony called " Dai Gui", The Beating of the Ghosts. Any evil spirits or bad memories from the past year are literally beaten out and scared away with large masks and loud horns. This colourful and noisy tradition originated from Tibetan Buddhist monks cleansing their monasteries of ill will. For generations, many Tibetans have also kept the custom of fetching fresh water from rivers and streams before dawn on the New Year's Day: pre-dawn water is believed to purify the soul to enable continuing good fortune. Celebrations for China's 5 million Tibetans would normally last until the 15th day of the first month of the new year. It's a time of hope and renewal, atonement and rebirth.
Last year, many Tibetans were unable to celebrate according to tradition due to the biting cold and makeshift shelters following 2010's earthquake. Today, many people affected by the quake have been re-housed in new Tibetan-style structures, built with subsidies from the Chinese government. Some Tibetans might well admit that their living standards have improved in recent months and that they never dreamed of living in such housing, although in these areas a Chinese national flag will never be far from sight.
This year, emigre Tibetans have been urged by their exiled prime minister, Lobsang Sangay, not to "celebrate" the new year: only to follow spiritual rituals and to shun exuberant festivities. They have been asked instead to fast, to pray in monasteries, to make offerings and light butter lamps for all those inside Tibet who have suffered repression under the Chinese government for the past 50 years; and for all those who continue to suffer. News from inside Tibet is certainly restricted and can be sobering when it surfaces. Sangay reports that Tibet is practically sealed off, with virtually no "foreigners" allowed access: even Chinese tourists are not allowed to cross into Tibet. The military build-up is heavy and visible. The exiled minister has never actually been allowed to visit his ancestral home.
The Tibetan government-in-exile is refuged in India, along with some 100,000 Tibetans, and the 14th Dalai Lama, the highest Buddhist priest of Tibet. The Central Tibetan Administration has issued several updates on the situation within Tibet, always calling for the liberation of Tibet and the return of the Dalai Lama to his homeland. The CTA has now reported that more than 20 people have set themselves on fire in Tibet since this time last year, in protest against China's ongoing policies. Most of these "self-immolations" have been Buddhist monks in the Tibetan parts of the Sichuan and Gansu provinces, next to what China has named the Tibetan Autonomous Region. In the first two weeks of February, two teenaged monks have set themselves alight in separate incidents. China's state news agency, Xinhua, has also confirmed that a Buddhist nun set herself on fire last week; she is believed to have survived the flames.
The Chinese government has branded those who set themselves alight terrorists. In contrast, the exiled Tibetan spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, has called the self-immolations "cultural genocide" by the Chinese; he has not called for them to stop.
Reuters have confirmed that this year's Losar celebrations have been quiet and without incident so far. However, heavy security in many areas and the obvious widespread Tibetan resentment for the Chinese government's presence make for an unpredictable and volatile combination. The warmer weather is coming, along with sensitive anniversaries such as National Uprising Day on 10 March, recalling the 1959 Tibetan uprising. Again, the exiled prime minister has called for commemorations to take place "peacefully, legally and with dignity."
In the weeks leading up to the New Year holiday, it's been reported that China has deployed army and paramilitary officers across Tibetan areas. Some sources claim regions have been hermetically sealed off by the authorities, and that many Tibetan towns now resemble armed camps. It's been known for some time that important pilgrimages have been limited by army checkpoints. Now, it's reported that one of the most revered pilgrimage sites, Potala Palace, has been claimed as a military post. The palace, in Tibetan capital Lhasa, was once home to hundreds of monks; there may be less than 40 still in residence. The World Heritage site is now thought to house soldiers and other militia personnel.
Since the systemisation of the Tibetan calendar in 1027, the flowering of the cherry blossom in February has been synonymous with the new year. It should be a time of peace and welcoming. Tibetans would traditionally throw open their doors at daybreak and be ready to welcome friends and family from near and far, as well as travelling strangers. This year the cherry blossom flowered too early for the planned new year, as though it it was no longer respectful of it's own legend.

Tuesday 21 February 2012

Food to shrive for...



Today is Shrove Tuesday, usually referred to as Pancake Day, of course the day before Ash Wednesday. In the times of truly strictly observed Lenten fasting, Shrove Tuesday was a day of feasting and merriment. Pancake recipes were a good way of using up richer, fatty foods such as eggs, milk, butter and sugar. Liturgical recommendations, by the Catholic church and other Christian denominations, emphasised plain foods and refraining from rich foods for the 40 days of Lent. However, the righteous were also called to church on Shrove Tuesday to confess their sins and be "shriven" before Lent began. The words shrove and subsequently shriven, derive from the Old English word "scrifan": to prescribe. People would be shriven of their sins; the priest would prescribe their penance to enable their absolution before Lent. Folklore has it that the traditional pancake race originated in Olney, Buckinghamshire, as far back as 1440, when a housewife was still making pancakes as the church-bells tolled for the Shriving Service. Rather than be wasteful and leave them, she ran to the church with the batter in her frying pan, turning it as she went. In Olney and elsewhere, pancake races still take place each year: tossing pancakes has become a culinary art.
 
As a vegetarian, I love my cakes, biscuits and chocolate spread. With 40 days of confectionery-free days looming, I'll be off to make my pancakes before this post has settled on the screen. But my Irish side, which tends to come to fore where food is concerned, reminds me that the beginning of February was the feast of St Brigid of Ireland, the Abbess of Kildare and the spiritual patroness of all Irish nuns.. In days gone by, Irish housewives and cooks would honour this feisty and much loved saint as the patroness of the dairy cattle, who loved to cook to feed the poor, with recipes including butter AND buttermilk and also traditionally potatoes. This is my kind of cooking. "Boxty" pancakes - poorhouse bread - was traditional fare on the feast of St Brigid centuries ago, originating in the north west of Ireland. Boxty pancakes are still popular in Northern Ireland today; certainly my Antrim-born mother must have taught my Belgian Dad the recipe. He made them with generously with lashings of butter, throughout the year.
As I've now made myself hungry, here is the recipe for:
Boxty - Irish Potato Pancakes
Ingredients:
2-1/2 cups sifted all-purpose flour
1 tablespoon sugar
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 eggs
2-1/2 cups buttermilk
1 cup freshly grated raw potato
2 tablespoons melted butter or margarine
1 teaspoon vanilla
butter
sugar
(Makes 3 dozen 4-inch pancakes)
Way To Go:
Mix and sift flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. Beat eggs lightly in a large bowl; stir in the buttermilk. Now stir in the dry ingredients, mixing just until blended (batter will be slightly lumpy). Stir in grated potato, butter or margarine, and vanilla.
Spoon the batter, just a 1/4 cup for each pancake, onto greased heated pan or griddle. Cook for 2 or 3 minutes, until bubbles form on top and the underside is golden. Turn the pancake over to repeat.
Serve at once, with plenty of butter. Sprinkle generously with sugar, the Irish way, and enjoy.
Don't wait until the next Pancake Day.




"Take me to the Mardi Gras"  Paul Simon
 
 

Monday 20 February 2012

Waiting For Eros

Photo: Gigi

I took this picture on the last day of a holiday in Australia a couple of years ago. Saying a fond farewell to the sights of Sydney whilst walking through the glorious Hyde Park that cuts across the city, I stumbled on this couple strolling through, fresh from their wedding at the nearby cathedral. Her gorgeous white dress was training along the dusty central path and they were oblivious to the skateboarders, tourists and city workers with their lunchboxes and newspapers. It was the most natural thing in the world for this couple to walk together through the park in bridal gown and morning suit: they were in love and happy and proud of their union. It remains one of my favourite holiday snaps: although there is nothing essentially Australian about it, it is unique. I truly hope they're still married and still head over heels in love.
Closer to home, last night I caught the late bus after a pizza with a friend. At one of the main stops out of Brighton city centre, a young man pleaded with our driver to hold the bus while he hunted for a pen and paper: he had met a very pretty girl that night and she was stood at the same stop waiting for another bus. This was his last bus home but he desperately wanted to write down his address and mobile number for her and hers for him. The driver initially said he couldn't wait with a bus full of passengers; then the boy and girl both said they had fallen in love. He looked about seventeen and quite sporty, she was maybe a year or two younger, fresh faced and mini-skirted in the cold. He stepped onto the bus and said his name was Mark and that he believed he had found The One For Him: could he please have a pen and paper? She then stepped onto the bus platform and said they would write on their hands if someone had a pen. She was embarrassed but just as ernest; she'd tried writing on her hand with eyeliner pencil but was scared the writing would smudge.
Everyone downstairs on my bus, including the driver, looked for writing materials. Various pens and pencils, envelopes, Sunday papers and even serviettes were found. Someone even offered them a tenner to catch a cab to both their homes so they could travel together. In the end, our driver waited the extra three minutes until Ellie's bus pulled into the stop. The pair kissed like seven year olds before Mark tore upstairs to wave at her in the other bus. We all applauded and the everyone told the driver it was absolutely fine when he apologised for holding up the bus. The woman next to me was in her late sixties and coming back from bingo. We shared her tissues to dab at our mascara for the rest of my journey. Something else quite wonderful happened which I can't imagine happening in my old hometown of London; as each of the passengers alighted at their stops, we all said goodnight.
The day before my romantic bus journey, I was at a wedding in Hampshire. Nothing that unusual, except maybe that the bride is seventy and her new husband was eighty in December. It was a very moving ceremony and also very intimate, even though the church was packed with friends and extended family. The Catholic parish priest gave a memorably affecting homily, which again found me nearly in tears. He spoke of the many words for Love in ancient Greek, found in the scriptures and other texts. In particular, there are four distinct words for love in it's various forms.
"Agape" translates in modern Greek as "unconditional love", and has been appropriated by Christians to express the love for and from God. Transcending physical attraction, Agape describes the deepest high regard, respect and sacrificial love.
"Storge" describes natural affection in both modern and ancient Greek: the innate bonds between parents and offspring and family members; kinship, shared history and acceptance. "Philia" describes love between friends and comrades, including affection, familiarity, loyalty and a sense of community and equality. Apparently, it thrives among bus passengers late at night in Brighton!
As does "Eros", the passionate and physical love of both courtship and marriage. Although Eros encompasses desire and longing, there is also the feeling of oneness and a connection of the spirit: the priest on Saturday spoke of finding The One who would help you get to Heaven. This phrase in particular has stayed with me. He also spoke of the validity of marriage at any age and of love whenever and wherever it's found. We frequently say love is blind. I believe the opposite is true. Love is seeing clearly and purely, clairvoyance and realisation. When we truly love, we see properly, beyond any mask or distortion, any barrier or limitation.
I'm a real sucker for soul mates. I discovered the writing of the late, beautiful John O'Donohue a while ago; his book "Anam Cara", literally "soul friend", is on the special books' shelf in my front room. If someone visits and either picks it out to read or comments that they know and love it, I know we're going to be friends. Call me old fashioned (it happens rather a lot), but I do feel that the sacredness of marriage has suffered a sad demise. I know couples who have lived together happily for years and who feel totally committed and devoted to each other without the making of vows in front of an altar; I also know many who have seen marriage as a formalised "long" relationship, a tax convenience and a shared account. Divorce is now seen as much more acceptable and generally a fix-it or getout clause: divorce rates are actually in decline these days, but this may be because the number of people getting married is the lowest it's been for 150 years. Marriage rates started to decline steadily in the heady seventies. Again, I have dear friends who are divorced and my intention is not insult them or blame them for current trends. I simply feel that the sacrament of marriage has been variously dismissed or too easily and loosely entered into.
It's been my personal choice to remain unmarried because I want to marry a soul mate. The word spinster no longer means a single woman of marriageable age but has become a term of ridicule, laced with rejection. I know single men who remain celibate are open to even more misunderstanding or abuse. I simply never want to marry for comfort, for security or for the sake of it. I know if I make those vows I will want to keep them, yet I have no wish to pledge myself into a loveless union to keep my family and bank manager happy. People frequently think being alone implies loneliness; I believe I would be far lonelier in a marriage or committed relationship where I wasn't fulfilled emotionally, spiritually and physically. I believe I have great love in my life, in the forms of Philia, Storge and Agape. I also still believe Eros is out there for me. So I'm totally heartened when I see a teenage declaration of love at first sight move a bus full of Saturday night weary folk. I feel moved to hear a Catholic priest acknowledge the precious role of tenderness and desire within marriage whether the couple are eighteen or eighty. And I'm enchanted to think that somewhere in New South Wales a lovely couple may be sitting down to breakfast, blissfully unaware that their wedding day stroll through the park still inspires my dreams of happy ever after.

"Bring Me a Higher Love"  James Vincent McMorrow

Thought for Today, Yesterday and Tomorrow...

Friday 17 February 2012

"Hallmarked"



Photo: Gigi, family album

"Hallmarked"
When I was a child, I confessed to others crimes,
thieved from the television,
so I could bargain for Redemption
like a bona fide Catholic.
When I was a child
they hung Christ around my neck,
nailed and pierced and hallmarked,
and I thought I might take the veil
to cover the weight on my shoulders.
Now I have grown to be innocent,
I am my soul's best friend;
I hang rosaries from my mirrors
and confess I wish I had sinned more.
Loosening my religion
has eased me into my Faith.

                                                                    Gigi






Wednesday 15 February 2012

Whitney Houston

"The Star Spangled Banner"  sung by Whitney Houston

"Didn't we almost have it all
When love was all we had worth giving?
The ride with you was worth the fall my friend
Loving you makes life worth living"
(From "Didn't We Almost Have It All", written by Michael Masser and Will Jennings; artist, Whitney Houston)

Whitney Houston was born in East Orange, New Jersey in 1963, daughter of acclaimed Gospel singer Cissy Houston. Church was a feature of her community and music was a huge part of her childhood: her cousin was Dionne Warwick and she grew up around vocalists such as Aretha Franklin, Gladys Knight, and Roberta Flack. It was inevitable that she would first sing publicly in church. At the age of eight, she performed "Guide Me, O Thou Great Jehovah" for a mesmerised congregation at the New Hope Baptist Church in Newark. Decades later, she would tell Rolling Stone magazine: "When I used to watch my mother sing, which was usually in church, that feeling, that soul, that thing - it's like electricity rolling through you. If you have ever been in a Baptist church or a Pentecostal church, when the Holy Spirit starts to roll and people start to really feel what they're doing, it's incredible."
Obviously, Whiney Houston's days of singing to friends and family in a New Jersey church were numbered. By the age of 12, she was singing backup on recordings for major recording stars like Chaka Khan and Lou Rawls. Stunningly sleek and beautiful and with an undeniable God-given talent, Whitney Houston was a chart topping artist in her own right by the time she entered her twenties. Hit followed soaring hit and the ethereally pretty girl became a diva. Her first acting role was as the star of the 1992 feature film "The Bodyguard", in which she played a diva - and very well. The film's original soundtrack won the 1994 Grammy; its lead single "I Will Always Love You" became the biggest selling single by a female artist in music history.
She became the first act (solo or group, male or female) to sell over a million copies of an album within a single week. She was the top female act featuring in the Top Ten Best Selling Albums of All Time. Although a subsequent film vehicle "The Preacher's Wife" wasn't a massive cinematic success, the soundtrack album became the best-selling Gospel album in history. We said she was born to be a star: she was a success and a phenomenon. Middle-class America forgot that she was black. She sang "The Star Spangled Banner", inimitably, and Americans united in their adoration for her and her path to fame that cut through and across social and political divides.

On February 11, 2012, Houston was found in the bathroom of her suite at the Beverly Hilton Hotel, Los Angeles: she was certainly deeply unconscious and could not be resuscitated. She was in town for the Grammy Awards, partied and feted as a legendary artist with an unrivalled tally herself. Staying at the hotel with her 18 year old daughter, Whitney had been photgraphed earlier that day, dishevelled and bloated and clearly the worse for some substance or another. Her daughter (by bad-boy husband Bobby Brown) Bobbi Kristina was admitted to the Cedars-Sinai hospital twice in the 24 hours after her mother had been pronounced dead there. The teenager had also been drinking heavily and may have taken prescription or other drugs: she was in the hotel suite when her mother was found in the bath, unaware of the situation and "surrounded" by prescription medication, including sedatives Valium and Lorazepum, Michael Jackson's last addiction. Bobbi Kristina was treated for extreme anxiety and the Houston family and entourage are said to be concerned for her mental state.
In New Jersey, the owner of the Whigham Funeral Home has announced a private, by-invitation only funeral service at noon this Saturday. The requiem mass will be at Newark's New Hope Baptist Church, where Whitney's voice and radiance were first showcased. The poignancy is palpable: Whitney is going home, in so many ways. There have been many sentimentalised reports, allegedly from "sources close to" Whitney, saying that she had only recently re-connected with her religion after several highly publicised years of crack-cocaine addiction, alcoholism, mortification at the hands of her womanising and volatile husband. Her weight had plummeted between emaciation and bloating; she may have been on the verge of bankruptcy when she died. Certainly her last singing performance, at "Tru" in Hollywood and shortly ahead of the Grammys, was of "Jesus Loves Me", but it's a far cry from the inspirational soaring emotion of the young Gospel singer; it's actually painful to watch and to hear.

This is a rough catalogue of events spanning the 40 odd years for the eight year old prodigy in the New Hope Baptist Church who will be returning there on Saturday as a star, but in a coffin. As with so many hugely gifted, globally famous people, so much went right for her; but when things went wrong, they were catastrophic and ultimately tragic. I'm not totally dismissive of Fame. I've been known to watch "X Factor": I grew up watching "Top of the Pops". I've queued for hours to sing myself hoarse to Bruce Springsteen (still The Boss you understand). I'm thrilled for Adele at the Grammy Awards this year, with her newly honey-blonded big hair and her good ol' North London gasps of appreciation: thrilled and slightly concerned for her. I love to listen to her voice and lyrics, and she seems like a nice, ordinary girl. I buy into the whole persona like so many others; but one hopes and prays that the perceived grounded "ordinariness" is real and durable. 
I've heard several people say that Whitney would still be alive if she hadn't walked away from Gospel. Sadly, we can never know that now. But for sure, the Gospel never walked away from Whitney. The wonderful gift she was given now becomes her legacy. Another generation will marvel at her rendition of "The Star Spangled Banner". Little black girls with big lungs in recession ripped America will sing into their hairbrushes and realise they can Have It All. There will be more raw talent, more accolades, more awards, more glitzy parties, more induced highs, more pitifully early and avoidable deaths in over-priced hotel rooms.
The Show Goes On.

"I Love The Lord"  Whitney Houston (from "The Preacher's Wife", 1996 )





The Mouths of Babes


I thought I might share the thoughts of my friend's lovely little boy. He's ten and has high range autism. He's definitely the wisest little boy I've ever met. The other week I popped into their house and started to make my own cuppa. He told me this was "very inappropriate", especially for a "church-goer". Investigation revealed other Inappropriate Actions for Church-goers:
1.Using your 'phone in church, especially if you're calling someone in another bench (pew).
2.Eating your fish and chips in church, especially if you've put vinegar on them.
3.Singing a different song (hymn) to everyone else to put them off.
4.Gluing the songbooks shut.
5.Pushing in the "church queue" or kicking someone out of way to get to the front.
6.Pinching people's bottoms when they're kneeling down.
7.Sticking your tongue out at the Man at the Front (priest), or trying to push him over.
8.Falling asleep in church, especially if you lie down .
9.Going to church in a silly hat, especially with bobbles, ears or sticky-out bits on it, unless it's Easter or Christmas.
Pretty sure he put the last one in just for me.

Martha Gunn, Max Miller and Mother Riccarda...

When I first moved to Brighton, my mother was upset by the reported comments of one Reverend Archie Coates, an Evangelical priest from London. He dubbed Brighton " the most Godless city in Britain", citing the problems of unemployment and homelessness, vagrancy and substance abuse. Personally, I've found the city to be far from Godless; it seems to me to be a place of faith, hope and charity. In fact, a record number of new Catholics have been received into the Arundel & Brighton Roman Catholic Diocese over recent years. In 2009, the diocese saw an increase of over 50% in the number of men and women received into the Catholic church. I obviously disagree with Reverend Coates; I think that financial difficulty and social hardship can make people revaluate what's really important.
My mother was more encouraged by news coverage in the summer of 2010, concerning a nun from Brighton who was being fast tracked to sainthood. Mother Riccarda Beauchamp Hambrough was born in the town in 1887. Her parents converted to the Catholic faith when she was four, and she was then baptised in the Roman Catholic church of St Mary Magdalen in Upper North Street. As a young girl, she attended mass and prayed there and her vocation was inspired. At the age of 24, she travelled to Rome to join a convent.
Mother Riccarda eventually joined a revived order of Bridgettine sisters in Rome, nicknamed “the hot cross bun nuns” because of the distinctive crosses covering the tops of their wimples. During World War II, this unassuming nun made her mark as a bold and committed woman. In 1943, the Nazis took control of Rome and began transporting their tragic human cargo out to Auschwitz. Mother Riccarda and the Abess of the order, the now Blessed Mary Elizabeth Hasselblad, smuggled scores of Italian Jews, Communists and Poles into their convent at Casa di Santa Brigida and hid them there. Many jews later testified to Mother Riccarda's particular kindness: she was known to them simply as "Mama".
Mother Riccarda became head of her order and later died in her beloved Rome in 1966. Her cause for sainthood was opened in July 2010 by the Diocese of Rome. Significantly, her file was quickly referred to the Holy See's Congregation of Causes for Sainthood. Last month, it was reported that the Pope is considering the case for Mother Riccarda to be declared "Venerable". The quest will then begin for two miracles in order to declare her "Blessed". The conclusive step will be sainthood. Her progress is being followed avidly at St Mary Magdalen's; Catholic Brightonians already feel she is the "local saint".
In a typically quirky Brighton move, the city's bus company has now named a bus after Mother Riccarda: a number 7 to be exact, travelling from Seven Dials to the railway station and on to Brighton Marina. Since 1999, every new bus entering the Brighton and Hove fleet has been named after a person notable for their significant contribution or strong connection to the area. It's undeniably charming and quite a talking point. Most of the names have an obvious relevance: the Prince Regent, Maria Fitzherbert, Martha Gunn, Thomas Paine, Kitty O'Shea. Max Miller, of course, has an open-top sightseeing bus named after him. Other choices seem to have more tenuous links: Chopin, really? There was even a bus inexplicably named after Santa Claus; sadly now out of service.

Apparently, the very nice Father Blake from St Mary Magdalen's has been asked to bless Mother Riccarda's number 7; he'll probably end up blessing the entire fleet, which can only be a good thing. The Catholic church is watching for signs of acts of Divine Intervention to speed Mother Riccarda to sainthood. I've seen many strange and wonderful things on the number 7 route since I moved here; not sure I would use the term "divine"...

The Water is Wide... Welcome to this blog!

"The Water is Wide" is one of my favourite songs; the title is one of my favourite sayings.
The water is indeed wide; between people, nations, cultures and ideas. Maybe we can't swim over, and would be ill-advised to try. But I believe there is always a boat that can make it through; whether that boat is your faith in God, your courage, your self respect, or simply love. 
In truth, I believe these are all one and the same.
Whatever floats your own boat,  you are very welcome to this blog.
                                                                                                                                       Gigi


"The Water is Wide"  Eva Cassidy
Photo: Gigi family album

"There is a ship, it sails the sea,
It's loaded deep as deep can be,
But not so deep as the love I'm in;
I know not if I sink or swim.
The water is wide,
 I can not get o'er
And neither have I the wings to fly;
O give me a boat that will carry two,
And both shall row, my love and I..."
(from the traditional 16th century old English or Celtic folksong, largely uncredited)



"On Brighton Beach"

Photos: Gigi


"On Brighton Beach"
May the sun set kindly on your prayers,
though you might call for the moon.
May your faith compass and anchor you;
may your soul rise in a sea of losses.
May you harbour truth within you,
and may the tides never turn you
from a stranger's shore or the face of God.

                                                                           Gigi