Ecumenical relations
GIVEN that I spent 25 years singing in pubs for a living, you’d imagine that I’ve had some weird gigs in my time — and you’d be right. Singing “Bohemian Rhapsody” in the foyer of Asda in Ashton-under-Lyne to promote library use was odd, to say the very least. Playing “Girl from Ipanema” at a bikers’ festival in Wrexham was a huge mistake, and the resulting scenes are burned for ever in my memory. Now, I’ve just had a new weird gig, and I didn’t even have to sing, or have bottles thrown at my head.
Every few years, a group of 50 or so Roman Catholic teenagers from Madrid comes and sets up camp locally. Our son-in-law, Bernardo, went on a similar camp when he was a teenager, and he drew the attention of the organisers to the wonders of Presteigne. On the last night of their stay, they stage in St Andrew’s Church an English-language musical that they have written themselves. They spend most of their afternoons rehearsing (after a daily lunchtime mass in the local RC church), but in the mornings they need entertaining.
Their leaders had written to the PCC secretary (aka my wife), saying that, one morning, they wanted to split the group into three, each sub-group to visit one of the local churches (Baptist, Methodist, and Anglican) to discover more about other Christian denominations. The Rector was unavailable on the morning in question; so the PCC secretary nominated me to explain Anglicanism to a bunch of teenage lads. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “You’re supposed to be a historian.” And so, despite my nervous protestations, it was decided.
Broad church
I REALISE that this sounds like an opening for a sermon by Alan Bennett, along the lines of “. . . after all, do any of us know what Anglicanism is?” But there I was, faced with a group of eager young men, and I had to come up with something. I started by showing them some old coins, explained “DG” and “FD”, and took it from there. I told them that we regard ourselves as part of the universal Catholic Church, just without the Pope, and that, although many members of the C of E would describe themselves as Protestants, this is not true of everybody.
I showed them the high window, pieced together from shards of medieval glass after the Civil War. I showed them the Lady chapel, with its “English Use” altar and the lamp denoting the presence of the Reserved Sacrament. By this point, I was getting so carried away that I just stopped myself from giving them a potted biography of Percy Dearmer. I thought it wise to open the floor to questions.
Last word
THE RC church in Presteigne always welcomes these lads with open arms, and had sent a minder along for my performance. She was very friendly, and, although she heckled me throughout, it was mostly useful heckling. But it was when one of the boys asked me what our church did for charity that it all kicked off.
“Well,” I said, “we’re currently in the process of setting up Toilet Twinning.”
This set my heckler off. “Toilet? Oh don’t say ‘toilet’.”
“But that’s what the scheme is called: ‘Toilet Twinning’.”
“Oh dear,” she said. “Couldn’t you call it ‘Lavatory Twinning’?”
I drew myself up to my full height. “Madam, I’ve only got an hour to explain Anglicanism. I can’t be expected to cover the English class system as well.”
One of the undoubted pleasures of writing this Diary column is the chance to preserve one’s zingers for posterity.
Ball-park figure
AT THE time of writing, I am in the middle of a fund-raising effort for Macmillan Cancer Support. It’s called “Ian’s Big Fat FA Cup Challenge” (you can find links on my website, www.ianmarchant.com).
The idea is this: starting with the Extra-Preliminary Round of the FA Cup at the beginning of August, I follow the winners of each game through all 14 rounds — all the way to Wembley next June, I hope — and eat a pie at all the grounds we get to. This week, we’re off to see game four: Lichfield City v. Boston United in the second qualifying round, hoping very much for a City win, because otherwise we might have to drive four hours to Boston for the next match. [This hope was disappointed. Editor]
A pal of mine pointed out that essentially what I’m doing is asking people to sponsor me to go to the football, and to eat pies when I’m there. And why not?
Matters of substance
FROM the moment of my cancer diagnosis, two-and-a-half years ago, Macmillan have been by my side. I won’t detail all that they have done for me, but this idea of walking alongside patients made me certain that the charity had Christian origins. Douglas Macmillan founded the Society for the Prevention and Relief of Cancer in 1911, and he was, indeed, a Christian — a Somerset Baptist (like the Glastonbury Festival founder, Michael Eavis), but one with Quaker sympathies. Above all, he was a Christian vegetarian.
Douglas Macmillan was convinced that cancer could be prevented by following a non-meat diet. Nobody seriously believes that any more, although many cancer patients think it worth trying. So, I reckon, the least I can do is to make sure that all my football pies in future are vegetarian.
If that doesn’t get me sponsors, I don’t know what will.
Ian Marchant is an author and broadcaster, and the founder of Radio Free Radnorshire.