Crow Black Bible Black Saint Davids
We spent a
wonderful weekend in St. David’s with some Canadian friends. They had some business in Cardiff and will
have some more in three weeks’ time so they rented a cottage in St David’s. St David’s is a city of under two thousand
population with a huge cathedral in the middle of town. For that reason the population increases at
least tenfold in the summer months. In
the winter it is just we few extras.
Getting there
and getting home were half the fun. The
train took us to Haverfordwest and we had to wait an hour (in a pub of course)
for the, unfortunately dark, rollercoaster bus ride to St David’s. It was very dark, rainy and windy when we got
off the bus. Fortunately drive (the
official welsh name for all bus drivers) and a passenger gave us directions to
the cottage – Ty Nancy and, just when we became disoriented in a dark alley we
heard our hostess calling from an upstairs window.
We saw some of
the sights: the cathedral, the Bishops
palace and St Nun’s church. The original
St Nun’s church stands where she gave birth to St David. We visited that and took the curative waters
from the well that sprang up when she gave birth to the Welsh saint over 1500
years ago. Another attraction is the
surfing which we declined to try at this time of year.
Because of bus
and train times we were unable to attend the main church service much to our
host’s disappointment. When he was young
he went to Eton on a choir scholarship and is intimately familiar with the
music used in high church services. He
attends every service. The choir that we missed is one of the few professional
church choirs in the UK (although they are paid it is more an act of
charity). The Llandaff choir in Cardiff
got the sack just before Christmas.
We did go to the
9:30 Cymun Bendigaid which was in English.
I have been to a couple of high church services and generally find more
ceremonial than worshipful but this one was different. Yes it was very ceremonial and I had to look
to my host for cues and the steward lady came over and helped me as well but
the priest, in all his finery, carried a spirit about him. He looked about him and smiled at
people. Before the communion part he
walked among the whole congregation and greeted everyone. When he shook hands with me he shifted my
right hand to his left and held it while he greeted Carolene. He asked where we came from and I told him
Cardiff so he replied in a voice loud enough for the whole cathedral “well with
an accent like that you must come from Splott” (a rather rough part of
Cardiff).
After the
service while I was explaining to the priest where I really came from Carolene
met one of the higher ranking lay people.
I joined their conversation in time to hear him saying “when I became a
Christian…” a phrase one doesn’t hear in a Cathedral very often and when we
said we sensed the Holy Spirit in a big way in the service he agreed and
pointed out that that was a phrase not heard often in that church. Turns out the priest, Dorrien, and our new
friend, Mad Johnathan” are both spirit filled Christians with a number of
confederates in the congregation.
Perhaps the next Welsh Revival (the one I came here to observe) will
come out of St. David’s.
Rage RAGE against the dying of the light
On Saturday
night we went to dinner at one of the local pubs. It was Dydd Santes Dwynwen the Welsh version
of Valentine’s Day and I planned on taking Carolene out before our
invitation. The storm coming in from the
Atlantic was so bad that the lights went out before our dinner came but the ovens
were still hot and we got our food.
Everyone was happy and the beer was dispensed manually so I was happy
too. On the way home through the dark
streets my host accused me of bringing this on with my obsession with bible
black nights.
Since there is no
bus service on Sundays we had a 40 minute taxi ride to the rail head with a
very informative driver. The driver
knows everyone, of course, and he, like everyone else in town, has several
jobs. He is a singer, teaches music at a
local school and gives private guitar lessons.
His wife speaks welsh, his son is learning it and he has not in the ten
years he has lived there. He knows
everyone in town and filled us in on the priests humour when he is a bingo
caller – sorry I cannot repeat the jokes here.
We are already
thinking of returning to St. David’s perhaps for half term some time and take
Mad Johnathan the surfer up on his invitation to fellowship with his group on
Whitesands beach.
The following
BBC comic catches the general tone of the City during the off season:
http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b03q9w0n
