Cathy Le Feuvre

The Gift of Kindness - on World Kindness Day

Today is World Kindness Day, so it's an opportunity for me to share some extracts from the book I wrote, with my friend and sometimes writing buddy - Debbie Duncan - on the subject ... of Kindness!

We were writing 'The Gift of Kindness' in 2021,  when the world was still impacted by the Covid-19 pandemic but there were some hopes that soon we would be out of lockdowns and strict restrictions.

We looked back at what seemed to be an explosion of kindness during those pandemic days. The kind things that people were doing for neighbours under house detention, kindnesses even shown on social media.

Writing 'The Gift of Kindness' was an opportunity to tell some stories of kindnesses from the pandemic, and other times, as well as to unpack what kindness is - from many different angles including science, anthropology, literature, popular culture and faith, including the Christian faith which is the perspective from which this book was conceived.

Some of the sentiments expressed and stories of kindnesses extended were personal ... it was real joy to gather information from friends and further afield, and to bring it all together in a book which helps us all to really explore what kindness is, and our own attitudes and actions - kind or otherwise.

Debbie and I really wanted to challenge ourselves in the writing, and this we did. We also wanted people to think about what kindness might look like in our world and culture. Kindness in the workplace, commerce and industry, Kindness in education, Kindness in the health and care sectors, Kindness in politics, Kindness in the media. You get my drift, I'm sure. Kindness in EVERY aspect of life! 

Yes, you might think it's all a bit 'pie in the sky' ... but we can but dream, can't we?

And it's not just about the occasional Random Act of Kindness ... it's about being intentionally kind, as well as developing kindness in our lives to the extent that, eventually, we may not even have to plan being kind but it will come naturally. As naturally as breathing! If kindness was just embedded into every aspect of our being then it would, I believe, begin to manifest in all the things we do ... including all those sectors mentioned above.

A year and a bit on from publication by Authentic Media UK in August 2022, and it does feel that the world seems to have reverted to it's pre-pandemic nature ... and kindness seems to have taken a back seat. Again.

'The Gift of Kindness', we hope, is evidence that once the world managed to survive a global pandemic and kindness had a great deal to do with that.

I mentioned that today is World Kindness Day, and we explain in the book that this day was launched by the World Kindness Movement in 1998. On this day ...  13 November ... we are encouraged to make the world a better place through good deeds (although of course, being kind is for every day ... and not just for today or even for a pandemic). The World Kindness Movement is a coalition of nations’ kindness NGOs and was celebrated across the world, and it’s captured the imagination of people and governments. Many many countries now recognise World Kindness Day.

Maybe today, or tomorrow, you might like to consider what kindness means to you and whether you are a 'kind' person. The book isn't just narrative. At the end of every chapter there's a summary, and a prayer and some 'practical pointers' that you might like to give thought to as you look at kindness in your own relationships, interactions and life.

If you fancy exploring the subject, you might like to buy our book... it's on lots of sites online, including the publisher - Authentic Media (UK) and Amazon, of course. 

And just to whet your appetite... here's an extract from my part of the 'introduction' to the book ... just a little something to show how 'personal' kindness is to me.

The importance of kindness in the world

Throughout my life I’ve witnessed and experienced kindness on many occasions, and in many people. Living as a child of Christian leaders in The Salvation Army, who then moved to Africa when I was quite young, I was aware of the kindnesses of others. I learned the importance of kindness and the implications of my behaviour and actions.

Our family had little in the way of money and resources most of the time, but often we benefited from the generosity of others, and I also saw the way my parents shared what little they had with others. Before we left for Africa and my parents were church leaders, I remember going down to breakfast and finding a ‘gentleman of the road’ at our table, my dad having met him the previous evening and brought him in from the rain and cold, with an invitation to sleep on a mattress in the garage to prevent him freezing on the streets. In Africa, a Boxing Day picnic and barbecue was held on our remote farm where many local Salvation Army and other friends gathered with our family, everyone bringing something to the table to share.

If you’ve ever got involved with one of those ‘sharing’ lunches or suppers, you’ve seen kindness in action because there will always be those who are unable to bring food to the table, but are welcome to sit down to eat anyway.

Throughout my life I’ve witnessed people spending hours delivering food parcels and reaching out to others who they don’t even know. In fact, on the day my dad passed away, or as we say in The Salvation Army, was ‘promoted to glory’, he had spent the afternoon picking up food from the Marks & Spencer’s supermarket which was still in date but could not be sold in the store, so it could be packed up and delivered to those in need.

As a journalist and broadcaster, I’ve been privileged to witness so many kindnesses down the years and especially in my time as a ‘faith’ producer and presenter, working in programming which reflects faith and Christian communities, I have been humbled by what I have seen and reported on. The churches and individuals running foodbanks, looking after homeless people, caring for victims of trafficking and domestic violence, and families in crisis. Not to mention those just making themselves available to offer a listening ear or a shoulder to cry on.

Of course, we know that good deeds are not confined to people of faith, but as Christians these sorts of kind actions are what Christ calls us to do, and while some may see it as their ‘duty’ or even their job to do this work, I would say that when we have Jesus in our lives this is something that could begin to come naturally. It’s an example of that kindness imperative that Jesus empowers us to live out. When we ask ourselves ‘what would Jesus do?’ then the answer has to be – be kind, compassionate and loving, not to draw attention to ourselves but just because it’s what we are called to be and because it feels natural to do it, even if it means a sacrifice for ourselves.

And what we do doesn’t have to be ground-breaking. Acts of kindness and compassion come in all shapes and sizes.

Making a difference

During the coronavirus pandemic it was part of my job, then working for BBC Radio Jersey, the local BBC radio station in the Channel Islands, to help share ‘Make a Difference’ stories. This campaign was quite simple, really; it just gathered stories of people who were reaching out to others, mostly for little or no reward or recognition. We shared those stories on the radio to inspire others and, sometimes when appropriate, to gather support for those causes.

No sooner had the first lockdown begun in March 2020 than we saw the setting up of a special Facebook page – ‘Coronavirus Jersey – Acts of Kindness’ – a grassroots campaign to connect islanders and share resources and messages of support. It also helped people to share their needs without feeling ashamed, and this resulted in the most tremendous outpouring of kindness. All over our lovely little island of Jersey, rainbows appeared in windows, a sign of hope. Children painted little pebbles which you would come across in random spots around the island as a reminder of love and kindness and friendship. People stepped up to deliver goods to those shut in at home, to volunteer, to share what they had with those who had less.

At the invitation of the government of Jersey, The Salvation Army church and charity movement locally established and ran the island’s foodbank and what resulted was an outpouring of support and love – they were inundated with not just messages of support but donations of food and cash and manpower. The hairdresser who couldn’t open his shop instead spent his time working in the foodbank. There were many volunteers, most with no connection to the church, who stepped up to fill food bags and drive around delivering them safely to those who could not leave home. It was a real community effort!

One story from the pandemic that sticks in my mind is the ice-cream van man who, in May 2020, parked his vehicle in front of the hospital and gave free ice creams to all those health professionals and others working in that building to keep us healthy and safe. And he did this on his own birthday! What a joy-bringer! We will read more about this later in the book.

It is easy to be cynical about the world, to seek out the negative in people and situations. But we don’t have to look far to see the good that others do every day and, especially for those of us who aspire or claim to be Christians, if only a little of that inspires us to go do the same, then we will be truly living the Jesus way.

Treasures Among the Stones

In recent months I've begun to collect sea glass.

If you don't know what that is ... well, sea glass is bits of glass which have washed up onto beaches!

When you find a piece of sea glass it's not just a thing of beauty to behold, but it has it's own story to tell! 

At some point the glass was probably part of a bottle or something else fashioned of glass and who knows where it came from in the world? The sea currents could have brought it from far-off oceans and coasts until it is finally broken up into the smaller pieces that pitch up on our Jersey beaches.

After being battered about in the waves and on the sands, probably for many years, it's usually smooth, not jagged ... although at times I do find 'newer' pieces which are a bit lethal and which, obviously, go straight into the bin! So my sea glass hunting is also helping to clean the sand to prevent accidents to unsuspecting bare feet.

Here in my home island of Jersey in the Channel Islands, sea glass has often been used to create beautiful things. Some artists work sea glass into their pictures and create fabulous jewellery from the items which can be discovered on our many beaches. 

I've been doing quite a lot of sea swimming and walking on beaches in the last few years as I've tried to handle the stresses of life, changing circumstances and the ensuing mental health challenges that have come my way, and this year I've begun searching for sea glass.

Inspired by a canvas that a friend gave me as a Christmas gift - an image of a festive tree created out of pale green, bluish, clear and white sea glass - I decided (as you do, even if you're not an artist) ...' I could do that!' 

And so at times, I find myself wandering up and down beaches, looking for the little bits of glass among the stones and detritus which the tide has washed up. And, as a result, I'm amassing a little store of pretty glass ... much of it clear and milky, some blues and greens of various shades. All different shapes and sizes.

Recently I took a walk at La Mare Beach in St Clement on the east coast of Jersey and beyond to the area called Le Dicq, which I know is good for sea glass and also little bits of pottery including blue and white ceramics from a piece of crockery which at some point probably graced a kitchen dresser or a dining table. 

It was low tide, and not quite sunset,  a perfect time for sea glass hunting, and apart from a few other walkers I had the beach to myself. I'd had a pretty stressful 24 hours so I needed to clear my head and, to be honest, I wasn't confident of finding much glass. I'm a person of Christian faith, and I was listening to some encouraging music which assured me that in the storms of life I have a friend who is there for me - Jesus Christ - and that nothing is impossible with God, even when we are faced by uncertainty and what we may consider insurmountable problems.

At first, I only found a couple of little pieces of sea glass. But the closer I looked, the further I walked, suddenly I began to spot more ... and more ... and more.

A small piece of glass hidden among the stones on the shore, a shard on its own in the sand, and then a few quite large pieces smoothed and shaped from years of weather and wearing just sitting there waiting to be discovered.

And it occurred to me that sea glass and sea glass hunting is like life, and like my journey of faith.

Sometimes I am so overwhelmed with the challenges of life, and worried about the future, that I miss the beauty of the moment. I miss the sparkling treasure sitting there, right in front of me, just waiting to be discovered and used for something new and beautiful.

When I looked closely, even at a pile of stone and rocks and seaweed, suddenly a tiny piece of glass would sparkle in the setting sun over the beach. I was reminded that sometimes I might have to sift through some of the challenges of life to find beauty. I might have to ignore the detritus of my life to find moments of joy and love and hope. I  might have to keep looking and keep looking for the good ... but trusting that it's there to be found!

The interesting thing about sea glass hunting is the more you look for it, the more you see. I walked probably half a mile up the beach and then turned around, following mostly the same route I had taken on the walk up ... and yet as I made my way back to the carpark and my vehicle, I spotted glass I had missed the first time around.

Maybe that was because I was looking more intently now, or perhaps because I was looking at the beach, and the race of stones and rocks on the shore, from a slightly different angle. I'm sure you're getting my drift on this ... sometimes we miss joy and peace and hope and beauty but then, when we return to the situation, and maybe look at life with a different mindset or from a different angle, we find all those treasures in exactly the places we may have missed them before!

It also occurred to me that once the tide has come in again, once the water has shifted things around and churned things up, it will leave more treasures on the sand, and new beautiful objects that wash up on that tide. But the water may also uncover and reveal bits of sea glass which may be hidden tight now but once the piles of stones and rocks and seaweed are moved around, they are there ... to be discovered.

As I walked along that beach, listening to my inspirational music, I found myself asking God to help me ... to help me not to obsess so much about the challenges and rocks in my life but to seek out the beautiful things, the hope and the miracles which may be just waiting for me if I can but see them. If I but look for them! If I make myself aware that they may be there!

Some people call this talking to God  'praying' ... not in the way that you might pray in a church or a temple, which can sometimes be rather formal, but just having a 'chat'. Not just talking to God but also listening. Most importantly ... listening.

And so, on this particular sea glass hunt I clearly heard God's voice as I walked and talked with and listened to him.

I heard him say ... something like this...

'Look for the beautiful things, they are there but may be hidden.'

'Your life may be full of rocks but, like the tide, my love can wash away those challenges if you let me do so, and treasures and happiness and insights and joys which at the moment may be hidden in your grief, confusion, uncertainty and hurt will be uncovered, will be there ready for you to discover.'

In the end, I gathered quite a little hoard of lovely sea glass on my walk, to add to my collection at home - and one day I will create something beautiful. At the moment I don't know what that will be ... perhaps, as in life, we don't need to plan everything meticulously in advance but just see what comes when we are ready to create! 

There are Treasures Among the Stones of life ... perhaps we just need to look more intently and patiently, to try to see beyond the rocks in our lives and instead be alert to the blessings that are granted to us and believe ... a Better Life is on the way!

And, as if to prove His promises, at the end of the day I was blessed with one of God's most beautiful creations ... a most glorious sunset!

How great is that?

A Book Collection

Down the years, when people have found out that I'm a writer I've occasionally been asked 'Are you related to Amy Le Feuvre?'

 

Well I'm not, sadly, but probably around 25 years ago I was in Cambridge doing a TV story (as a TV producer and reporter) & visited a publishers which I discovered had links to Amy. That day I also dropped into a book sale in the city & found a copy of one of her books!

 

It was like a Sign!

 

Down the years, every time I see old books for sale I check for an Amy.... and so started a sort of collection which I've added to spasmodically over the years!

 

So, imagine my delight today, while browsing in a local charity shop in Jersey, to discover this one ... a new title for my little collection!

 

For those who are unaware, Amy wrote Christian books for children from the end of the 19th century and in the early decades of the 20th! She wasn't from Jersey but had, I believe, Guernsey roots and lived in England ... and she wrote more than 65 books and for several magazines!

 

Although the stories are rather 'dated' now, I do love their innocence and her writing! I think she was a bit of a pioneer & certainly given the number of times I'm asked if we're related, she's obviously remembered by a certain generation! I believe her books were often given as Sunday School prizes! Who remembers those?

 

I started to collect information about Amy at one point ... I must do more research!

A Little Welsh Doll

If you take any notice of this blog at all, then you will have realised that it's been a whole twelve months since I posted anything.

My last blog post was March 1st 2022 when I wished you all a 'Happy St David's Day'!

And today I repeat that greeting ... including in Welsh ... because, of course, St David is the patron saint of Wales, and today is his patronal day.

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

And in honour of the day, I share with you a Little Welsh Doll ... dressed in traditional Welsh attire ... but more of that later.

When I wrote my blog post last year,  I little realised what the succeeding 12 months would bring.

Let me explain ... and this will also explain my absence.

For quite a few years now I've been living with my darling Mum here in Jersey in the Channel Islands and although she grew older she remained well and happy and active. That is, until the COVID pandemic hit us and, in 2020, forced us all into 'lockdown'.

This affected Mum as it did many elderly folk across the world. We were together as a family (Mum and myself and one of my brothers) but our lives became 'smaller'. Mum's mobility altered and she became frailer. I worked from home for a couple of years but then, at the end of March 2022 I left my job, to work more 'freely' and give myself time to spend more time with Mum as her needs grew.

This time last year Mum was forgetful and not very mobile, and often terribly anxious about pretty much everything, but still herself really. Although we kept isolated, COVID finally got us in late March, and that seemed to speed up Mum's ailments. She quickly became very poorly and her forgetfulness developed into what we now know was full on dementia, with moments when she barely knew us. And yet, there were still moments of clarity and personality, and love.

In The Salvation Army, the Christian denomination (church) that Mum and I are aligned with, when someone dies we say they are 'Promoted to Glory' because we believe that when we die we do not 'disappear' into nothingness, but rather as believers we go to Heaven to be with God and Jesus and all those who have gone before.

In early May last year, our darling Mum was 'promoted to glory'. And although I know that, at the end, she was ready to go ... so tired and so poorly ... the shock of losing her was immense for us all, especially her family.

Mum was the centre of our family, the secure point in my life certainly. She had a special relationship with all her children and I, as the only girl, was privileged to have a beautiful relationship with her. She was not just my mother, but my role model in life and faith, my friend, the person to whom I turned for recognition and affirmation and wise counsel.

And, suddenly, she was gone. No more smiles or laughter, stories, kisses and hugs, support and advice.

The grief I've experienced in the past year has been ... well ... earth shattering for me.

For months I just couldn't operate at all. I was so tired - physically and emotionally exhausted - from the many months of caring for Mum as she became less well and less mobile, more anxious and more vulnerable. Not to mention the last six weeks or so including the final few weeks sitting beside her, holding her hand in hospital as she slowly slipped away. As a family we were able to say our final 'goodbyes' but the whole process ... including hospital issues which I won't go into right now ... was devastating. Losing her has also brought other challenges and anxieties for me and often I have found myself wanting some advice and not having Mum, my sounding board, to turn to.

Right now I'm still tearful at times because I miss Mum so much...but the gut wrenching grief, which overwhelmed me in those first days, weeks and months and which rendered me immobile at times ... is beginning to level out. A little.

And these days I find myself remembering and smiling, sometimes through a few tears, but more often with thanks for the lovely person Mum was, and the relationship I had with her, and the legacy of faith and love that she left us, her family, with.

Today was one of those days and this is where the Little Welsh Doll comes in.

My Mum was originally from Wales and she was very proud of her Welsh heritage ... she kept the traces of her Welsh accent even though she lived out of that country for most of her life. 

Years ago my 'Auntie' Lil, one of my Mum's 'Best Friends' in Wales, made this little doll, probably for a Salvation Army church fair, knitting the outfit which represents the traditional Welsh female national dress. Mum often said that when she was a little girl, she used to be dressed up in the dress, apron, shawl and big hat on St David's Day and for other special occasions. She loved that doll because it reminded her of her childhood and her family who raised her, her heritage, and her friends. The shawl also reminded her that when we, her four children, were babies, she swaddled us close to herself in a Welsh blanket or shawl as generations of Welsh mothers had done before her.

That Little Welsh Doll usually sits on her dresser, but in the past few years we've placed it on the other side of the lounge, on the fireplace mantlepiece where it was in her line of sight from her chair. Seeing it there made Mum smile, and brought memories flooding back.

This time last year when the doll was once again placed on the mantlepiece, we again had a conversation, as we had so many times, about the Welsh costume days, and the Salvation Army bring and buy 'fairs' or sales, especially in the early days of my Mum and Dad's Christian ministry as officers or church leaders of The Salvation Army, some of those spent in South Wales itself.

So, today, I took Mum's Little Welsh Doll from the dresser, blew off a few specks of dust which had gathered on the dress, and placed it on the mantlepiece.

And I smiled, albeit through a few tears, and remembered my Mum with all the love in the world.

I miss our conversations, even if we had them over and over in the past few years. I miss her so much, and every day, and probably will do so until it is my time to cross over to that other land. 

But today, as I remember St David and all my Welsh family and friends, scattered across the world, I smile and remember my darling Mum and give thanks to God that we as her family and friends, and the world, was privileged to have her for so long (nine decades) and we were privileged to be able to care for her at home until almost the end. I give thanks even for those final hours as we watched her slip into Heaven, heart breaking as it was.

Thanks Mum! Love you Lots! See you in the morning!

Hope you're enjoying your first St David's Day in Heaven!

Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Hapus!

Happy St David's Day!

Today is St David's Day!

And if you're from the country of Wales, if you're Welsh, or part-Welsh (as I am) this is an important day.

On March 1st every year the people of Wales, and those of Welsh heritage wherever they are in the world, celebrate their patron saint. 

My Mum is Welsh so in our family we've always known about St David's Day. But it was when I spent my final two years of schooling in Wales that I realised how passionate people are about their saint, their history, their culture and their language. 

On this day, people wear the traditional symbols of Wales - daffodils or leeks - and in fact at school I remember one girl coming to class with a leek ... a huge vegetable ... pinned to her chest.

It WAS, of course, very funny ... and wow did it smell by the end of the day ... but it also impressed me as being a great show of 'nationality'.

On this day we may also enjoy traditional Welsh food ... my favourites are Welsh cakes which are like little griddle pancakes. Yum!

Today - St David's Day 2022  - also happens to be Shrove Tuesday, the start of the season of Lent, 40 days during which Christians prepare for Easter.

Shrove Tuesday is also known as 'Pancake Day' ... if you want to find out more about that maybe you'd like to read my blog post from 2021 when I wrote a blog every day of the year ... 'One Day at a time'.

But let's get back to St David, and you might be asking this question ... who was he?

Well in the 6th century, he was a Bishop of a place called 'Mynyw', which is the modern day St Davids, a city in the county of Pembrokeshire  in the southwest of the country.

David (Dewi) was born in Wales, although there's no clear evidence as to the year that happened. It is known that he was a celebrated teacher and preacher and that he founded monasteries and churches in Wales - St David's Cathedral is situated on the site of a monastery he founded in the Glyn Rhosyn valley of Pembrokeshire - in 'Dumnonia' (a kingdom in the southwest of England) and even Brittany in France. David is even believed to have visited the ancient religious site of Glastonbury. 

David established his own Monastic Rule, a system of religious and daily living for monks, and one of David's main rules was that when his followers were tilling the soil, THEY had to pull the plough themselves, rather than animals. Monks living by the Monastic Rule of David drank only water and ate only bread with salt and herbs - no meat, and certainly no beer. They were allowed no personal possessions and while David's monks worked in the day, they spent the evenings reading, writing and praying. 

So, why is David's feast day March 1st? 

That's the day when it's thought he died. As with his birth, there's a question mark over what year that was. Some say 601AD, others 589AD. 

David was buried in St David's Cathedral and his shrine was a popular place of pilgrimage throughout the Middle Ages. Invading Vikings removed the shrine during the 10th and 11th centuries but in 1275 a new shrine was constructed, the ruined base of which remains to this day.  

Although St David had been a popular saint in Wales since the 12th century, his religious feast day didn't become a national festival until the 18th century. And it's on March 1st every year that Welsh heritage people celebrate the man who now is their patron saint. Children especially are encouraged to celebrate as they learn about their history, and they often head to school for the day dressed as coal miners or in the traditional Welsh woman costume, with the girls often wearing a leek in their lapel. I remember at school one girl wearing such a BIG leek, a huge green vegetable, that it covered her whole chest and ... boy did it smell (like onion).

But why daffodils, and why leeks ? 

Well the leek became a symbol of the Welsh spirit because one legend says that St David advised his people to wear leeks in a battle against the Saxons. It was the days of hand-to-hand combat and wearing the leek meant that they would be recognised as Welsh by their compatriots in the heat of the battle - so no chance of someone killing a fellow Welshman! That's just one of the stories, but leeks were a popular food for many centuries and were also used for medicinal purposes, and the link with St David's Day is thought to be especially through the Tudors, who had strong Welsh roots and heritage.

And the daffodil?

This lovely yellow blooms appears in early Spring, around the time of St David's Day and it's just a joyful flower, isn't it?

But the floral link with Wales is fairly recent really and is thought to have been adopted as an alternative to the leek in the early 20th century, by which time the wearing of vegetables on your coat on March 1st had become a bit of a joke. Welsh politician and elder statesman David Lloyd George, who was British Prime Minister from 1916 to 1922, was said to be an advocate of the daffodil being used as a symbol of his Homeland.

The Welsh are a proud people and on St David's Day that pride is more obvious than ever.

If you're not aware, the country (now called the Principality) has its own ancient language. Welsh is a Celtic language - with links to the ancient Celtic Britons - and although for centuries Welsh was the common language of the people, it did fall into decline in the early 20th century as English became dominant. However in the 1990's the value of the native language was formerly recognised for its importance to the Welsh culture, heritage and future, with The Welsh Language Act 1993 and the Government of Wales Act 1998  regulating that the Welsh and English languages should be treated equally in the public sector, where sensible and possible.

These days there's Welsh speaking media, the language is taught in schools, as well as there being educational establishments where Welsh is the predominant language for conversation and teaching. I read recently that as of September 2020, it was reckoned that about a third of the population of Wales could speak the language and more than 15% spoke Welsh every day. It's been a real success story for the reinvigoration of a mother language that could easily have died out. And if you visit Wales, you'll see signs everywhere in Welsh and English.  

I know just a few words of Welsh ... passed down through my Welsh heritage ... but I'm no expert.

So, finally, today I could say 'Happy St. David’s Day!

But I instead will sign off by wishing you ...  'Dydd Gŵyl Dewi Sant Hapus!'

Caution! World Under Repair

It's New Year's Eve 2020.

And if you weren't already aware, we're at the end of ... here we go ... I'll say it .... 'a very strange year'!

There - that's done! 

I could say much about the different ways we've learned to live, the things we've missed out on, the expectations dashed, the woes of the past almost 12 months during which a microscopic virus has locked us in, locked us out! Of life, of love, of the things and people and activities and experiences we love.

But I won't! Done that, been there, along with millions of others who have put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard this year!

I'll just tell you about a walk I took this lunchtime which, weirdly, turned out to be a bit of an analogy for life as we travel from 2020 into 2021. 

I live in a lovely place called Jersey - it's one of the Channel Islands, just off the coast of France, but British - and walks on the beach, or at least along the coastline, are my favourite!

One of my usual walks is from West Park, St Helier, to First Tower and back ... not more than a mile or two all told, but bracing on a winter's day!

I set out in the sunshine but we've been having a lot of showers recently and right at the start of my walk I spotted a rainbow.

Not a massive arc in the sky, but certainly a rainbow ... the kind which popped up in the early days of the pandemic in windows and on pebbles on the beach, drawn by unknown people as a symbol of hope in the darkness.

And straightaway I was filled with a strange optimism.

 

Yes, the sky was dark on the horizon, clouds still full of rain, ominous over Elizabeth Castle on the little islet in St Aubin's Bay,  but the sky above was strikingly blue.

2020 might have been full of gloom but in all that there has also been some brightness. Remember how we all pulled together in those early days, to keep ourselves safe, to keep others safe?  Remember how we kept our distance, washed our hands, wore our masks ?Remember how we clapped for our carers at 8pm on a Thursday evening, showing our appreciation for all those who were caring for us in hospitals and care homes, serving us in the shops and on public transport ? Keeping our communities working ? Saying 'thank you' to those who are usually forgotten but who, for a while, we realised were the real heroes of our communities.

But I looked into those dark clouds and was reminded  that it's not over yet. The second spike of this wretched coronavirus is hitting us hard not just here in Jersey but across the world. People are still sick, dying in vast numbers, isolating. Some people are still unfortunately not behaving like we are in the midst of a global pandemic. Some seem to have forgotten the sacrifices of the early months of this year, and the ongoing sacrifices that some are still making to ensure the ones they love stay safe. For some of us that means still working from home after nearly a year, forgoing the company of even our close family at Christmas and New Year and on birthdays and other special anniversaries. 

But as I peered into the horizon I spotted something really beautiful ... like a golden line just on the sealine, under the cloud. Just where the sun was hitting the water.

And then I looked up ... there IS blue sky overhead.

Could I equate that to the Covid-19 vaccines which are on the way ?

Perhaps! That's one way of looking at it.

But maybe it's about more  than that. 

It reminded me that when we pull together and remember that others matter as much as ourselves, maybe sometimes more than ourselves, we can get a handle on this! We did it in the spring and summer of 2020 and then we lost focus. We thought we could relax. We believed that we were invincible. We were wrong!

Along the seafront in St Aubin's Bay in Jersey the pink granite seawalls have recently taken a battering from the storms, the high seas, the winds of winter. They are hardy and strong, but even they couldn't stand the onslaught of nature.

But they are being repaired - even on New Year's Eve the guys were out doing their stuff to rebuild these beautiful defences.  It's not a job that will be completed overnight. It must be done with precision and care to ensure that the wall survives when the storms come again, as we know they will! 

As we enter 2021 I am reminded that we are in this for the long haul. Our World is 'Under Repair'!

We are not there yet. Even with the much acclaimed and longed for vaccines, we still have a long way to go. We still need to wear masks, keep our distances, endlessly sanitise our hands. There's no letting up. 

But if we all pull together, try to forgo our personal agendas and think of the wider common good, then with the added bonus of the vaccines, we may find that this coming year will be healthier and better than the last. We need to stay alert and not forget the year that was 2020. There are lessons in that there time for us all! 

The storm is still there ... over the horizon ... and it will come back I'm sure. But the blues skies are overhead! 

Happy New Year everyone! Stay safe! 

*All pictures /images by Cathy Le Feuvre

                                                                                                                                                      

 

 

 

 

 

 

Life in the Time of Covid19*

It's been more than a month now since Jersey in the Channel Islands - it's a small British island which lies just off the coast of Normandy in France - went into 'Lockdown'.

It was Monday March 30th and after witnessing the spread of the coronavirus from the end of 2019 and watching what was going on in the UK which introduced social distancing and other rules on social gatherings on March 23rd, our government announced similar restrictions to prevent the spread of the disease.

Since the end of March many islanders have been 'self isolating' in our homes, especially if they are over 65 (which, if you're reading this in 2020... I'm not .. yet!) I'm working from home because, although I am not in any particular danger, I look after my Mum who turned 90 a couple of weeks ago. We have been allowed outdoors for 2 hours a day for shopping, trips for healthcare or exercise. But we've pretty much stayed indoors.

Lots of people have called this a 'strange' time!

It is! 

As a writer I kept saying to myself 'you really should be documenting all this!' Writing a diary? At least blogging? But somehow, in all the weird lethargy of the times, I haven't quite got around to it. I did start writing something on April 1st but didn't post it because … what I wrote felt like an APRIL FOOL! You could make it up!

And then, I asked myself a second question 'what actually have you got to say?' That's because I feel like my life at the moment is incredibly BORING! I look at social media posts and everyone is being so creative - making stuff, home schooling, using their 2 hours for spectacular excursions, whether they should be doing so or not - and in comparison … I'm doing nothing. Or that's what it feels like!

Now, however, as the pandemic continues to sweep across the globe and more and more people are infected, affected and die, I feel I need to write! I realise as time goes on that being intimidated by what others are saying they are doing on social media, is worthless. Whether we know it or not, even the smallest day to day elements of life during such a strange time are worth documenting. Aren't they?

SO here goes … 

I AM working from home.  I work for the BBC local radio station (BBC Radio Jersey) and they sent me home and set me up with a computer with all the links to programmes and editing facilities, on March 31st. And it's busy.

Here in Jersey we are working our way up to the 75th anniversary of the Liberation of our island on Saturday May 9th. If you're not aware, the Channel Islands were the only place in the British Isles that were invaded and occupied by the German Nazi regime during the Second World War. We celebrate the Liberation from our Occupation every year, but  Liberation75 was meant to be a fantastic public commemoration, with masses of events planned. That's all been cancelled due to this wretched virus, although much is now happening online.

At BBC Radio Jersey, we're still planning lots to mark the day, which follows the celebration of the 75th anniversary of VE Day in the UK on May 8th. And as Communities Journalist in Jersey I'm helping to gather stories, and I've been involved in some long running projects in the run up to May 9th. So I've had loads of editing to do!

It's very surreal though. My 'office' is my Mum's dining room. No outdoor window but a couple of lovely paintings on the wall of Jersey scenes, and surrounded by family photos on the piano and mantlepiece.

Although I try not to, I find myself sitting for hours at my computer, only getting up occasionally to enjoy a cuppa, have a 'comfort break',  receive socially distanced post which has been pushed through the letterbox by the safe postman, chatting to Mum and my brother, who is also socially isolated at home (he's a Personal Trainer and he can't work right now because gyms are shut) and very occasionally, walking around the garden to get a bit of fresh air.

I've realised that at work we normally do break up our day. We chat with colleagues, we go make some tea or coffee, occasionally I have to walk three floors downstairs to open the door to visitors when our receptionist is on a break, we have meetings. And I'm missing all that … even the annoying doorbells!

I've discovered that it's very easy to become disconnected with the work programme. I have found myself becoming a little paranoid from time to time that OTHERS think I'm doing nothing here at home and I'm just sitting here waiting for their instructions. At other times I've found myself thinking 'Well they can't be doing much there in the office because it feels like I'm doing everything!' 

Both emotions are, of course, ridiculous in the extreme. But it's one of the results of isolation and if it's affecting me, someone who is usually pretty upbeat, then it must be having really detrimental affects on others who are not so fortunate of myself. 

I can go for walks. I have been for a few over the past month and they've been glorious! They've been mostly on the beach near to my home, the stretch of sand from West Park in St Helier to First Tower in St Aubin's Bay, which is fabulous! I should go for more exercise but by the end of the day in front of the computer I'm exhausted! And the weekends seem to go so fast, with an early morning Saturday shopping trip which has got earlier and earlier to avoid the social distancing long queues and cooking and cleaning and washing, and, truth be told,  just sitting in front of the TV.

By the way I have 'social mediared' some walks which I realise means that I'm part of that online weirdness that makes others feel incomplete. It's a complex world we live in.

I have a garden. Must get round to clearing some weeds soon as the weather warms up a bit.

Less traffic in the roads outside the house means I can hear the birds more clearly. I'm sure they've always been there but often we've not been able to hear them often over the general hum and hubbub of modern life. 

Meanwhile, in our beautiful island, as of TODAY we have 292 cases of COVID19 confirmed, 199 people have recovered and sadly 24 people have died with links to coronavirus.

I'm a journalist, so you might also expect me to report today on the world statistics ...  as of right now, in the UK 186,599 people have been confirmed with the virus, up 4,339 in the past 24 hours. Deaths stand at 28,446, up 315 on yesterday. Yes that daily figure seems to be falling at the moment, and 1,918 people have recovered. Across the globe there have been 3,462,682 deaths linked to coronavirus, up more than 76,000 in the last 24 hours. People who have recovered is 1,110,719 and the numbers who have died stands at 244,911 (up nearly 5,500 on yesterday).

I say 'statistics', but of course each person represents a life, a family, relationships. Every life lost is a tragedy. And, of course, people aren't just dying of COVID19. I've lost a couple of friends and acquaintances during these past weeks, of different long term conditions, and one of the awful things is that because of the restrictions on gatherings, we can't give them the send off they deserve.

But, one of the great things about this time in our lives is that it seems it's given us a new appreciation of people who make our world work. The health professionals and care workers, shop workers, postmen and women, the people who empty our bins. SO many people who until we entered this strange time, were invisible, undervalued, underpaid. Every Thursday evening at 8pm here in Jersey and across the wider British Isles, we stand in our streets and Clap for the Carers, showing our appreciation of all those people who nurse us when we're ill care for us, keep food on the shelves, help us stay in touch with each other and generally keep our world ticking over.  

We don't clap for the overpaid sports personalities and reality TV stars, the celebrities who (still) populate our TV screens, making money out of this situation by being paid to give us endless insights into how they're coping with lockdown in their posh homes and mansions! We clap for those who live in tiny homes, struggling to pay their bills.

We don't clap for the people who take home six figure salaries in the finance industry. We clap for the people who barely scrape a living in life.

We clap for what we have termed in the past  'the little people'. They are not little anymore. They are saving lives, putting their own lives at risk just so we can be safe and stay safe. 

And I pray that when this is all over we will continue to value those for whom we clap on a Thursday. That they will be able to negotiate better pay and better conditions. And that our 21st century British obsession with nonsense like celebrities who are famous for simply being famous and which currently dominates much of our culture, will disappear

And so we come to this weekend. Yesterday (May 2) some of the restrictions on movement were slightly raised here in Jersey. Now we are allowed to go out for four hours a day. We're allowed to meet others (just two) outside our own households. And our 'time out' can be for any purpose, not just exercise and shopping. Our Health Minister has warned that the change could lead to more deaths, but the government are already talking about relaxing some of the rules on the way restaurants can operate, and more. 

Yesterday and today I ventured out (shopping anda  short walk) and I've already noticed many more people out and about. People gathering in larger groups, especially young people. Although the government still advises 'social distancing' (staying more than 2metres apart) I saw many people not doing so. I read social media posts from people delighted that 'the Lockdown is over!'

It is NOT! 

It's just now we have our medical ducks in a row and will be able to cope with the upsurge in cases of COVID 19. We've seen a temporary 'Nightingale Hospital' go up in record time on a field near St Helier, our main town. It will house sick people in isolated wards. Cost? £14m! But I fear that the cost in lives will be even more devastating as people relax, mingle more and spread the dreaded coronavirus.

So how am I feeling today - Sunday May 3rd? Well, a little fearful for our island and it's people, many of whom right now are living with false hope.

And as for me and mine? We will remain locked in, socially isolated, wearing masks and gloves to go out, practising social distancing for a long while yet. Even if we slowly go slightly mad with the isolation. I'm a person of Christian faith, so that sustains me and gives me the optimism I need. I believe in prayer so I pray. And I practice some deep breathing and positive praying/thinking when it all becomes too much and I start to get a little panic attack.

But most of all, I remind myself that this time WILL pass.

It won't last forever.

Will it?

*The title of this blog post nods in the direction of a brilliant book called 'Love in the Time of Cholera' which is a novel by the Colombian Nobel prize winning author Gabriel García Márquz  (Spanish: El amor en los tiempos del cólera) … if you haven't read it … please do!

A Wedding Anniversary

June 16th!

I don't know about you but I'm pretty intrigued by dates. For every day in the calendar there will be something interesting that will have happened on that date, sometime in history.

For instance, did you know that it was on this day in 1890 that a child called Arthur Stanley Jefferson was born in Lancashire in Northern England? He would grow up to be Stan Laurel, one of the greatest comic actors of all time, who with his partner Oliver Hardy appeared in over 100 films at a time when the movie business was just beginning.

Now, this is not a piece of information I was born with, or even learnt at school. No ... I looked up 'June 16th' on the internet and  got the information from one of the many websites that has this kind of stuff on it.  In this case it was On This Day.com

But something that's not on many, if any, sites is that this day - June 16th - is also an important one in the history of one of the global Christian movements, a church and charity organisation that today works with the disadvantaged and the marginalised in over 130 countries across the world - The Salvation Army

Because it was on this day - June 16th 1855 - that the founders of The Salvation Army, William Booth and Catherine Booth, were married at Stockwell Green Congregational Church in London. 

They had met a few years earlier, in 1852, at a tea party organised by a fellow Methodist who had taken William, who was a would-be preacher, under his wing. In the intervening years, William had travelled across the United Kingdom, preaching the Christian Good News as an itinerant independent evangelist but at last the couple found time in his busy schedule to be married. After a long struggle to find a church which would ordain him, the Methodist Church would become their home for a while. Then followed years when they both became known as touring independent preachers, until they finally found themselves back in London where, in 1865, they set up an organisation called The Christian Mission, which reached out to and shared the Christian message with some of the poorest communities in the British capital city.  

 In 1878 they changed their name to ' The Salvation Army' and soon the Christian movement would not just have centres and groups ('corps') in London, in England and the British Isles, but across the world.

From the day of their first meeting, during their long engagement and over the next 35 years of marriage William and Catherine wrote letters to each other and these letters are held today in the British Library in London. When I was asked by Lion Hudson Books to write a book to coincide with the 150th anniversary of The Salvation Army in 2015, I turned to these letters - hundreds of them - to build their story.

So - on this day - June 16th - I offer a short extract from that book  - 'William & Catherine' - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters.

This is my imagining of that day and a little of the narrative that follows in Chapter 7.

 

 

The sun emerged from behind the early summer clouds as Catherine and William stepped over the threshold of the Stockwell Green Congregational Church.

Catherine clutched her new husband’s hand, feeling small yet secure.

William looked down at Catherine’s sweet face and smiled. He could feel her shaking ever so slightly and a rush of protectiveness towards this woman overwhelmed him. He could hardly believe that, after all this time and so many obstacles, they were at last man and wife.

It had been a short and solemn service and blessing. Perfect.

Catherine had been pale and had spoken quietly, her voice quivering as she repeated her vows of love and obedience. In contrast, William had found that his voice, which he was accustomed to using to rather larger congregations, had rung loudly around the church. As his “I do!” echoed around the building it had provoked a little giggle from his beloved. Then, in the cavernous chapel, William and Catherine had knelt at the altar and pledged themselves to God and to each other.

Behind Catherine, William noticed that his father-in-law, John Mumford, and his sister Emma, the only witnesses to the solemn ceremony, were now exiting the building and squinting in the watery sunshine. For a moment he regretted the absence of the rest of his family. Of course, it was unlikely that Ann would attend, but he had hoped that his mother and her namesake, his sister Mary, all those miles away in Nottingham, might have been able to make it, even at such short notice. However, he and Catherine had been thrilled when Emma had sent word that they would be able to afford for her, at any rate, to attend. He knew Catherine’s day was also slightly saddened by the fact that her own mother had been disinclined to attend the ceremony, but, as he held Catherine’s little gloved hand in his, he felt a rush of love and appreciation for her commitment to him.

Catherine pulled her shawl closer around her neck and shoulders. She shivered again. Even with layers of petticoats under her skirts she still felt the chill of the day. Maybe she should, after all, have worn her coat. The few days of milder weather in May hadn’t lasted and it was still chilly, even for mid-June.

Catherine turned to the Revd David Thomas, who had so kindly agreed to preside over this most sacred of ceremonies.

“Mr Thomas, thank you!” she announced, grasping his hand and shaking it wholeheartedly. No simpering little handshake for this gentleman. She remembered their previous debates and discussions about the place of women in church and society, and she knew he would expect this forwardness from her, even on this day.

Father Mumford was calling from the street. The Stockwell New Chapel was tucked away from the main thoroughfare and he had a cab waiting. William, Catherine, and Emma took their leave of the minister and made their way to the horsedrawn vehicle. It was but a short drive back home to Russell Street in Brixton, where, regardless of her unwillingness to attend the actual service, William was sure that Mrs Mumford would be waiting with some light refreshments. Whatever her views on the marriage, and he still wasn’t quite sure of her, she loved her daughter unconditionally and would, he was sure, come around.

William reached out his hand to Catherine. She grasped it and he helped her into the carriage. Whatever the future held now, they were one. The Lord would determine their way, and, whatever happened, they would face it together.

When William Booth married Catherine Mumford, they intended it to be a simple occasion, and it was. In common with many weddings of the time, theirs was a quiet ceremony in church, held in the morning. After the ceremony the couple would have signed the parish register in the vestry, the bride signing her maiden name for the very last time.

As was common then, the venue was the bride’s choice. This had been the subject of some discussion over the weeks, but despite her previous falling-out with the Revd Thomas over the matter of women’s equality Catherine still greatly admired him, and despite the fact that she and William had rejected Congregationalism, she knew the Stockwell Chapel and it was quite near home. They had to marry in a local church and other options fell through, but the choice of venue may have been a reason why Mrs Mumford decided not to attend the marriage of her only daughter. Mrs Booth Snr’s absence, along with that of William’s youngest sister, was almost undoubtedly for financial reasons. They and Emma still only scraped a living in a haberdasher’s shop in Nottingham.

The wedding ceremony would have been followed by a small family celebration at home, perhaps with a specially made cake or perhaps not; perhaps in the company of a few friends, but maybe not. This was certainly a wedding on a shoestring budget.

Although William had earlier intimated that they would both have new outfits for the wedding, it’s likely that they had better things on which to spend their meagre resources and the extravagance of new clothes may have been one step too far. "Sunday best” would have sufficed.

For the rich and well-to-do, marriage down the centuries had often been seen as a way of cementing helpful and even political alliances, and for the upper classes weddings afforded an opportunity to display their wealth. However, wearing white was not common for brides until it was made popular by Queen Victoria. When she married Prince Albert in 1840, some fifteen years before William and Catherine’s wedding day, she opted for a white dress and, following the wide publicity of the day, this was copied by those who could afford expensive white fabric.

But even if Catherine Mumford had been romantically inclined to emulate her queen in this matter, her purse and that of her parents, who still appeared to stagger from one financial disaster to another, would have disallowed it.

Very few couples other than those with money could really afford a proper “honeymoon”, but William had yearned for one, and had planned to take his bride “overseas” for that short “getting to know you” holiday. The reality was a week on the Isle of Wight, staying with friends. The couple then moved on for a mission campaign in Guernsey, from where Catherine wrote to her parents reporting crowds of people flocking to hear her husband but “not so many cases of conversion” as William had expected and hoped for.

Their return boat trip included a short stopover at the nearby and larger Channel Island of Jersey, but the voyage home to England left Catherine violently ill. Very soon she was to discover that she was expecting their first child, but she remained determined to be with William whenever possible. She had waited this long for her husband and now she hoped not to be apart from him for any length of time.

Theirs was to be an itinerant life. On his wedding day, William Booth gave his “home” address as Ardwick, Manchester, where he had lodged during his evangelistic work. He had very lately been confirmed by the Methodist New Connexion Conference in the post of evangelist with an annual salary of £100 for the year plus his travelling expenses.

As he had proudly informed his fiancée just a few weeks before their marriage, “This, of course, is an advance of £30 or £40 on the young man’s salary.” He was to be employed directly by the Annual Conference rather than by any circuit, and this greatly pleased him and Catherine because it meant that he was not under the governance of local church leaders.

After Guernsey he already had invitations to visit (among other places) York and Chester. As always, finances occupied his mind. He reported to Catherine that he had had to pay £5 for his Beneficent Fund Subscription but he hoped to receive £6 for preaching in London, so he had it covered.

Although they had no permanent home to move into once the wedding and honeymoon were over, William hoped to continue with his evangelism while Catherine would continue to live with her parents and join him whenever possible.

 

Hope you've enjoyed reading this little extract from what was my first book. I've written a few more since then but am still so proud of this one!

If you want to find out more or even buy a copy please feel free to go to the 'Books' Page of my website - https://www.cathylefeuvre.com/pages/cathys-books.html - or to any of the online sale sites, especially the Lion Hudson site for this book.

Thanks so much!

Have a great day!

 

 

A Day like Today

Winter is on the way.

How do I know this? Well,  the date on the calendar, for one thing, tells me we are in the last few months of 2018.  Soon enough the days will grow cooler, even colder and the trees will be stripped of their foliage helped by the sharp winds blowing off the sea, and the rain will undoubtedly set in for days, even weeks, and perhaps the world will turn white. 

The days will be dark and long, days of bundling up in thick coats and scarves, and hats and gloves, wrapped up against the cold and rain, and even snow. On those days it will feel, as it always does, that winter will not end, that the darkness will never cease. That never again will the sun warm our bones, or the water feel warm against our skin.

It's on those days that I will remember days like today.

A day to walk on the beach, listening to the waves crash on the shore, paddling my feet in the warm ocean. Feeling the sun on my skin, relishing the final moments of a long hot summer which has managed to extend into the end of autumn.

 

It's on bad days, when nothing is right and there seems to be no hope for the future that we can remember the days when life was great, knowing that just as the tide comes in and out, in and out, in and out every day, the sad moments won't last and good times will return.

There will be warm days again, even when the world has chilled our bodies and our hearts and even our spirits to the core. Even when there seems to be no hope in life, we will remember days like this when life and spirits were high and all was well with the world.

How do we know this? Well,  if we've been given good days in the past we surely will receive them again. For me, that just makes sense. It's the circle of life. It's all a matter of faith, and hope.

Monday Blog Hop - Debbie Duncan writes

My second Monday Blog friend is Debbie Duncan. She's a brilliant friend to me, and as you'll find out when you read her blog we're about to have a book published which we have co-authored. It's been great fun but has nuggets of truth and reality which we hope people will find interesting, thought-provoking, real and even challenging ... as they laugh out loud while reading!

Debbie's own blog is called 'Debbie's Deeds' ... so here she is to tell us more about her writing...

 

What I am working on?

 

At the moment I am writing a commissioned article for a nursing journal due in on the 18th June. The skeleton is in place ! 

 

I have just written a book with Cathy Le Feuvre. It is a novel about two women who are best of friends. They email and text each other about their everyday 'walking around' lives : family , singleness, work and life and faith. Some of the issues they discuss are sensitive issues we all deal within church life. It is sensitive, serious and silly at times.

It was a joy to write and there are loose threads for a possible Book Two! Watch Cathy's and my communications over the next couple of months for more information!  

 

Why do I write what I do?

 

I believe we all communicate in different ways to pass on what it is at our core. I am an educationist - I lecture in nursing at Kings College in London. I do communicate facts but I am also passionate about my faith. Writing is a medium I believe I can use to communicate that passion. 

 

How does my work differ from others in its genre?

 

I write with two hats on. One is as a nurse - I have had over 40 articles published in the nursing and medical press. I take the knowledge I have from my 20+ years as a nurse and blend it with my 20+ years as a Christian, wife and mother.  

How does my writing process work?

 

I usually think of the title before it becomes a book or an article. I agree it is a strange concept, much like a painter naming a painting before it is finished. But then you know what you want to invent before you have a working model. I then spend several months thinking about the idea. In my mind it grows arms and legs. When it is fully formed then I sit down to write. In a way I feel I live the book before it is fully formed. 

 

Articles are similar but obviously much quicker in their birthing. If they are for nursing journals then I also have to digest the context of recent research and use them to help form the body of the text. 

 

That's my contribution to the Monday Blog Hop. Now I am passing the baton to a brilliant writer and blogger ... it's your turn Dave Criddle ...

Dave writes a brilliant blog - 'Limping into Truth' - and he may not tell you this, so I will,  last year Dave was voted Young Blogger of the Year at the Christian New Media conference.