Cathy Le Feuvre

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!'

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.

William and Catherine Down Under

I'm thrilled to see that my first book 'William and Catherine' - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters - is being promoted in New Zealand.

Thanks to The Salvation Army War Cry New Zealand for carrying an extract from Chapter 1 of the book. I am privileged and honoured that the book is being profiled and, hopefully, enjoyed by people on the other side of the world. 

Download William and Catherine -NZ War Cry review

If 'Tis Love

On this St Valentine's Day we celebrate and give thanks for love ... not just romantic love, but also the love of family and friends and, of course, God's love for us.

To mark this day I share with you a beautifully thoughtful poem which William Booth wrote to his beloved Catherine in 1872 ... it shows the depth of their love which still endured 20 years after their first meeting and after nearly 17 years of marriage.

When I researched the couple for my book ('William and Catherine' - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters, Monarch books  2013)I couldn't find any letters/notes which specifically said 'Happy Valentine's Day', but when you write stuff like this and you love like this...who needs a special day to say it?

William and Catherine's First Christmas

Christmas 1852

For a certain young couple it was their first Christmas together - or it would have been if it had not been for work committments.

William Booth had only met Catherine Mumford earlier that year, but within weeks they had become engaged to be married. They were head-over-heels in love, but although Catherine had dreams of an imminent marriage - she secretly hoped that she might soon become a wife and had already privately decided that her next birthday on January 17 in the New Year might be a good moment - they were still some years away from a wedding date.

William, who for years had longed to become a Christian evangelist travelling the country spreading the Good News of Jesus Christ, had at last secured a job. Which meant that at Christmas the young couple were separated. Catherine at home in London and William north in Lincolnshire, where he had recently begun work as a Reformed Methodist regional preacher.

Later, of course, the couple would go on to start the international Christian movement, church and charity which is The Salvation Army and which today has church members and charitable work in more than 125 countries across the world.

Today their legacy is a Christian movement which benefits millions of people every day but at Christmas 1852 they were just two young people, missing each other desperately and communicating in the only way which was possible at the time - through letters.

In my book -   'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters'  (Monarch Books Sept 2013) - there's a brief  glimpse of a Victorian Christmas through Catherine's own words, penned to her beloved. The letter shows us her heart, as well as a little of the minutiae of everyday life. But, as with all the correspondence which the couple exchanged over 40 years, this not just a love letter. As deeply committed Christian individuals, who each put God even above the other, their words of love were naturally interspersed with spiritual thoughts and ambitions.

 

                                       Monday December 27th /52

My dearest William,

As I did not feel in writing tune either yesterday or on Xmas day, I will this evening give you a sketch of our Christmas enjoyments. Father dined at home & tho’ our number was so small we enjoyed ourselves very well.

Your representative on the wall seemed to look down on our sensual gratification with awful gravity, manifesting an indifference to the good things of this life, not at all characteristic of the original. I thought about you very, very much through the day. I could not but contrast my feelings with those of last year. Then my anxieties & affections were centered in objects whose love & care I have experienced through many changing years. Then I knew no love but that of a child, a sister, a friend, and I thought that love deep, sincere, fervent; perhaps it was; nay, I know it was. 

But since then a stranger, unknown, unseen, till within the last short year, has strangely drawn around himself the finest tendrils of my heart & awakened a new absorbing affection which seems, as it were, to eclipse what I before deemed the intensity of love. Then my anxieties were almost confined to home; now this same stranger like a magnet draws them after him in all his wanderings, so that they are seldom at home. What a change in one short year! Can you solve the mystery? Can you find the reason? 

But I am forgetting to detail the day’s pleasures, etc. After dinner we all went on a walk, talked about you, my dear brother, the changes which have taken place in a few years, the changes which probably will take place in a few more, etc. My dear father seemed kinder and more comfortable than usual; he is still a teetotaller & is abstaining altogether from the pipe; there is a change for the better in many respects. Don’t forget him, my love, at a throne of grace. Help me & my dear mother to pray for him…  Oh, for a Christ-like sympathy for souls, such as I used to feel when I have sat up half the night to plead for them. My dearest love, this is the secret of success, the weapon before which the very strongholds of hell must give way. Oh, let us try to get it again; let us make up our minds to win souls, whatever else we leave undone. 

But to return again, we spent a very pleasant evening together. I lay on the sofa, working a little watch pocket for the use of that stranger I have been speaking of, which I hope he will use for my sake, even tho’ he may be provided with one already. I hope he will not consider it murdered time. It did not take me long. My dear mother & myself enjoyed a good season in prayer & then retired to rest. Yesterday we heard Mr T[homas] in the morn’g; liked him much. School in the afternoon; got on well; children gave signs of serious interest. The evening spent alone, thinking about & praying for your preaching, etc. Today have been practising music, short hand, reading, working, etc. 

Good night! I am very tired, or I would not send such scrawl. I long for a letter to hear you have enjoyed yourself and all particulars.

 

This is an extract from the correspondence of Catherine Mumford (later Booth) and William Booth held in the British Library (Booth Papers Vols 1-1v MS 64799 - 64802) which is included in Chapter 5 of 'William and Catherine - the love story of the Founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' - published Sept 2013 by Monarch Books (Lion Hudson plc) by Cathy Le Feuvre

 

 

 

'William and Catherine' - book promotion continues!

 

At The Salvation Army Territorial (national) Congress held in Glasgow in Nov 2013 there were live webcasts of the three main 'meetings' or sessions, and wrapped around those were live programmes introducing themes for the weekend, including interviews of those taking part.
On Sunday morning (Nov 3) presenter Major Martin Hill interviewed me about my first book whose central characters are the founders of The Salvation Army - William  and Catherine Booth. I was at Congress signing copies of her book and talking to people about it!
'William and Catherine - the love story of the founders of The Salvation Army told through their letters' is published by Lion Hudson and is a Monarch book 
The letters of William and Catherine are held in trust for the Booth family at the British Library in London and for the book I edited the letters and included some other personal and public writings and memoirs of these remarkable people. I also included historical narrative and created short stories which further bring to life this passionate, spiritual and loving couple.