18th September 2009

A Chaplain’s Diary

 

The last opportunity

 

My recent visit to the Synagogue in Palma reminds me of a wedding that a former colleague performed recently.  For the clergy, the things we remember about weddings are petty irritations.  The wretched photographer who gets under your feet and clicks away at the most poignant moments, the choice of music which creates a real crashing of the gears, hymns that the couple insisted on singing  even though you advised them that no one would know the tunes, or banal readings which are probably best left on the bookshelf at home.  As my former colleague commented, “poetry written by the bride’s uncle is generally best avoided”.  But then all of a sudden there’s a wedding that you’ll never forget.  For David this one involved two young doctors, one Christian, one Jewish.  They wanted a Christian marriage service – they were clear about that, but, for the sake of the bride’s family and out of respect for the ancient Jewish religious traditions in which she had been nurtured, they wondered if some Jewish elements could be incorporated into their ceremony.  The vicar of the parish had agreed with their suggestions but because he was unwell on the big day, it fell to David to take the service. 

 

So they took their vows under the Jewish huppah, the canopy representing the overshadowing presence of God.  They drank the Cup of Unity.  The two mothers lit candles, which in turn, the bride and groom used to light a single candle – two families becoming one.  And at the end, as they were processing out of church, the bridegroom stamped on a glass carefully positioned in the aisle, at which point everyone shouted “mazel tov!”  It had been explained to them that originally this took place to remind the congregation of the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, but that nowadays it was more usually seen as the last opportunity for the husband to put his foot down!

 

Sit and stare bus seats

 

It’s a sign that you are getting older when you no longer read Private Eye, but move on to the slightly maturer magazine The Oldie.  It’s produced by Private Eye’s former editor Richard Ingrams.  Each month they run a column entitled “Memory Lane”.  What were you doing fifty, sixty or seventy years ago?  And they offer a £50 cash prize for any winning entries.  I had to have a bash at the prize money, though this is probably the only outing my pathetic contribution will ever have. 

 

“In Sheffield the last old tram clanked its way to the depot in October 1960. In some ways it was a sad day when those grand old ladies had gone. Little did we know that in less than 40 years the new Super tram would be back gliding silently along newly laid track and sneaking up on unsuspecting motorists. Much cleaner but not half as characterful.

 

On the buses the old work horses were being changed for a new breed where you boarded at the front and doors closed behind you. No longer could you run to catch your bus, grab the handrail and hang on for dear life on the platform as the bus got up speed, before collapsing into one of the “sit and stare seats” just inside. It was the place to sit if you wanted to see life, draughty but ideal for chatting to the conductor or giving a helping hand to an old lady or a young one with a baby. Not that my father would have dared to talk to anyone, he just wasn’t like that, too retentive for words.

 

The young woman got on, shoved the pushchair under the stairs behind the conductor and collapsed down on the “sit and stare seat” opposite my father. The baby on her lap sat quietly at first but then hunger bit in and it started screaming loudly. After five minutes of coaxing there was only one thing to do, she zipped open the front of her dress, heaved out a huge bosom and plugged the baby in. It was having none of this nonsense, waving its head from side to side and refusing to take the proffered teat. The woman was getting impatient and clearly embarrassed. “Come on,” she said, “Stop messing around! Or I shall give it to that man over there!”

 

I think I remember my father saying that he got off the bus at the next stop and walked home.”

 

Computers for oldies

 

Like institutions, human beings can be quite schizophrenic.  You say one thing but then do another. Or you have two totally opposing views about the same thing. In my last job around the year 1990, as computers were becoming de rigueur, I genuinely thought that I would be able to stagger through to retirement age without ever having to know anything about those infernal machines – the ubiquitous computer.  I genuinely believed that I was probably part of the last generation who could get by with electric type writers, dictaphones, Gestetner duplicators, with the occasional use of that new fangled invention the photocopier. Or perhaps subconsciously I had decided to retire at the youthful age of just 52.  Our IT manager in the office gave up on me.  All the young dolly secretaries took to computers as though they were Bacardi and cokes, the Finance Department was fully computerised within months, but guess what?  The Communications Department was the last to come on board or on line.  We were the dinosaurs in the Diocesan Offices. 

 

Yet at the same time I was stamping around the place saying that we would become a paperless organisation by the year 2000.  Now if that is not schizophrenia, I don’t know what is unless, of course I was mouthing what some one else, some where else, was saying and I thought it was the trendy thing to say.  Eventually my PA won me over and we put our collective toe into this frightening new phenomenon called IT. 

 

I don’t think many of us older people realise the impact or speed with which new technology is changing our lives and working patterns.  I remember a friend arriving here on holiday one year with a new fangled, digital camera.  I hadn’t a clue what he was going on about and his enthusiasm simply made me yawn all the more.  As for Twitter, Face book and Blackberries, I still haven’t a clue.  Yet at the age of 61 I now sit for hours at the computer screen.  I love my mobile phone and the ease of e-mailing.  We have more digital photos than I care to think about. Skype is wonderful and I often wonder how ever we managed before.  Can you still buy carbon paper, golf ball typewriters, Tippex, or duplicator ink and skins?  It all seems an age ago now.

 

Perhaps that’s why last week I felt bereft.  I could have kicked the wretched thing.  The e-mails were coming in, but every one I replied to simply bounced back.  Son investigated the problem, secretary investigated the problem, wife investigated the problem but with no solution.  I thought a good kicking would do the trick but I was prevailed upon to get an expert in.  After two visits we seem to have solved the problem but it now means that we have got to change our e-mail address.  So if you are ever given to e-mailing the Anglican Church, please forget our old e-mail address and now use anglicanpalma@gmail.com and then you might actually get a reply.

 

Robert Ellis is the Anglican Chaplain of Majorca

St Philip and St James Church

Nunez de Balboa, 6

Son Armadans

Palma 07014

e-mail:  anglicanpalma@gmail.com

www.anglican-mallorca.org