Cathy Le Feuvre

Founders' Day - the beginnings of The Salvation Army

If you've never had July 2 noted in your calendar as an important date, then you're probably not involved in or associated with The Salvation Army, the global church and charity organisation.

You won't know, therefore, that July 2 is 'Founders' Day' ... the day in 1865 which is marked as the start of the Christian movement that (eventually) became The Salvation Army.

More than a decade ago I was privileged to have published my first book ... 'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' (Monarch Books 2013).

As the title indicates, it's the story of William and Catherine Booth, who between them started the Christian movement which today is in 134 countries across the world offering not just spiritual support through a network of churches (or 'corps' as they are known) but also hope and help for people who find themselves disadvantaged - those who are homeless, victims of modern slavery, those struggling with addiction, families needing support through foodbanks and the need for housing, support and fun for children and young people. And SO much more!

In my book I trace William and Catherine's love story, family life, and spiritual journey ... a journey which began way before the couple came to London, where The Salvation Army was founded, way before William was ordained into the Methodist Church, and Catherine herself took up a preaching ministry mostly to other women.

My book is a mixture of story-telling. There are excerpts from William and Catherine's personal letters, which are today held in the British Library in London, who kindly granted me permission to reproduce parts of some of the letters. There's a whole lot of 'history' which followed many many months of research on my part, the narrative which brings the story together. And then there are short 'stories' of my own making, based on information in Salvation Army history, and the Booths' letters.

These little 'glimpses' into life in Victorian England and into the lives of the Booths and the early Salvation Army may be described as 'immersive history' telling, and they were such fun to write as I tried to get under the skin of the times and the people with whom the Booths came into contact. I hope they really bring the couple and their times to life!

Chapter 13 of the book includes one of those little tales from that summer of 1865, when we know the Booths were settling into life in London, after years of living in lots of different places in England. We know also that it was midsummer of 1865 that William Booth preached outside the Blind Beggar pub in the poor East End of London. Not long after that, he was invited to preach as part of a wider Christian campaign and on July 2 1865 he preached in a tent on the Mile End Waste in the East End... not far from that pub.

THAT tent meeting is the occasion that Salvationists - members of The Salvation Army across the world - mark as the start of the Christian church and movement to which they belong. Which is why we are marking THAT day today! 

Please feel free to read about that day at the Blind Beggar pub ... from that chapter in my book.... and if this whets your appetite for more and you fancy reading the whole thing and even buying the book then you may click here.

Thanks so much!

Outside on the street a tall man with a thick dark beard mounted an old box.

Oh, not this again!

Couldn’t a man enjoy a couple of ales without having that noise outside? If the pub wasn’t so handy for home, he’d find somewhere else to sup. But the Blind Beggar was perfect, especially when he’d had a few too many – all he needed to do was stagger round the corner to the old woman who’d be there, as always, waiting to put him to bed.

The drinker rubbed the dirty window pane to peer out.
“George!” he shouted to the aleman behind the bar. “Can’t you get rid of ’em?”
“It’s a free world, Joe. So long as they don’t step over the doorstep we can’t do nuffink about ’em!”
“Shut the door!” someone yelled.
“Don’t you dare! It’s bloody boilin’ in here!” shouted barman George.

He was right, of course. Even this late in the day, it was still warm. Well it was midsummer, after all, and the inn reeked of sweat, stale beer, and the stench of the open sewer in the road outside.

Joe looked out of the window again. He’d lost count of the times his drinking had been interrupted by these religious fanatics. There seemed to be an endless stream of them, all spouting about God and how he needed “saving”.

Saving from what, that’s what he wanted to know. Who could save him from the misery of gruelling hard work and grinding poverty?

Maybe another pint might help. He searched his torn pocket. Just a penny left. Enough for one more, but then he’d go home empty-handed again and he’d get it in the neck from the old woman. He’d done that many a time before, even though it meant the kids went to bed with empty bellies. But a man had to have his fun, didn’t he? What with spending all day at the docks, hauling all those sacks of whatever it was they were loading the ships with. Maybe he’d just spend the ha’penny.

“Another half, George!” Joe approached the bar, where the crowd had thinned out a bit. A few of his mates had ambled outside and seemed to be listening to the tall man. A few were heckling from the door, but a couple had moved forward.

Just to get a bit of air, Joe took his half across the threshold into the street and stood there under the Blind Beggar sign.
“Not seen this one afore, Will!” he said to the man next to him.
“No – new, I think! Looks a bit fresh, doesn’t he?”

Not just fresh, but not posh either, Joe noted. He wasn’t dressed particularly sharply; his frock coat looked a little worse for wear. In fact, he appeared more frayed around the edges that the other missioners who usually turned up outside the pub. This one’s thick black hair was all over the place as he waved his arms around. He was sweating profusely and occasionally mopped his brow with a grey-looking kerchief. And what was that accent? He wasn’t from London, that was for sure.

Joe was intrigued. He found himself listening to this one as he hadn’t listened before. He was, of course, a religious nut, but he seemed to be a bit more normal than the rest.

“What’s ’is name, Will?”
“That’s right!” came the reply, followed by a hearty laugh.
“Don’t muck me about, mate! What’s ’is bloody name?”
“You said it! ’is name is Will! William Booth!”

                                                                   .....

In the summer of 1865 outside the Blind Beggar pub, William Booth was doing what came naturally, preaching to the unconverted in their own environment. Under a pub sign, risking ridicule and even some physical danger – it wasn’t unusual for street preachers to have things thrown at them by a heckling crowd – William was part of an evangelistic tradition that was growing rapidly in mid-nineteenth-century London. There were numerous chapels and small missions, many of them Methodist, across this part of town. By the 1850s there were around 144 charities at work in London, many of which were already mixing religion with practical works and good deeds.

William’s street preaching impressed a group of churchmen and evangelists known as the East London Special Services Committee. Among them were Mr R.C. Morgan and Mr Samuel Chase, the editors of The Revival, who, despite their misgivings over the preaching antics of the Revd Booth’s wife, were still determined to have William join them for their next evangelistic campaign.

The Special Committee didn’t come from or belong to one single denomination, and William Booth had already preached for them at the Garrick Theatre some years before. Now they wanted him for more radical work, and on 2 July 1865 – the date that is now noted in history as the “start” of The Salvation Army – William Booth stood to preach for them in a tent on the Mile End Waste, on the old Quaker Burial Ground in Whitechapel, East London.

Although the old tent blew down that autumn, there was no stopping the Booth mission. 

The East London Christian Revival Society was born and in the winter of 1865 it moved indoors. On Sundays the meetings were held in a local building – the Assembly Rooms on New Road, Whitechapel, otherwise known as Professor Orson’s Dancing Academy, its main function in the week. Even on the Sabbath the evangelists had to share their meeting hall with a photographer, and on weekdays the Booths and their expanding group of supporters rented other venues: an old chapel, a warehouse, a stable, a carpenter’s shop, a skittle alley.....

What happened next? 

By 1870 the 'Christian Revival Association' had been renamed 'The East London Christian Mission' and then simply 'The Christian Mission'. It was early in 1878 that publicity was issued with both the name 'Christian Mission' and 'Salvation Army' attached, but by May of that year the name 'Christian Mission' had been finally dropped and William and Catherine's Christian movement became ... 'The Salvation Army'.

The rest, as they say, is history!

Founders' Day - the beginnings of The Salvation Army

If you've never had July 2 noted in your calendar as an important date, then you're probably not involved in or associated with The Salvation Army, the global church and charity organisation.

You won't know, therefore, that July 2 is 'Founders' Day' ... the day in 1865 which is marked as the start of the Christian movement that (eventually) became The Salvation Army.

More than a decade ago I was privileged to have published my first book ... 'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' (Monarch Books 2013).

As the title indicates, it's the story of William and Catherine Booth, who between them started the Christian movement which today is in 134 countries across the world offering not just spiritual support through a network of churches (or 'corps' as they are known) but also hope and help for people who find themselves disadvantaged - those who are homeless, victims of modern slavery, those struggling with addiction, families needing support through foodbanks and the need for housing, support and fun for children and young people. And SO much more!

In my book I trace William and Catherine's love story, family life, and spiritual journey ... a journey which began way before the couple came to London, where The Salvation Army was founded, way before William was ordained into the Methodist Church, and Catherine herself took up a preaching ministry mostly to other women.

My book is a mixture of story-telling. There are excerpts from William and Catherine's personal letters, which are today held in the British Library in London, who kindly granted me permission to reproduce parts of some of the letters. There's a whole lot of 'history' which followed many many months of research on my part, the narrative which brings the story together. And then there are short 'stories' of my own making, based on information in Salvation Army history, and the Booths' letters.

These little 'glimpses' into life in Victorian England and into the lives of the Booths and the early Salvation Army may be described as 'immersive history' telling, and they were such fun to write as I tried to get under the skin of the times and the people with whom the Booths came into contact. I hope they really bring the couple and their times to life!

Chapter 13 of the book includes one of those little tales from that summer of 1865, when we know the Booths were settling into life in London, after years of living in lots of different places in England. We know also that it was midsummer of 1865 that William Booth preached outside the Blind Beggar pub in the poor East End of London. Not long after that, he was invited to preach as part of a wider Christian campaign and on July 2 1865 he preached in a tent on the Mile End Waste in the East End... not far from that pub.

THAT tent meeting is the occasion that Salvationists - members of The Salvation Army across the world - mark as the start of the Christian church and movement to which they belong. Which is why we are marking THAT day today! 

Please feel free to read about that day at the Blind Beggar pub ... from that chapter in my book.... and if this whets your appetite for more and you fancy reading the whole thing and even buying the book then you may click here.

Thanks so much!

Outside on the street a tall man with a thick dark beard mounted an old box.

Oh, not this again!

Couldn’t a man enjoy a couple of ales without having that noise outside? If the pub wasn’t so handy for home, he’d find somewhere else to sup. But the Blind Beggar was perfect, especially when he’d had a few too many – all he needed to do was stagger round the corner to the old woman who’d be there, as always, waiting to put him to bed.

The drinker rubbed the dirty window pane to peer out.
“George!” he shouted to the aleman behind the bar. “Can’t you get rid of ’em?”
“It’s a free world, Joe. So long as they don’t step over the doorstep we can’t do nuffink about ’em!”
“Shut the door!” someone yelled.
“Don’t you dare! It’s bloody boilin’ in here!” shouted barman George.

He was right, of course. Even this late in the day, it was still warm. Well it was midsummer, after all, and the inn reeked of sweat, stale beer, and the stench of the open sewer in the road outside.

Joe looked out of the window again. He’d lost count of the times his drinking had been interrupted by these religious fanatics. There seemed to be an endless stream of them, all spouting about God and how he needed “saving”.

Saving from what, that’s what he wanted to know. Who could save him from the misery of gruelling hard work and grinding poverty?

Maybe another pint might help. He searched his torn pocket. Just a penny left. Enough for one more, but then he’d go home empty-handed again and he’d get it in the neck from the old woman. He’d done that many a time before, even though it meant the kids went to bed with empty bellies. But a man had to have his fun, didn’t he? What with spending all day at the docks, hauling all those sacks of whatever it was they were loading the ships with. Maybe he’d just spend the ha’penny.

“Another half, George!” Joe approached the bar, where the crowd had thinned out a bit. A few of his mates had ambled outside and seemed to be listening to the tall man. A few were heckling from the door, but a couple had moved forward.

Just to get a bit of air, Joe took his half across the threshold into the street and stood there under the Blind Beggar sign.
“Not seen this one afore, Will!” he said to the man next to him.
“No – new, I think! Looks a bit fresh, doesn’t he?”

Not just fresh, but not posh either, Joe noted. He wasn’t dressed particularly sharply; his frock coat looked a little worse for wear. In fact, he appeared more frayed around the edges that the other missioners who usually turned up outside the pub. This one’s thick black hair was all over the place as he waved his arms around. He was sweating profusely and occasionally mopped his brow with a grey-looking kerchief. And what was that accent? He wasn’t from London, that was for sure.

Joe was intrigued. He found himself listening to this one as he hadn’t listened before. He was, of course, a religious nut, but he seemed to be a bit more normal than the rest.

“What’s ’is name, Will?”
“That’s right!” came the reply, followed by a hearty laugh.
“Don’t muck me about, mate! What’s ’is bloody name?”
“You said it! ’is name is Will! William Booth!”

                                                                   .....

In the summer of 1865 outside the Blind Beggar pub, William Booth was doing what came naturally, preaching to the unconverted in their own environment. Under a pub sign, risking ridicule and even some physical danger – it wasn’t unusual for street preachers to have things thrown at them by a heckling crowd – William was part of an evangelistic tradition that was growing rapidly in mid-nineteenth-century London. There were numerous chapels and small missions, many of them Methodist, across this part of town. By the 1850s there were around 144 charities at work in London, many of which were already mixing religion with practical works and good deeds.

William’s street preaching impressed a group of churchmen and evangelists known as the East London Special Services Committee. Among them were Mr R.C. Morgan and Mr Samuel Chase, the editors of The Revival, who, despite their misgivings over the preaching antics of the Revd Booth’s wife, were still determined to have William join them for their next evangelistic campaign.

The Special Committee didn’t come from or belong to one single denomination, and William Booth had already preached for them at the Garrick Theatre some years before. Now they wanted him for more radical work, and on 2 July 1865 – the date that is now noted in history as the “start” of The Salvation Army – William Booth stood to preach for them in a tent on the Mile End Waste, on the old Quaker Burial Ground in Whitechapel, East London.

Although the old tent blew down that autumn, there was no stopping the Booth mission. 

The East London Christian Revival Society was born and in the winter of 1865 it moved indoors. On Sundays the meetings were held in a local building – the Assembly Rooms on New Road, Whitechapel, otherwise known as Professor Orson’s Dancing Academy, its main function in the week. Even on the Sabbath the evangelists had to share their meeting hall with a photographer, and on weekdays the Booths and their expanding group of supporters rented other venues: an old chapel, a warehouse, a stable, a carpenter’s shop, a skittle alley.....

What happened next? 

By 1870 the 'Christian Revival Association' had been renamed 'The East London Christian Mission' and then simply 'The Christian Mission'. It was early in 1878 that publicity was issued with both the name 'Christian Mission' and 'Salvation Army' attached, but by May of that year the name 'Christian Mission' had been finally dropped and William and Catherine's Christian movement became ... 'The Salvation Army'.

The rest, as they say, is history!

I Shall Pass This Way But Once...

I've been doing a lot of clearing recently and as I continue to rifle through lots of stuff, clearing & storing and 'letting go' of many things … I found this little picture!

 

I remember it at home over the years propped up here and there … the mantelpiece, various shelves. 

 

On the back of the card are these words:

 

To Major and Mrs LeFerve (sic) With All Good Wishes from Marjorie Holleyoak

I''ve no idea who Marjorie was but it was a long time ago that my parents received this lovely card, probably from a church / Salvation Army corps member or friend - my parents were Salvation Army ministers.

 

A long time ago given as a gift, but the sentiments are the same today as they have always been!

 

‘I expect to pass through this world but once. Any good thing, therefore, that I can do or any kindness I can show to any creature, let me do it now. Let me not defer or neglect it, for I shall not pass this way again.’

 

This quote is credited to Stephen Grellet …a prominent French-American Quaker missionary, 1772-1855.

 

I'm wondering now if the sentiments in this message seeped into my psyche down the years ... you may (or may not) know that in recent years I've written a book about kindness ... 'The Gift of Kindness', published by Authentic Media and written with my friend and writing buddy, Debbie Duncan.

 

If this be loving ... then I love!

On this Valentine's Day I share with you something very special.

A few years back I wrote a book based on the lives and letters of the couple who founded The Salvation Army, the global church and charity movement.

William Booth met Catherine Mumford in 1851 and they married four years later, in July 1855. Their relationship was developed through letter writing, and that correspondence continued throughout their marriage.

Those letters are held in the British Library in London, and it was sheer pleasure to spend hours pouring over those epistles, deciphering the handwriting. Through the correspondence I got to know these individuals on quite a personal level and I discovered that, although they were obviously very religious and spiritual, they were also complex characters, flawed individuals, and ... I found to my surprise ... very much in love.

That personal even romantic love kept Catherine and William close, and that and their love for God and humanity and their mutual passion for sharing the Christian gospel,  helped them to stay strong often during very difficult times.

I love that in 1872, 17 years into their marriage, William - who was also quite an accomplished poet - was inspired to write this to his wife, the mother of his eight children, and his partner in life, faith and Christian mission.

These were William's words, penned to his beloved Catherine in 1872 ... by the time he wrote this loving poem, they had been married for 17 years, having got married on 16 June 1855!

If ’tis love to wish thee near,

To shed for thee the silent tear,

To start at every step and fear,

Yet hope, that it will bring thee near –

If this be loving, then I love.

If ’tis love to wish that I,

Knit by some strange mysterious tie,

Might with thee live or with thee die,

Then dwell with thee eternally –

If this be loving, then I love.

 

Your own, your husband,

William.

By the way, if you fancy reading my book based on the Booth Letters, I will be honoured.

It's called 'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' (Lion Hudson 2013)

You can also find it and some of my other books on Amazon and other sites.

You can also check out my Author Central page on Amazon 

If you go to the top of this page and click on 'Cathy Home Page' you will also find my main website and occasional blog. And there's more info on 'Cathy's books'.

Thanks and Happy Valentine's Day!

(This post was first shared on February 14, St Valentine's Day, 2021 ... as part of my 'One Day at a Time' blog which featured a thought for every day that year. I've added a few words here but if you want to check that blog out it's on the front page of my website ... click here for 'One Day at a Time')

A Thought for New Year

Happy New Year!

I pray blessings on you all this coming year ... may it be a peaceful, healthy, and happy 2024 for you!

It's interesting, isn't it ... how we put so much store in the passing of this one day into another?

Is there anything 'special' about January 1st really? After all, it IS just another day. The sun rises every day and every day we are presented with another 24 hours and we may decide to either spend it well and wisely, or not.

Of course, there IS something significant about the start of a New Year because it allows us an opportunity to stop, and think, if only for a moment in the midst of the mayhem of partying (if that's your thing).

We may think on the year that has passed, the people we have been blessed with, the kindnesses we have experiences, the loved ones we have lost not just in the past 12 months but before that ... people who were once part of our New Year, and who like us, once started their year with hope and happiness and yearnings, and laughter and tears.

At New Year we may take time to give thanks for all the blessings we have. As a person of Christian faith, I give thanks to the Almighty for everything I've been granted in this life and pray that I may be aware of His presence and guidance in the unfolding days.

But then, I ask myself ... surely I should be doing that EVERY morning? That sort of gratitude should be for every day.

I have a calendar which is full of helpful mindfulness thoughts - some religious, most not - which I have in my kitchen and which I find inspirational. Having walked through last year with it, this morning (on January 1st), I have turned it back to the start of the year. I will travel with it again in 2024 ... perhaps gaining new insights from every daily thought the second time around.

And before this year really gets underway, I am reminded about the importance of greeting each new day, not just New Year's Day, with that sense of gratitude for the time we are given on this earth. And to make EACH day a blessed day full of opportunities, love and gratitude, kindness, wellbeing and success and happiness and contentment ... and whatever we wish for ourselves, dream of and pray for.

In the words of the philosopher poet Ralph Waldo Emerson ... whose wise words were the thought for Dec 31st on my calendar.

'Write it on your heart ... that every day is the best day of the year'

Be blessed everyone!

 

Bouanne Libéthâtion!

Happy Liberation Day! 

That's the headline today ... in Jersey's native language ... Jèrriais!

In Jersey and Guernsey - the two largest Channel Islands, it’s Liberation Day today!

It was on this day - May 9th - in 1945 …. that the Channel Islands were liberated after five long years of Occupation by enemy forces! (*Sark residents celebrate May 10th & for residents of the Northern Isle - Alderney - all of whom were evacuated and had to leave their island in 1940, they returned later in 1945).

So, this year is the 78th anniversary of the day when British forces marched into St Helier after the surrender was signed outside the harbour on the HMS Beagle early that morning!

Today, celebrations included a re-enactment of that moment when the Union flag was raised again over the Pomme d’Or Hotel in St Helier, in what is now called ‘Liberation Square’! Parties and fun were had, and there are always moments of reflection as we honour those who lived through that dreadful period of our history and came through it, and those who did not survive.

It’s a fascinating period of history … all the more poignant for those of us who had family who lived through the Occupation!

Three years ago, to mark the 75th anniversary of Liberation, I spent a year working with Jersey Heritage to select 5O Objects from their Archives and Museum collections which told the story of the Occupation and Liberation era … 1940 to 1945.

It was an amazing project to work on and I’m so proud to have worked on it with the team at Heritage!

Object 47 featured the diaries of Ralph Mollett, who was the Secretary to the Bailiff during the war years, and he had an amazing view of history… standing next to and working with the head of our island during that time!

I reworked this episode for BBC Radio Jersey’s Breakfast Show on May 8th this year, but here’s the original audio which features on the Jersey Heritage 50 Objects Vimeo site.

If you have a few moments please do listen … it’s just fascinating!

Happy Liberation Day everyone!

Bouanne Libéthâtion!

50 Objects - No47 from Jersey Heritage Vimeo on Vimeo.

 

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!'

Missing the Man on the Moon

July 20 1969 !

50 years ago today -  Man Walked on the Moon!

What an amazing, astonishing feat of science, technology, human bravery and determination.

Man actually walked on the surface of another celestial body!

Two men - Neil Armstrong and then Buzz Aldrin - placed their feet on the powdery, barren lunar surface. A third astronaut  - their Apollo 11 command module pilot Michael Collins - shared their historic journey, watched by millions upon millions of people across the globe via TV.

And today, millions of people are remembering where they were when they sat mesmerised by those grainy black and white images from the moon, and heard Armstrong's immortal words ...

'It's one small step for (a) man. One giant Leap for Mankind'

But not me.

You see - while everyone who is anyone has a memory of that day - even those really too young to remember ... I admit ... I missed it.

I Missed the First Man on the Moon!

Sorry, but it's true.

I AM old enough to have memories of July 20 1969. But at the time when Armstrong placed his foot on the dusty surface of the moon, I was tucked up in bed in a boarding school dormitory in Kenya, in East Africa. Probably dreaming of the soon-to-come school holidays when I'd be back home on a farm in the African bush, and later on the beach in Mombasa with my family. Even at 10 I was good at dreaming.

My brother Steve did enjoy listening to a recording of the moon landing the next day thanks to a brilliant teacher, but I have no memory of even being told about it.

Later, of course, I would learn all about that momentous day, and what it meant for mankind, for science, for our understanding of what being 'human' is about.

But on the day itself ... nothing. Nothing to report. Didn't see the TV pictures, don't recall it making an impact on my life at all.

As a budding writer, you'd maybe expect me to have a diary note ... 'Today Man walked on the Moon. The World is Forever Changed!' But ... unfortunately not.

Don't get me wrong, this lack of Moon Landing Experience hasn't stopped me from being a little obsessed with All Things Space.

On several occasions, I've visited Cape Canaveral - the Kennedy Space Centre in Florida where Apollo 11 launched on July 16 1969. I'm intrigued by space, love all the space movies, and am in awe of those men and women who have ventured into the atmosphere and beyond. I loved seeing the mock up of the Houston control room ... etc etc

But while others today flood social media and tell the world what they were up to on that day in 1969 ... this is all I have to offer.

Yet even this lack of experience reminds me of something profound.

Life isn't, I think, about the Big Stuff that happens. Not really.

Rather, life is about the small events - the day to day waking up, going to school or work, looking after the kids, coping with illness, shopping, cooking the dinner, having an argument and making up, reading a book under a tree in the garden, going for a walk, sleeping and loving and laughing and crying.

Yes, occasionally a Huge Occurrence breaks into the routine of life. And sometimes we DO remember where we were when it happened. And sometimes we don't.

So - if like me - you don't have a memory of that day when Man Walked on the Moon ... don't worry. Life is not all about what has become known as 'Selfie Moments'. We don't have to remember absolutely everything that happens in the world, although if we do have a memory or two tucked away that relates to the Big Stuff, that's ok.

Sometimes it's just about living our lives ... regardless of what's happening around us.