Wednesday, 24 October 2018

Who is being safeguarded?

Safeguarding has become big business.

The process has been, as so many things are these days, monetised.

I remember as Director of a reasonably large organisation with a number of volunteers attending a meeting in London when the then new initiative of Criminal Records Bureau checks was being introduced.

I asked a question as to whether the CRB check, once completed, was transportable. The answer was as I recall it was that such checks would be transportable.

Clearly that is no longer the case.

So for better or worse I currently  have two Disclosure and Barring Service, the successor to CRB, clearances and am awaiting a third.

Each of these clearances is issued to independent parts of the same organisation.

It needs to be said of course that the protection of children, young people and vulnerable adults is and should be paramount. The cases of reported abuse, and the social and emotional costs of that abuse, are simply unacceptable.

In the case of the Church even more so, individual clergy and more senior clergy, where abuse has been reported and individuals found guilty, are quite rightly called to account.

As someone who has cared for an adult who as a result of disability became increasingly vulnerable I am conscious of the personal and social costs of abuse. Where individuals are cared for by strangers that care must be carried out to the highest public standards.

Children are of course especially vulnerable. Again I know from personal experience the damage that abuse can do to a persons future well being as they grow older.

So, to be absolutely clear, checks are important generally and where individuals have closer more intimate contact with either young people or vulnerable adults then the checks need to be carried out scrupulously, fairly and independently.

That said however it seems that there are questions that can be properly asked and debated.

Possibly the first question is why the issue of DBS clearance cannot be debated? I am sure that there will be some who will be discomfited by my raising this issue at all in a blog presumably they will say surely it is obvious?

I have attended two safeguarding courses that were poorly delivered. As someone who has been a trainer and has experience of some 48 years in full time ministry as well as being a grandfather of eight grandchildren and a carer of a vulnerable adult I think that I am in a good position to make such a judgement.

If people are to be helped to understand safeguarding and indeed to undertake the important role of safeguarding officer in an organisation then the training needs to be sensitively delivered to allow the responsibilities of the role to be worn comfortably and exercised effectively.

The second question has to be one of context. As safeguarding becomes a way of stating publicly that an organisation takes seriously its responsibilities in the context of protecting the young people and the vulnerable it is important that it is seen not only as a personal but also an organisational responsibility. In other words all members of an organisation share the responsibility it is surely unacceptable for some to seek protection behind the screen whilst others are exposed and left vulnerable.

There is, it seems to me, also a wider political context that should be taken into account.

The number of children living in poverty has increased dramatically in the past few years of austerity, according to The Child Poverty Action Group, one in four children now lives in poverty. That is defined as 30% of children or 9 in a classroom of 30.

As safeguarding requirements are increasingly imposed on organisations seeking to work with young people the wider political reality is that more and more children are suffering the negative impact of poverty on their health and well-being.

Failing to invest in, or dare one say, safeguard children in poverty, results in a steady deterioration in life chances, poor long term health prospects and ultimately costs more in services, support and benefits over the long term.

Whilst one hears a good deal about the importance of safeguarding as a legal requirement I haven't heard that much, apart from The Child Poverty Action Group, about these wider political questions.

Again there is considerable debate about what makes an adult vulnerable. Age, poor health, poor diet, loneliness after the death of a partner. It is becoming clear that, as the population ages social needs support will increase in line with the demands made by an ageing population on health and social care services.

Again the focus on individual needs and risks is right, but the wider political question needs to be raised, recent austerity measures have meant that the providers of social care for vulnerable elderly, local councils have had their budgets cut by almost £7 billion resulting in planned cuts of £700 million.

The third question I have raised on different occasions has arisen in response to the demands that I have received in respect of DBS clearance. An example of this was a letter that I received saying that my permission to participate within the organisation, where I am involved as a volunteer, would be withdrawn if I failed to complete a safeguarding course despite my  having DBS clearance.

It is, it seems to me, clear that a very basic principle of English justice is being compromised as DBS screening implies guilt until innocence is proven. Clearly a contradiction of the basic principle which has been in existence since Magna Carta was agreed.

Ergo:

No free man shall be seized or imprisoned or stripped of his rights or possessions, or outlawed or exiled. Nor will we proceed with force against him except by the lawful judgement of his equals or by the law of the land. To no one will we sell, to no one deny or delay right or justice.

As I said at the outset of this piece individuals and organisations carry a degree of shame when the principles underlying safeguarding are not adhered to. Caring organisations, schools, churches all carry a responsibility to ensure that their staff are well trained and that their clients, young people and congregations are safe and well supported.

However all our actions as a society have wider implications than simply scrutinising individuals and making individuals personally accountable. It is essential to ensure that collective responsibility is shared more widely.






Wednesday, 10 October 2018

Sicilian Vespers

Poems written during my time as Chaplain of St Georges, Taormina, Sicily.

My Terrace
Cable car past my window
Regular like a metronome 
Beating time from dawn to dusk
Across the bay Tuna cut through
Salt waters avoiding the wily nets
Laid by patient fishermen, pescatori
Tourists ascend and descend like 
A Mark Wallinger video, but the angels 
Are helicopters traversing the skies 
So this heavenly view point, visited 
By artists and writers, caught between 
Sodom and heaven, arriving rejected
By their own kith and kin, seeking
Solace in a magical mystery tour
Of their own hoping and dreaming


Under the shadow of Mount Etna
Looking across the Bay, light falling
As the lights towards Messina fade
Into a darkening Sicilian sky
We await the new days dawning 
Celebrate marriages made
As the whole of human existence 
Is laid out for review and rejoicing
Watching the very centre of the earth
This Mediterranean sea, crossed
And recrossed by those seeking futures
Refugees from war torn lands, argonaughts
In rubber dinghies clinging to life, enacting
Their own odyssey of hope over hope


After D H Lawrence
Your body loitering naked in warm
Waters at the ocean’s edge
Yielding to the tidal flow
Resting tanned aganst sea washed sand
We two in consumation are as one
Existing beyond loneliness or solitude
Surrendering our very essence, one
To the other we are complete, perfect

An evening sun sets
Behind the mountain
Slowly, cautiously, one
By one, in the dusk
Are revealed below my terrace
The lights of Taormina
As the daylight falls
I approach the waiting
Night with caution, sleep
Does not come, so I sit
In darkness on my terrace
Above the lights of Taormina
Somehow I approach
My little death with caution
Anticipating another end
In a not so distant future
Saying compline on my terrace
Above the lights of Taormina
No roaring lions go about
But feral cats pad ghostly by
I sense the silence of heaven
Naming the lights for friends and lovers
Offering prayers on my terrace
Above the lights of Taormina


A night out
Nights in Taormina 
The press of bodies 
On Corso Umberto
A Brit pop band 
Singing Wonderwall 
This mix of language 
Nations, music, dance
The Finnish couple 
Took to the floor dancing 
Rhythms askew, twisting
To the Money, whilst funny
It was a tribute to musicians 
Risking their talent
The funny guy, centre
Stage, just dancing, after
A fashion, his shorts
Swirling to the rhythms 
Just passing by, caught
By the music, always planned
To be a pop idol, the crowd
Cheered, no one jeered
Good humour in the bar
A Guinness pub in Sicily
Tomorrow I will search
For a four leaf clover
The Irish are everywhere
The biggest export, St Patrick
Settled not just America
But the whole of the known world


Heaven’s Silence
Settling into a new sense
Hearing heaven’s silence
There are no sharp corners
Or hard edges to be smoothed
We must adjust as we go
The pebbles around which
We close our fists must be
Accommodated, space made
Until we settle together
Comfortable in each other’s
Silence, made at ease until
The pebbles soften and we mellow
With time’s passing, the pebbles
Remain strong, hard, but we know
It’s simple to understand, the constant
Flow of water turning stone to sand


Pebbles
As warm water laps
The strand I reach down
To grasp the iridescent 
Aquamarine pebble glinting
Beneath foaming waters
I hold the pebble firmly
In my palm, it’s shape
Snuggles between stretched
Fingers, adjusting to damp
Warmth in my outstretched 
Hand, so begins slow, gentle excercise
Adjusting to the newness there
Knowing that in time I will grow accustomed 
To feeling you alongside, in my life
Comfortable, at one, friends, lovers


Awaiting Elizabeth’s Arrival
Watching your flight, live
On the screen tracker, each
Minute seems an hour in passing
My bus to the airport, turns
Down tortuous steep inclines
As I approach the airport
Arrivals flicker up on screens
Overhead, each flight checked in
Luggage carousels, Passport control 
Negotiated, I see you first in arrivals
Looking anxiously around, then you smile
Move towards me through a milling crowd
Living a Sicilian dream. Below, the lights
Of Taormina greet us as the bus draws us closer
To the music of Corso Umberto





Bougainvillia
Red flowers pierce green leaves
Magenta, ruby, bloody wounds
As on battlefields poppies grow
Pro Patria Mori
In this centre of the Earth
Peoples journey from danger
Risking lives for safety and peace
Pro Patria Mori
Here the Bougainvillia blossoms 
Over the shallow graves of the drowned
Affecting the mourning of nature
Pro Patria Mori
The dead bury the dead, the living
Wash their hands irresponsible 
Of cause or effect, failed policies
Pro Patria Mori
From Lesbos to Lampedusa
Syrophoenician’s beg children’s 
Crumbs from their master’s tables
Pro Patria Mori


Modigliani’s women

Sing a chorus of delight 
Resonating along
Corso Umberto
Singing a captivating man’s
Praise, reaching towards
The sublime, their eyes 
Piercing the secrets of hearts
As we walk the room
A Son et Lumiere streams
Light through an Absinthe
Glass, as lovers reach forward
Seeking their truths, seeking
Their futures, but finally walking
Backwards, like Greeks
Seeing what they leave behind
Turning backs on what is
No longer bearable, life alone
Without the beautiful man
Transforming their beauty
From vision to canvas
In oils, drawn from life
Transformed by images of Africa
The eyes continue to reveal truth
As we walk to the piazzo
My eyes reflect your beauty
Your eyes are captivating 
Reflecting the beauty
Modiglani’s art


Passegiata
Each footstep grows fainter
As we walk towards 
A distant slope reaching
High beyond the Church
The organ notes thunder
Deep bass against the choirs
Melodic harmonies 
This rich tapestry of sound
Celebrating the coming
Of a new day, new hopes
A new arising from depth
Of ocean’s rise and fall
Natures symphonies
Sound and vision
First lauds gives way
To prime celebrated 
As the Sun rises with
Terce echoing from 
A night sky singing
The morning’s rising


Sunsets
The sun sets over Messina
A soft blush in a deepening 
Sky, as night enters stealthily
We sense the presence. Your blush
Matches the skies sultry look
As we finish the wine in our glasses
We anticipate an evening of music
Beneath Taormina lights


Lunch at Randazzo 
Gathered round the table
Dipping bread in wine
Shared words, Linguaglossa
Macaroni with tomato 
Sauce, ripe fruits bottled
For the winter ahead
Aubergine marinated 
In oil pressed from the trees
Where we parked the car
Courgette deep fried, served
With Artichoke finely sliced
On white china slightly chipped
Green beans glistening 
With a dressing of warm butter
Speckled with Garlic roughly chopped
Words of appreciation, the grace
Offered for food and friendship
Grown and shared in the Cascina
As we break bread under the mountain 
Vines groaning with their grapes
Pressed to make the wine we spill


Hospitality
Around us the evening gathers
An excitable procession passes
From the Bus Terminus to the Corso
Traffic pours North and South, above
Our heads a helicopter falls stirring the waters
Below our terrace, an ambulance
Sings its siren warning, silently
We ask the Virgin to intercede
Peace and blessing, health, recovery
In this still centre the ancient ministry
Of hospitality becomes our vocation
So we tell our beads, raise our glass
Welcome strangers to enjoy rest
Amongst the bougainvilleas, beneath
The shade of Chiesa Anglicana


Canaries in cages
By a first floor window
Above Porta Catania
Below the market
Bathed in warm sun
Two cages of Canary
Sing their dreams
Of open skies and flight
High over the Ionian Sea
Rising on thermals
Birds of prey wheel
And turn against azure
Skies rejoicing 
in open skies and flight
So people trapped
Earthbound, dream 
Dreams of freedom’s gift
Rising to fulfilment
Soaring to achieve
Their potential risking
All to succeed


A Visitor
Taking calls in Taormina 
Free roaming passeggiata 
Being aware of Greeks bearing
Gifts, making claims about Sicilian
DNA, clearly losing their marbles
Causing confusion, demanding
The end of memorials, claiming
Freedom of theatre from Brit Pop
The return of Aeschylus to his stage
The return from captivity of Helen 
Of Troy, preaching against hegemony 
Demanding the return of their money


Refugees
As the lights of Tripoli fade
Or the lights of Damascus
When the electricity works
Fade into a dark ocean
So the small craft, low in the water
Drifts toward distant shores, still
Hostile, but less so than home
Paddling by moonlight hoping
Against what little hope is left
For new life on new shores
In new lands, hearing the sea’s
Sussuration lapping into and over
The small overcrowded boat
Sensing ahead the flash of light 
The coastline coming into view 
Fireworks from a Fiesta, celebrate 
The Saints day of a village, town
Or City mistaken for a welcome
Easing distress for the distressed 
As ahead the lights of Taormina shine




Wandering Minstrels
In the Wundebar on Corso Umberto 
We sat down to pizza and beer
Whilst a jazz band sang Roberta Flack
Four musicians stopped by
Ordered pizza and beer
A trio I guessed and a singer
They sat beneath the mountain 
That breathed fire like a dragon
As the bass played a chord
The ground beneath our feet
Moved, a faint pulsing, a rumble
Of tectonic plates jarring together 
This is the earth on whose uncertain
Surface we dwell, does the earth move?
Only you can tell, but here under the volcano 
It is more certain, as Popacatapetal showed
God is in the fire and the earthquake 
Father God, Senor, forgive us our sins



Corso Umberto 
Words of language scattered
As we walk along streets flowing
With people, the language of humanity
A literal babble as in Babel
A street of shopping and eating
Of music, of jazz, of chords played
A street of intermingling, of sweat
And deoderent, gelato and granita
A street following the mountain’s
Contour, a street of flat pavements
Between Messina and Catania, past
The Greek Theatre, feet stained with dust
From Etna, a street of and for passegiata
A street of unmet friends, strangers
Yet to meet, a street of street styles
And beach dress, a catwalk of fashionistas
Pausing for caricature or artistic portrait
For the view of the cruise ship or the lights
Below, hesitating as Etna signals steam
In the Sunset, drinking Sicilian wine, raising
A glass with cheers, smiling to strangers
Unaware of dangers, the waiters balancing 
Trays, swerving through crowds beneath clouds
Below in the dusk, the lights of Taormina


Etna
Steam rises over the lava fields
As the craters lift and swell
Black dust mingles with steam
Deep in the mountains heart
Magma boils and fires, its burning
Soul scalding and scarring land around
Voragene, Bocco Nuova, Silvestri
Drawing crowds to witness the constant
Threat of eruption carrying the land before it
Threatening life and property as it slides
A river of fire, across vineyards and homesteads
Abandoned, neglected, forsaken by natures force
The wonder is in the way a fragile flower stands
On the bleak, threatening darkness of the lava
Where a hundred years passes before growth
Returns, yet here shining against the dark ruined
Soil, the bright, hope filled, deep yellow mystery
Celebrates the possibility of restoration


Linguaglossa
Words always words
Each day I am rewarded
For trying new words
When buying bread
Or milk or wine
Here the language of discourse
Is the language of sharing
Linguaglossa is the name
Of a small town hereby
Today the guide slipped
From language to language 
This is the encouragement 
Of words laid like bread
On the tongue each Sunday
The word like bread
Broken, shared, said
Or sung. Each evening
The sun goes down, stars 
Appear as words glowing 
In the night skies


The Dancer
Mind the Flaneurs
And mind your manners
Tonight’s yellow shirts and shorts
If that’s the news just mind my gold shoes
Stop by the saxophonist 
Really quite the modernist
Tonight’s a very smart black
So enjoy the views of my best gold shoes
My dancing attracts crowds
Mobile phone filming is allowed
Tonight’s better red than dead
Social media just loves my gold shoes 
Ah a white wine on my table
I think I’ve become a fable
The talk of Corso Umberto 
Reflecting the patterns on my gold shoes
I’m an old but Italian Stallion
My gold medallion
Swinging in my unbuttoned shirt
Matching the hues of my best gold shoes




Road Signs
Approaching the mountain 
Imbued with awe the warning
Was not of sudden disruption 
But of the presence of deer
Standing silently in tune 
With the earth’s pulsing
Beneath their feet tectonic rhythms 
Where lava had cooled an ashen plain
Deer as the sentinels of earths 
Changing leaping gracefully before
Molten streams as the earth catches fire
From its belly cascading devouring 
So the sign warns, its iconography 
Showing deer in in their beauty
Unimpeded by landscape escaping
To new lives, new grazing, new hopes
Leaving you uncertain yet assured
As you arrive beneath the pulse 
Of the earth, the volcano’s breath
Demonic, so the deer speak of grace 
Compassion, trust, renewal, possibility
A road sign warning of danger, risk
Telling a story of how nature lives
So much at ease with itself


A Sonnet written in a thunderstorm 
Uncertainties hover ahead chimera 
Always tempting your fates toward risk
Overhead thunder rolls like gods at play
Never certain whether to stay or twist 
However the cards are dealt, the dealer
Retains the upper hand, lightening dazzles
As you blink, lightening flashes through ether
On battlements soldiers defend castles
Beware Greeks bearing gifts, suing for peace 
Occupying with military force
Hoping the hostilities will soon cease
Harnessing plough not chariot to horse
Playing chess with the fates of history 
Seeking to fathom life’s mystery


Sunday
A hot day is in view
Lizards warm themselves 
In sunlight casting golden
Shadows on earthen floor
As we prepare for Eucharist 
Where bread is broken
Where wine is spilt, so we prepare
words, to be broken, shared
These gifts are given as celebration
Declaration that we are prepared
To come as children entering
The kingdom that awaits, where peace
And justice can be seen and sung
Broken hearts healed, truth revealed
As the day warms fear of thunder
Lessens, the God’s look kindly on us
The lizard’s know these truths
Basking innocently in the sunshine
Waiting for the scraps that might fall
From the table we have prepared


Caffe Corretto
A morning coffee
Taken alone
Apart from Facebook
On my ‘phone
After heavy rain
Streets are clean
Sun comes out
Keen to be seen
The waitress asks
Una corretto, una normale?
I shake my head
Una Corretto only
Passeggiata 
Passes through
My coffee corrected
What shall I do?
Is Sunday your last day?
Her Italian rushed
finally revealing
They had me sussed
After I thought 
My disguise
Was complete
Just one of the guys
I paid with Euros
And then on a hunch
Asked for Arancini
To be eaten for lunch
So prepare for departure
Get ready to fly
Sadness in leaving
As days rush by
What is to come
Rumours are rife
Glad to be picking up pieces
Of a suspended life


My Dancing Day
Rising early, greeted
By sunlight through an open
Skylight, wondering 
What the day will bring
Maybe today I’ll try
My dancing shoes for size
Maybe stretch to touch
My outstretched toes
Maybe this is my dancing
Day, coming at last
As the pain of loss lessens
Embracing future possibilities 
Rising to face the future
Choosing Yes! I do, will, can
Today the mountain’s heart
Will enrich the earth
Olives and grapes will grow
Maturing ready for harvest
On mineral rich earth
Olives pressed for oil, grapes for wine
Dipping my bread in oil
I breakfast under blue flagged sky
At night, sipping my wine
I toast twelve gold stars


Montelbano
Sea the colour of wine 
Breakers sussurate
Songs of the drowning 
Borne on wild Siroccos
Tectonic plates moving 
Over Aeons beneath continents 
Jarring as they move causing 
Oceans to withdraw before Tsunami 
Breathing winds from Africa heavy
With moisture, as weather 
Gods struggle at days turning
Deciding a days’s weather 
Throwing dice at midnight 
Clouds bring rain on the throw
Stars bring clear skies and sun
Chance, weather poor or fine
Blind Homer keens in the wind
Recites his poetry and sagas
Brings Ulysses home to his love
Praises the compassion from above
At midnight, clear skies 
Tomorrow the sun will shine 
On the horizon comes the prize
A wine red Mediterranean Sea


The Mercata
Move against the traffic
Creating a contra flow 
Of vehicles ascending 
In low gear fighting gradient
Then turning up a shaded
Staircase climbing to the sun
Entering the market taking
A breath under shaded eyes
Layers of stalls vegetables 
Meat, fish, vendors vying
For custom, deciding, choosing 
Freshness comes first, bright
Eyed fish awaiting your catch
Halting Italian, unfamiliar names
Sarda, Sardine, freshly caught
In the straights below. Simply
Prepared for supper, dredged
In flour, lightly salted, pan fried
In olive oil, perfection on a plate
Eaten with an accompaniment 
Of fresh tomato, basil and ever
Present olive oil, with bread 
To mop the juices from fish
The scents and flavours of the sea
A Mediterranean diet, served 
On a plate, cooked with love
By a chef naked for protection 
Against spillage, spattering, damage
No River Cafe perfection
No Jaime Oliver Bish, bash 
Or bosh, no Nigel Slater unctuous 
Compliment, just food perfection
La Mia Casa
Slow sunrise over
Messina, the day
Stretches and awakens
Gathering momentum 
Things will get warmer
The harvest is not yet in
Olives ripe for picking 
Grapes yet to be pressed
In time, like tomorrow 
We will reach out beyond
Horizons to celebrate. Bread 
Will be broken, wine will be spilt
Hands of friendship
Extended, a kingdom
Called into being where
Death is greeted as a friend
In these final days as summer
Draws to a close, tithing
Will be ordered and the Glebe
Fields surveyed for rotation
Accounts audited by angels 
signed off by Saints, all debts
Deleted, leaving you free to leave
Finally at peace with yourself


Homeward Bound
Peeling away, my last bell
Tolled as I face the future
A pilgrims tale, uncertainty 
Connections made or missed
Maybe I could write a sestina 
As the plane climbs over Messina
Six stanzas, each stanza representing
Aeronautical miles as we fly north
A thousand miles or more veering 
Eastward as we climb over the Alps
I keep asking the pilot like an excited 
Child, are we there yet? Are we there?
Cruising at 30,000 feet no turbulence 
We’ll soon be Brexiting, taking back
Control, back in our own airspace 
In charge of our own destinies 
Tomorrow’s not just another day
It’s the first day of the rest of my life



Nearing Newcastle

I’ve not walked 500 miles
But I’ve felt every one go by
Buses and trains and planes
Eating expensive sandwiches
Standing in queues, paying my dues
But my destination gets nearer
And if I had to I’d walk 500 miles
And 500 more to see your face

Saturday, 6 October 2018

Taormina

From 29th August 2018 until the 1st October 2018 I served as Chaplain to the Chiesa Anglicana in Taormina, Sicily. What follows are some reflections on my time there, these take the form of a Chaplains Log.

I arrived a day or two early to conduct the Wedding Blessing for Vince McCulkin and Julie Stephenson. 
s
I took the bus from Catania. Straight forward connection and, following directions presented myself at the verger's door to be welcomed and shown to the apartment which was extremely homely and welcoming.

I had met Julie and Vince twice in the UK to plan the service but we needed to make a few changes at the rehearsal. The service itself was a splendid affair Vince and Julie supported by the home group from the Abundant Life Church they attend in Stockton together with family support.

Certainly haven’t sung Sing Hosanna with such enthusiam in years.

I attended the Civil Ceremony with them in the morning of August 30th and the Blessing followed at 4 30 when things were meant to be a tad cooler.

My first Sunday the Wedding Party returned to share the worship which was wonderful and a Priest from the UK joined us together with a Dutch Australian from Sydney but only two members of the resident congregation, Norma and her husband.

Again a joyful experience despite a recalcitrant organist, to be honest I got the book numbers confused and played the wrong track for the final hymn. Where’s Alexa when you need her?

My wife arrived on Monday.

During the week I kept the Church open daily and wecomed a variety of visitors.

All visitors are welcome, of course, but occasionally you are aware of welcoming angels in disguise. Hamza and Naomi were such visitors. Once we had established that we were all three of us English we rapidly moved into a remarkable conversation about faith. Hamza is a student architect in Westminster and is embarking on research for his dissertation on the architecture of multi-faith spaces. He is a Muslim, Naomi a christian. The conversation beginning with St George’s and moving widely around a variety of interfaith isssues was stimulating.

Saturday night we took in a show, a Pink Floyd cover band at Teatro Antico it was a spectaculor show with light and sound culminating in a firework display which was not part of the show but coincided with our leaving the theatre at midnight.

Fr Giovanni attended Mass on Sunday and acted as Deacon. We were then taken to lunch at Randazzo with members of his congregation, we had no Italian they no English but it was an enjoyable visit, fellow Anglicans breaking bread together under the shadow of Etna, almost all the food we ate was grown on their land.

At 6 00 pm I was invited to Celebrate Mass in the Chapel in Randazzo, again Fr Giovanni took the role of Deacon and on this occasion preached. It was an impressive occasion with a large congregation drawn largely from those who had followed Fr Giovanni into the Anglican Church.

It was a long day but satisfying in the developing of new friendships and also liturgically.

Monday was a slow day!

We opened the Church after a stroll and returned to find ourselves hosting an elderly australian couple with their son. They were fatigued by heat and hills so we welcomed them, shared stories and beer, and sent them away in good spirits. 

Another week of passegiata, opening the Church to many visitors and enjoying Taormina.

On Wednesday we attended the farewell to Pastor Andreas in the Duomo.

Andreas has established himself in Sicily and is well known and liked in Taormina with both the film shows and the joint service.

On Sunday we welcomed him for his last joint service at St George’s, a first for me. We got on well and changed tradition by sharing the prayers, alternating in German and English, rather than two separate sets of prayers. It was a lovely occasion and there were speeches and wine afterwards.

The musician came from Catania with her family and helped the service go with a good flow, next week we will be back to CD’s as Una the organist is at Synod.

The way people here slip from one language to another is very impressive to one who can barely speak English.

Monday we took the bus to Etna, we booked through the travel agency last on the right before Messina Gate. Sylvia, the treasurer’s Son works there and he recommended the tour and offered a discount!

There is a cable car at 2000 feet which takes you another 500 feet.

It is a bleak landscape and the mountain is vaguely threatening as steam leaks from the craters filling the air with a thick fog masking the view.

Sunday the 23rd had the feel of a special occassion, only three regular congregation together with eight visitors. I didn’t need the CD’s because Scott volunteered to play and did so beautifully and some good voices including a professional singer from Sweden.

The service was reflective and in my Sermon I mentioned a little girl Maisie, aged 7, from Wales, who asked me searching questions about the East Window, why were the people hurting Jesus? Did his parents cry? 

Out of the mouths?

My last Sunday was a stormer 17 communicants. Four episcopalian’s from the States, various nationalities represented, a number of CofE’s, and an ex colleague of mine from Newcastle who happened to see my name on the board.

All in all a right good do.

I suppose that I am left with a mix of feelings.

I have enjoyed my time here, the congregation have been welcoming and gracious, August was a quiet month with people away, and September has continued in a similar vein. I have been made very welcome as was Elizabeth when she arrived.

However the monthly chaplaincy rota does not allow for much continuity and there does seem to be a degree of introspection. Given the Diocesan focus on the power of prayer I wonder what small improvements could be made?

I suggest one small change might be to explore ways of keeping the Church open each day. Some simple security measures such as locking the vestry door securely. Chaplains or members of the congregation could act as welcomers as and when, but leaving the Church open and unlocked from 10 00 until 6 00 daily should be possible?