Winter 2014 - St James`s Church, Piccadilly

197
SIMON CALLOW
on The Man Jesus
PICCADILLY
CHURCH WITHOUT WALLS
•
SALLEY VICKERS
on Laughter of Angels
WINTER 2014 • ISSUE 6
•
JERRY PINTO
on He-She-It-They
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Contributors
Jerry Pinto is an award-winning writer
based in Mumbai. His most recent novel,
Em and the Big Hoom, has been described
by Kiran Desai as ‘a rare, brilliant book…
wonderfully different from any other
coming out of India’.
Mary Daniels is the Director of
Alternatives.
Leah Hoskin is an actor and teacher who
taught for two summers in a refugee
camp in the West Bank. She teaches
English at Westminster Day Centre and is
a volunteer at the Night Shelter.
David Loyn is the BBC correspondent
currently based in Kabul.
Mick Twister’s topical limericks can be
followed at @twitmericks. His biblical
limericks are exclusive to 197 Piccadilly.
Beshlie Watson is a freelance journalist
living in London.
Jane Preest grew up in Africa and
East Anglia and has worked widely in
education.
Betty Harris was formerly headmistress of
an infants' school in East London and has
worked as a Traidcraft rep for 18 years.
Jo Hines’s most recent book (as Joanna
Hodgkin) was Tell Me Who I Am, cowritten with Alex and Marcus Lewis.
Finna J Ayres is an architect who recently
retired as Site Manager at St James’s
Church.
Ruth Fainlight’s New and Collected Poems
is published by Bloodaxe. Ian McMillan,
presenter of The Verb on Radio 3, chose
this volume as his 'finest poetry offering,
and his overall best book of the year’ in
2010.
Salley Vickers' new collection of stories,
The Boy Who Could See Death, will be
published by Viking Penguin for Easter
2015.
John Russell was a solicitor-advocate
and Senior Lecturer in Law; he is now
in full-time training for the ministry at
the College of the Ressurection, Mirfield,
Yorkshire.
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197 Piccadilly is edited by a team led by Lucy Winkett and Jo Hines.
From an original idea by Sandra Heavenstone.
The views expressed in this magazine are not necessarily those held by St
James’s Church.
This magazine is viewable online. Visit our website:
www.sjp.org.uk
Twitter: @StJPiccadilly
We welcome letters and feedback.
St James’s Church, 197 Piccadilly, W1J 9LL
Tel: 020 7734 4511 Email: secretary@sjp.org.uk
Volume 6 Winter 2014 © 197 Piccadilly and contributors 2014
Printers: Seacourt • Designer: William Talbot www.webexpertise.co.uk
Subscription and delivery enquiries:
St James’s Church, 197 Piccadilly, W1J 9LL
Tel: 020 7734 4511
Advertising enquiries: secretary@sjp.org.uk
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
“
The Garden of Eden
(4 February 2003)
It started here, somewhere between
Euphrates and Tigris: the Garden of Eden
where good and evil were first defined.
Now, that appointment with Death –
whether in Babylon, Nineveh or
Samarra – seems unavoidable.
*
At the historic sites, shadowed
by half-eroded ziggurats,
hidden aircraft stand primed
for battles which the six-thousand-yearold walls of Nebuchadnezar’s
imperial city will not survive.
*
The leaders talk of culture-clash.
But all cultures might end here,
where they began – among scattered
body parts and shattered idols.
Ruth Fainlight
First Thoughts
It might
well be true to
say that it’s
never been
more important
for people of
different faiths to
get to know each
other. Situated
as we are in
central London,
in this world
city, one of our
priorities as a parish has been to form partnerships with
people of different faiths on issues of mutual concern.
Last Christmas, we worked with Palestinian and Israeli
organisations to advocate for the people of Bethlehem.
And in this issue, you can read about a wonderful week
of events in October to celebrate the Christian festival
of Harvest together with the Jewish festival of Sukkot.
A sukkah, (a booth, or tabernacle), was constructed in
our garden by a dedicated group of Jewish and Christian
volunteers and we were privileged to work closely with
Jewish Social Action Forum and other Christian and
Jewish partners to raise the importance of food justice,
as well as raising money and collecting produce for the
Westminster food bank. We thought globally together too,
as we hosted a debate on the effects of climate change.
Fruitful projects like these have been inspirational for us
and, we hope, our partners of all faiths and none.
As ever, our contributors have given us lively and
provocative themes on which to reflect in this issue: Jerry
Pinto points us towards the powerful outpouring of the
14th century mystic poet Janabai, and our own Finna
Ayres writes about her moment of revelation and the
crucible of anger. We have two poems by the renowned
Ruth Fainlight; on the left of this letter one written on the
eve of the invasion of Iraq, still relevant today.
As this issue will be out for Christmas, we are listening
with Salley Vickers for the laughter of the angels too. We
hope that you enjoy this edition, and will get in touch with
us to let us know what you think. Whoever you are and
wherever you are reading this magazine, it comes to you
with the prayers of everyone at St James’s for a blessed
celebration of Advent and Christmas and a peaceful start
to the New Year.
Lucy Winkett, Rector, St James’s Church
Overheard in the Sukkah: ‘Religions are at their best and wisest when they come together to heal a broken world.’
”
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197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
A Longing for Truth
On October 6th Simon Callow took time off from his round-Britain tour to talk about his
acclaimed one-man show The Man Jesus with Lindsay Meader.
LM - First of all, you don’t play Jesus, do
you?
SC - No, that seemed to me a little too
– not daunting exactly – too limiting.
What we were after in making this
play was to try to probe the impact that
Jesus had on people. The brilliant writer
Matthew Hurt chose ten characters. Their
testimony give us a more complex view;
it’s a sort of prismatic way of presenting an
individual - especially when it is someone
as overwhelmingly charismatic as Jesus
clearly was. As well as obvious people like
Simon and Judas, we have Jesus’s brother
James and his mother Mary. Mostly they
are working class people, but there’s also
Herod Antipas and Pontius Pilate. A
pretty broad spectrum.
LM - You are literally touring the length
and breadth of the country. Have you
found different reactions in different parts
of the country?
SC - The sense of humour varied
enormously from one place to another.
For some reason in Scotland everyone
thought it was hilarious from beginning
to end … It also depends on the age of
audience. I discovered that, amazingly,
the story is not very well known to a lot
of people. People would come into my
dressing room after the show, and say,
‘Wow! What a great story!’ I’d say, ‘Yes,
well, the greatest story ever told. It’s been
central to Western art and civilisation and
daily life for 2000 years.’
Sometimes you get an audience
that is spellbound by the story, but
there’s no point of recognition within
it. For example at the end of the Pilate
sequence, which is done as a very stylised
performance, he says, ‘Performing always
makes me feel dirty. I ought to wash my
hands’ – a reference that anyone who
knows the story will get immediately, but
lots of the audience don’t get it at all. They
just think, Oh he thinks he should wash
his hands.
4
LM - A one-man show is a particular
discipline. Can you say something about
the interplay between you and the writer
and the director?
SC - The play was my idea. I’ve done lots
of biographical one-man shows since
The Importance of Being Oscar: Dickens,
Shakespeare, Wagner. I realised that I’m
involved in a kind of meditation on these
big cultural figures and their involvement
in our lives. And who’s the biggest figure
in our culture? Jesus. No
doubt about it. 2000 years
- impossible to think about
anything without reference
to Jesus. So I thought, let’s
apply the same principles to
Jesus - what was it like to be
around Jesus? What was it
like to be Jesus?
When we did
it originally there was a
narrator, an angry C21st
person who was conscious
that the times in which we
live are fairly apocalyptic,
what with climate change, the devastation
of the globe, the recrudescence of religious
fundamentalism, the continuing threat of
nuclear war and so on. The narrator looked
back 2000 years to another moment when
people thought, it’s all coming to an end
now, what will happen to us? But when we
played it to an audience we realised that
all they really wanted to know about was
Jesus.
If you take the view that religion
is one of the greatest creations of the
human spirit, Jesus is a stupendously
potent figure. So that whatever your faith
or lack of faith, you have to pay attention
to what he says. It’s absolutely essential.
We find it so hard in the year 2014 to just
listen, to attend – we are fed so much
rubbish and soundbites posing as truth –
to take hold of something so fundamental
to our condition, that we must take time
to think about it.
‘Thou seest we are not all alone
unhappy.’ In my view that is
what all theatre is about. Or ‘I
discovered that, amazingly, the
story is not known to a lot of
people.’
LM - Has there been a change in your
preconceptions after playing Jesus?
SC - I don’t think so. I hope I’m getting
closer to the reality of their encounter
with this man. We take the position that
Jesus was a man – the title proclaims it
– and we take no position about divinity,
either yes or no. But you can tell from the
printed page when you read the gospels
that this was someone of extraordinary
power to articulate some utterly profound
perceptions about life. I suppose we’re all
longing – I’m longing – for someone to
speak the truth in unadorned form and I
think the experience for a lot of the people
round Jesus was exactly that: he spoke the
truth - an unnerving, but ultimately very
inspiring phenomenon.
There’s a line in As You Like It
when the Duke says to his courtiers, ‘Thou
seest we are not all alone unhappy’. I’ve
never heard it said properly on the stage
because it’s always leading up to Jacques’
All the world’s a stage speech. But in my
view that line is what all theatre is about:
this is what it is to be human. We all suffer
these things, we all go on these journeys.
And possibly that’s what a lot of religious
teaching is about too.
Photo: Steffan Hill
He-She-It-They
Growing up Roman Catholic in multi-faith Mumbai gave Jerry
Pinto an excess of religious choice. Here he describes the god(s)
he sort-of doesn’t believe in. Sometimes. Maybe.
‘I’m Jerry Pinto,’ I said to the British
publisher.
‘Really?’ she said. ‘That sounds
like a…'
‘Roman Catholic name? Yes. I
am Roman Catholic.’
‘A Roman Catholic in India?’
she said. ‘There could be a book in there
somewhere.’
Could there be? Religion is
important in India; it’s a matter of life
and death. It’s a matter of state support or
state-sponsored callous indifference. It’s a
matter of being picked up from the street
and interrogated.
But God?
God is a different matter. He’s
everywhere. She’s omnipotent. He rules
every classical dance form. Her form is
celebrated in almost all our painting, all
our sculpture, much of our poetry. As an
Indian, I once responded to Him and to
Her. I felt, growing up, that I could look
critically at the God of My Inheritance
and dislike what had been made of
him and like what I read of him when I
heard him side with the woman taken in
adultery and scourge the moneylenders
in the temple.
(Jesus would have occupied Wall
Street.)
I felt, growing up, a certain
attraction to Buddha, and, hey, he was a
Christian Saint, so I wasn’t even risking
blasphemy when I knew what he was
saying about how attachment means
pain, and so all you had to do was get
rid of all attachments so that you would
end all dukham. I have often felt this is
a solution because I love its elegant and
precise logic. Sin is a symptom of attachment, if you think about it. Attachment is
the cause. Root it out and you’re fine, no?
Yes. No. Because I also believe I am made
human because of my attachments.
For me Hinduism was a matter
of the aesthetic appeal of the stories,
their intricate reticulate venation, their
complete rejection of any differentiation
between the sacred and the secular. I
loved the challenge of Islam. Can you
surrender? Can you see in him your
brother? And to what extent will you take
that pledge of equality? Will you eat what
your driver eats?
I would love to spend my time
with my eyes fixed on the godhead.
She-he-it-they can offer you everything.
India’s poet-saints knew that and they
knew also how much rage She-he-it-they
can spark off inside your head. With
Neela Bhagwat, I have been translating
the poet-saints of medieval Maharashtra
and I am astonished each time at the
range of their responses, from joy to rage,
from bliss to despair.
Here is Janabai, a housemaid,
an orphan, talking to her God, to her
Vitthala:
Vitthya, Vitthya, prodigal son of the
eternal mother.
Your widow is abandoned, her bangles
wither.
Death weeps as your corpse passes.
Standing in the courtyard, Jani curses.
But equally, she might make a request
that might seem familiar to many
women, across the world. (see sidebar)
These women have a very
special relationship with God, with faith.
They see God as Mother, as Father, as
everyone. I read them and I want that. I
ache for it. But what is the shape of that
ache? Does it simply mean I can’t rely on
myself? Is it weakness or incompleteness?
Can I want God on my terms? She-he-itthey can be relied upon, it would seem to
set the terms of the encounter.
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Blind on the road to Damascus, plagued
by a constant sense that another life is
possible.
I remember a friend telling me
a story about a seeker who once asked an
enlightened person what the epiphany
was like. The answer: like a mother who
raises her child to her lips after she has
fed it at her breast and it is warm and
satiated and about to sleep and then tears
its head off between her ravaging teeth.
I think of the Emperor Wu
asking Bodhidharma what Buddhism
was? (I imagine a busy tycoon asking
a creative type for a one-liner of his
project.) Bodhidharma’s answer? Vast
emptiness, nothing sacred. If I stop for a
moment and think of that, it is actually
terrifying. Because it is also the after-life
without Her-him-it-them.
Can I cope? With a God(dess)?
Without one?
I don’t know. I am also afraid to
know. All the help that seems at hand is
biased. The atheist laughs at my wavering
faith and exults in the nothingness
beyond. The faithful want me to believe
but often want me to believe what they
believe. I am going to have to figure this
one out on my own. I think this is the
troublesome thing about adulthood.
Damn.
Or did I mean, ‘damned’?
Janbai was born in the lowest caste
in thirteenth century Maharashtra.
She worked as a housemaid and
was an ardent devotee of the Hindu
god Vitthal. Though uneducated,
she wrote many highly-regarded
devotional poems. She died in
1350 but her songs are still sung in
Maharashtra.
Khanderaya, what if I sacrifice a
ram?
Would you be kind and slay my man?
When my man’s gone, I’ll guffaw.
And you could then take my motherin-law.
When she’s dead, I’ll get some rest.
My father-in-law? Take him next.
With him dead, I’ll get some peace.
My brother-in-law? Give him
surcease.
Now that death would give me bliss.
My sister-in-law’s next on the list.
Her death would finally set me free
To set out as a Warkari.
Jani says: Khande, kill them one by
one.
And let me stay by your feet alone.
Overheard at St James’s church: ‘I love coming to St James’s but my spiritual home is really Cheltenham racecourse.’
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197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
On Crystals, Candles and Change
Alternatives has been inviting speakers to explore spiritual and inspirational themes in the
church for over 30 years. Mary Daniel explains what drew her to Alternatives, what happens on
a Monday evening, and her hopes for the future
On First Coming to Alternatives
I first came to Alternatives about ten years ago. I’d been brought
up in a strict religious background - my parents were Methodist
and I went to a Catholic convent school. Though I still had a
strong sense of faith, I’d moved away from the church. I think
what I needed was a sanctuary. I came for the odd Monday, but
refused to volunteer for a couple of years because I thought they
were all a little bit strange! But it gave me the space to connect
with myself. I love the way Alternatives doesn’t tell you what to
believe, just gives you the space to explore. I needed that.
On Becoming Director
I volunteered for about three years, then ran the weekend
workshops for a couple of years. I was invited to be director
when Steve Nobel left. I sat and thought about it for a while,
because it felt like a really big responsibility and also it meant
giving up my business.
On Monday Evenings.
The volunteer team arrive about an hour before the start, to set
up. The speaker usually arrives about half an hour early and
we have a meditation circle with him or her. That is beautiful:
people of all backgrounds and beliefs joined together in the
church. Then we open the doors and greet the audience. The
talks start at seven and are framed around a meditation. We
light three candles that represent three energies we want to
focus on. The first two are always love and either wisdom or
learning. The third is chosen by the speaker: it might be peace
or community or forgiveness. It tends to relate to what they are
talking about. Then there is a chance to turn to someone next to
you and connect with them, because it is about community and
family. The talk normally runs for about an hour, after which
there is about 15 minutes for Q and A. After that we share some
vegetarian food and there’s a chance to talk, or for people to talk
to the speaker more privately. That’s about half an hour. Then we
pack down the church and the team come together and we sit
around a candle. It’s lovely to have the chance to reflect on the
evening, discuss if there’s been an alignment with Alternatives,
would we invite them back. Also a reflection on our own lives.
Finally there’s a led meditation focussing on people who are ill,
or who we want to send love to. And that’s it.
But we have to be honest and say this isn’t necessarily reflective
of all churches, because some find it hard when they go back to
their own church and it doesn’t have the same openness about
it. I join in services here sometimes. And I think we all feel very
privileged and honoured to be in this unique setting.
On Core Values
The core values of our organisation are integrity, service,
community, love and growth. We try to find speakers who
share our values. We do a lot of research, talk to people, try
to see them. We get it right as often as we can, but sometimes
they say they are going to be talking about one thing and then
completely change direction on the night. Some people who’ve
been coming for years, I don’t want them any more and that
can be tricky. But I have been honest about why. It’s an ongoing
discussion.
On the limits and advantages of Self-Help Books
Personally, I’m done with crystals and angel cards and especially
self-help books. No one can tell you how to live your life. Some
are just money-making and irresponsible. However, I realise
that some speakers and writers are very good ‘door openers’.
You can come in through a very ‘light’ door and then move
into a space that’s much more authentic. I came to Alternatives
through one of those ‘light’ doors. But it’s a fine line.
On Looking forward, looking out.
If Alternatives stays the same it will be stagnant. And a lot of
this stuff isn’t even alternative any more. If Alternatives is to
continue to stand out, we need to recognise what the needs
of the world are. I’m very much into sustainability and the
environment. On the board we are now discussing how we can
engage with living our lives more consciously in the world,
without feeling depressed and down. Because people struggle
with feeling overwhelmed. A lot of the mind-body-spirit stuff
is focussed on the self and that is fine, because that is where we
start, but we can’t stop there. You can get the spiritual element
and still be aware of how you are in the world. It’s one for me.
I’m passionate about that.
On Being in a Church
A lot of the people who come to Alternatives have had a bad
experience and can struggle with it being in a church. But
there’s something about the space at St James’s - it’s so beautiful
- and some people have said that coming to St James’s, further
down the road, has allowed them to explore their faith again. It’s
given them a different experience of what a church means.
6
Overheard at St James’s church: ‘If our vocation is love then the name of the game is solidarity.’
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Frocks, Fieldmice and Comfortable Shlumph
Beshlie Watson casts a sideways, and maybe even a little jaundiced, eye on the under-reported
subject of church dress codes.
T
hey say it’s not a good idea to judge a book by its cover,
although how else you are supposed to judge it has always
been a bit of a mystery. Weight perhaps? I know a woman
who buys books because she likes the smell; the latest hardbacks
sit imposingly on her drawing room tables until that ‘new book
smell’ fades and then she gets another batch. A refreshingly
honest version of the middle–class proclivity to line houses
with walls of books, as if they were needed for insulation against
something other than intellectual insecurities.
Luckily we don’t feel the need to take this absurd saying any
further. We happily judge wines by their labels, and church
congregations by what they wear.
I presume the theory is that people choose their church because
they study the messaging delivered by the clergy and then
decided which would be the best place to continue their spiritual
development? But really what happens is that they look at the
others in the congregation and think either, ‘this is a place for
people like me’, or, ‘this a place like I want me to be’.
O
f course, if you are in an area without a plethora of
churches to choose from – the countryside for example
- perhaps the approach might be slightly different. But
here in central London we have a weekly Sunday Buffet Brunch
offering of churches and congregations, all reachable with relative
ease. It can be most confusing, for Christian Newbie or Recent
Arrival in Town. What people wear is probably as good a choice
guide as any other.
The other week I happened to be walking past two large and
imposing churches at closing time: opposing creeds whose
powerful elite have slugged it out with blood, brimstone and
bodies for centuries, now peacefully backing onto each other,
their bottoms nestled comfortably together under the green shade
of towering London plane trees. Each congregation is – well, not
poor. Each was wearing a uniform commonly found on notpoor people – but they were different, mirroring the approach
to religion by the church in question, and their congregations’
relationship with each other and the world because of that.
The men in one church tended towards ox-blood red chinos,
sky blue shirts, no tie, soft loafers with nubby rubber bits on the
bottoms. The women in the other had ozone-depleting amounts
of hairspray stopping their hair from unapproved movement
over their boxy-shouldered jackets. The children also wore
uniforms. In one the boys were inserted into jackets made from
piquet waffle weave so loved by the French, in a style that might
be termed old-fashioned if had ever actually been in fashion.
The girls in the other were in a variety of wispy frocks favoured
by high fashion children’s ranges (poetic whimsy is cheap to
manufacture; nostalgia carries a high premium).
The Church of England’s fashion hasn’t been something to write
home about since around 1547. It did reach a gentle zenith in the
1970s: the union between hippy craft – hey, they even had the
right sandals – and those ecclesiastically-inspired needlepoint
embroideries with messages like ‘Christ is Risen’ in joyous reds
and purples, perhaps illustrated with a cluster of bright yellow
corn stalks nibbled on by a slightly pixillated fieldmouse, was a
fortuitous one. It has been in a bit of a fashion wilderness ever
since, due, in part, to an increased accessibility to Monsoon
across England and Wales.
S
o what does the St James’s Piccadilly congregation’s dress
code say about the spiritual messaging? Let’s face it, the
closest SJP comes to high fashion is having the same initials
as Sarah Jessica Parker.
The abundance of textiles from other parts of the world on a
predominantly white congregation does make a strong statement
of determined acceptance of all others. Yayness.
But it also begs the question: why do we think that people from,
say, India or Africa, whose countries make our much loved
fabrics, see us as inclusive by the scarf we wear? Isn’t it actually
just a shorthand between the aforementioned predominately
white group to demonstrate that they are all thinking the same
positive world-encompassing thoughts?
This is balanced out by a preponderance of the Comfortable
Shlumph school of dressing, though there are pinpoints of
sartorial light – mainly from those not British Born and Visitors.
From whom we should learn. Because, really, unless you are
going to go all out with the whole sackcloth and ashes approach
to Christian fashion, there is no reason to ignore whether an item
of clothing makes you look upholstered or not.
The big rewards for being a good, inclusive, considerate Christian
might be in the hereafter, but good tailoring is right here right
now. So go for it.
Misprint at St James’s Easter service - Christ has died
Chris has risen
7
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
A Sukkah for All
For one week in October a curious construction appeared in the garden of St James’s Church.
Built from a mix of timber, plastic bottles, bamboo and branches, it was a modern take on the
traditional Jewish Sukkah. This fragile but concrete expression of shared values and concerns was
the fruit of ongoing dialogue between St James’s Church and Jewish partners, including Jewish
Social Action Forum and the West London Synagogue.
The Sukkah is
deliberately flimsy
and its roof has
holes, as if to remind
us that we all dwell
under the Divine gaze
together rather than
under our private
roofs separately.
The plastic bottles
are not biblically
ordained: these reflect
our concern with
environmental issues,
waste and recycling.
Children from Soho Parish school
decorate the Sukkah using found
materials, under the supervision of Anna Sikorska.
A Sukkah is a temporary booth,
a remembering and reliving
of the nomadic desert huts
built by the children of Israel in
the Sinai desert after leaving
Egypt. During their years of
wandering, they embraced
freedom from bondage and
yearned for revelation.
‘You shall live in booths
seven days… in order that future
generations may know that I
made the Israelite people live in
booths when I brought them out
of the Land of Egypt…’
(Leviticus 23:43)
In this temporary booth, at the
onset of winter, we recall that
many in our community are
without homes and without
enough food.
Visitors are welcomed by
volunteers, who offer hospitality.
‘Blessed are you God our Lord,
King of the universe, who
has sanctified us with your
commandments and commanded
us to dwell in the sukkah.’
Plastic bottles become things of beauty when
illuminated at night.
A steady trickle of puzzled visitors enjoy nourishment and
company during our all-night soup kitchen in the courtyard.
Overheard in the Sukkah, ‘Do the people who sleep in your pews know Jesus?’
197 PiccadillyWinter 2014
A Postcard from
Mirfield
Photo: FPhotography
John Russell is a member of our
congregation who has just started
training for the priesthood at
Mirfield College of the Resurrection
in Yorkshire.
Photo: FPhotography
The parish Harvest service is followed
by a kosher lunch in the garden. Lucy
hands round kosher lunches supplied
by Falafel Feast.
Rabbi Natan Levy explains the
significance of Sukkot.
Photo: FPhotography
After a Climate Change discussion in the church with
Tim Yeo MP and Voltaire Alferez of the Aksyon Klima in
the Philippines, the final celebration in the Sukkah is
entertained by Don Kippur.
The verdict:
‘We are not going to agree about
every ounce of Middle East
politics, but we can agree that
dialogue trumps silence, and
disagreements need not become
grudges.’ - Rabbi Natan Levy.
Mirfield College shares grounds and
church with a monastic community, and
the whole place is a big swimming pool
of prayer. On a typical day, we’re out of
bed and into our cassocks for Mattins at
7:30am, then Eucharist. We breakfast in
silence and spend the morning in lectures
or private study. Then lunch, and more
study until Evensong with the monks at
6pm, dinner, and Compline at 9.15pm.
The other ordinands are a diverse bunch,
tending towards the High AngloCatholic end of church tradition – I’m
living on a corridor nicknamed ‘Rosary
Row’ because of the number of Marian
devotees. It’s immersive and demanding
but with time to jog along the towpaths,
cycle the West Yorkshire greenways, or
do yoga outside watching squirrels play
in the prayer labyrinth.
Before I left Manchester, I was invited to
preach at the Church of the Resurrection
where a wonderful woman called Leela
beamed at me throughout my sermon,
grinned at all my jokes, and told me
afterwards she felt called to a ‘ministry
of encouragement and mothering’. As I
left, she earnestly warned me not to lose
sight of Jesus on my journey. So I was
delighted to find that my year-long parish
attachment is at Dewsbury Minster,
which has a keen ministry to the poor,
and my first visit coincided with an
extremely well-argued and unflinching
lecture on the Gospel imperative of
Christian hospitality that I’m sure would
have gone down very well with the St
James’s Winter Shelter Team.
‘Visitors have been struck by
this visible statement of joint
social action, especially as we
are raising awareness of poverty
in our city and collecting for our
local food bank.’ Lucy Winkett,
Rector of St James’s Church.
Overheard in the Sukkah : ‘All people of faith must work together for peace.’
9
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Laughter of Angels
Salley Vickers explores a little-known but crucial aspect
of angel-lore: their life-enhancing gift of laughter.
I
t was good news for angel lovers to
learn that Pope Francis is a fellow
believer. As one who has written
about angels (and other unworldly
beings) I am often asked if I am also an
angelist. Well, sort of.
I am not a believer in creatures with
gold hair, feathered wings and trumpets.
But maybe only children, or the makers
of Christmas cards, nowadays believe
in them in that form (the latter surely
cynically). But I do believe that the
ancient and time-honoured tradition
of giving shape to a point of conscious
meeting between the visible and invisible
worlds is a meaningful and rich concept.
We live in a conceptual age and have
forgotten that in earlier times intangible
concepts were regularly given aesthetic
form through images. And it is not
widely enough known today that in
the Judaic/Christian scriptures and,
both in the Hebrew and the Greek,
the words malekh and angelos mean
simply messenger, and have no inherent
otherworldly significance. This tradition
is echoed in the Greek religious writings
where gods and goddesses regularly
appear, not in a divine form but as an old
nurse, a shepherd or long lost friend.
I want to reflect on two angel stories,
which present these presences in this
rather more ambiguous light.
10
The first story concerns the three angels
who visit the elderly Abraham and Sarah.
You will probably have seen images
of these angels depicted on Byzantine
paintings, sitting rather stiffly at one side
of a long table while Abraham and Sarah
humbly wait on them.
The three presences, angels, or aspects
of the Lord, are warmly entertained by
Abraham and his wife. Their feet are
washed, they are given ceremonial food
– in what I can’t help feeling must be a
prefiguring of both the Passover meal
and the Last Supper. But they are given
these goods in ignorance of who or what
they are under a law as old as human
society, the law of
hospitality, which
gives, especially to
strangers, without
calculation of cost or
thought for return.
And which finds
ritual expression in
the Lord’s Supper, or
Holy Communion,
where all who choose
to be are entertained
as God’s guests.
‘Angels fly because they
take themselves lightly’
G.K. Chesterton
I
t is interesting that there are three of
these beings, because while they are
three they are also one. In this context
it is hard not to think of the Christian
Trinity since the author of Genesis makes
it clear that these three beings are all
aspects of the Lord. But he also tells us
that the visitation of these strangers, and
the entertainment they receive, leads
directly to a conception, and rather
an important one, for Sarah is old and
barren, and three is also the figure of
creation and recreation in human life:
man, woman, and child.
T
here is one very lovely
consequence of this act of
unpremeditated generosity on
the old couple’s part, which is unique
in Judaic/Christian texts, although it’s
central to the Zoroastrian vision of
the holy, and the authors of Genesis
would most likely be familiar with that.
Zarathustra was allegedly born into the
world laughing and the elderly barren
Sarah spontaneously laughs too, when
she hears that at this late stage in her life
she is to conceive.
197 PiccadillyWinter 2014
The Jewish God, Yahweh, is sometimes
depicted as being a bit of a wet blanket or
up on his high horse. But here we have a
charming example of the way he confers
his favour through sexual pleasure and
laughter.
Sarah laughed within herself saying, After
I am waxed old, shall I have pleasure in
my Lord, being old also? (Gen.18 v.12)
Y
ears ago, when I was a recently
trained psychotherapist, I took
rooms in a house owned by an
eminent Freudian analyst. After a while
I was asked, rather solemnly, if I could
manage to get my patients to laugh less
- their laughter, I was informed, was
‘disturbing’ the other analyst’s patients. I
was new and still relatively biddable and,
God help me, I tried to stop my patients
laughing. But the more I tried the more
it seemed we laughed. Of course we, or
they, cried too, but under the shadow of
this grave injunction how we did laugh,
increasingly uncontrollably, till one day
I knew that there was no help for it and
that I and my patients would have to up
sticks and leave. Years later one of them
said to me, rather wistfully, ‘You know
we’ve always laughed a lot but never so
much as when you had those rooms in
Hampstead!’
My unfortunate colleague – with whom I
perfectly sympathised – had unwittingly
bestowed on me and my patients a
blessing. Whatever our conscious
intentions, something in our deeper, or
higher, natures refused to be subjected to
his idea of what ‘good’ therapy entailed.
Our laughter cut loose from us without
premeditation, and cut something larger
than us loose in the process. All political
tyrannies censor comedy because
laughter is subversive. And God is
nothing if not subversive
The laughter of my patients was
indubitably restorative. In its way, it
also fertilised barrenness, creating
a new and unlooked-for expression
of life. It was one of those occasions
where the unexpected is key. Just as
the gracious accommodation of the
strangers harbingers Sarah’s strange
conception - and the remarkable laughter
that accompanies the news is both a
consequence and a pre-requisite of this
miraculous process.
human being – of God, that is conceived
by God, expressing God in human form.
God is about to appear in the form of a
vulnerable child, a child who will grow
to manhood and incarnate the divine
in the manner of his living, his teaching
and above all his example. In modern
psychological terms, Mary might be
represented as suddenly understanding
that the baby conceived inside her is
an expression of the divine. In that
sense all babies are just that and Mary
is the exemplar of the miracle of birth
and motherhood. But how much more
compelling this story becomes when
expressed through this mysterious and
numinous image. Ours, sadly, is an
imaginatively impoverished age.
The second story is the account in Luke
(my favourite among the Gospel authors)
of the arrival of the angel to announce to
Mary her forthcoming birth.
A
n angel is a messenger and
Gabriel, specifically, means
Man of God, or, in some
interpretations, Might of God, so we
might see this as the first intimation that
the baby will be, literally, a man – that is a
The Angel
Ruth Fainlight
gives an insight
into the inspiration behind her much-loved
poem which is reproduced here.
‘Several years ago I translated some poems by the
wonderful Peruvian poet Cesar Vallejo. One of the
best known is titled “Black Stone on a White Stone”,
and in two separate lines of it he writes: “I have set my
shoulder against evil,” and “the bruised bones of his
shoulder,” (“I” and “his” both referring to himself). It
was the image and the thought these words inspired
which I am sure led to the writing of my own poem.’
Sometimes the boulder is rolled away,
but I cannot move it when
I want to. An angel must. Shall
I ever see the angel’s face,
or will there always only be
that molten glow outlining every
separate hair and feathered quill,
the sudden wind and odour, sunlight,
music, the pain of my bruised shoulders.
from Fifteen to Infinity (1983)
William Blake (who was baptised at St James’s Church) ‘Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door.’
11
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Dialogue of Healing
As the divisions between Islam and the west appear to increase daily, David Loyn explores the
challenge to Christians to respond with honesty and integrity.
I
n Nomad, one of Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s
marvellous books about her journey
from life as a Somali fundamentalist
Muslim to American rational atheist, she
issues an appeal to western Christians.
She believes that the accommodation
that has been made by the church over
three centuries with the Enlightenment
and rational thinking should be a model
for contemporary Islam. She writes
of a ‘reformed and partly secularized
Christianity that could be a very
useful ally in the battle against Islamic
fundamentalism.’
Hirsi Ali writes approvingly of Christians
who follow a ‘God synonymous with
love. His agents do not preach hatred,
intolerance and discord: this God is
merciful, does not seek state power, and
sees no competition with science.’
None of the other testimonies of exIslamists, such as Radical by Maajid
Nawaz, or The Islamist by Ed Husain, have
similar sympathy for a modern Christian
position. But they agree with Hirsi Ali that
the west has lost the plot in facing the crisis
in our midst over Islamist extremism.
For very good reasons connected with
personal liberty, and a deep respect for
difference, the British establishment never
asked questions about what was going on
inside British Muslim homes and mosques
– or even what was being taught in schools
until the Trojan Horse inquiry this year.
The government’s ‘Prevent’ agenda was
always aimed at extremist action, not
thought. There was so little knowledge
that, in the early years, considerable
government funding went to individuals
and groups thought to be ‘moderate’, but
who in fact were preaching hate.
T
his is a very sensitive area. Look at
the internet to see how the Trojan
Horse inquiry was treated as an
affront to Muslim dignity, and a threat
to freedom. But those British Muslims
who want to challenge that instinct to
circle round and defend even the worst
of practices have no space in a media
world that brands all Muslims as potential
terrorists.
12
And this is where modern Christians
might be able to come in, offering a way of
living alongside, inside, the contemporary
world that does not compromise faith.
It would be an alternative for the best of
Islamic sentiment, people repelled by the
Manichean post-9/11 world view created
by George W Bush and Tony Blair after
9/11. When the leaders of the AngloAmerican alliance proclaimed ‘those
who are not with us are against us,’ even
‘moderate’ Muslims had nowhere to go.
H
irsi Ali makes clear that the
compelling and useful features
of modern Christianity she
detects are not shared by all Christians –
Bush and Blair are of course Christians.
At one extreme are the fundamentalist
creationists who sees theirs as the only
way, follow the word of the Bible literally,
and ‘damn the existence of other groups.’
Google something like ‘Christian
dialogue with Islam’ and you quickly
find evangelical groups on university
campuses who give advice on how to
convert Muslims in their midst.
But, for Hirsi Ali, equally dangerous are
those who would appease everything
done in the name of Islam, including the
former Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan
Williams, who appeared to welcome the
arrival of some parts of Sharia law into
Britain. These people are seen as much
a ‘liability to western civilisation’ as the
fundamentalists at the other extreme.
Some
Christians
unequivocally
condemn and some, with similar lack of
discrimination, condone everything done
in the name of Allah in the UK. Perhaps
the best response to Hirsi Ali, following St
Francis, is to console, to get alongside.
This is not necessarily an easy path.
Standing for love and tolerance should
not mean total acceptance of all that all
Muslims do and think. Hundreds of young
British men have gone to fight for the socalled Islamic State. What is our answer to
this? As I write, the Foreign Secretary is
talking about trials for treason. Are they
all to be criminalised – even the ones that
realised they made a mistake and want to
find a way home? Is there another way that
would encourage a Muslim mainstream,
that knows what it has gained from the
benefits of a liberal society, but has no
voice?
T
he last time that British volunteers
fought abroad in these numbers
was in the Spanish civil war. The
clarion call to fight for an Islamic State
is as powerful as the call to fight against
fascism. And in some ways we face
an existential crisis as a nation and a
civilisation as profound as the Cold War.
In those days, the battle for minds was as
important, if not more important, than
the arms race.
Perhaps we should listen to a prophet who
has made the journey from radicalism
herself, to see what might work. Hirsi
Ali’s appeal is to us since ‘The Christianity
of love and tolerance remains one of the
west’s most powerful antidotes to the
Islam of hate and intolerance.’ And I
wonder if we do enough to respond to this
challenge.
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
There was an old fellow called Noah
A two-by-two animal stower
He filled up an ark
In which to embark
And even found two protozoa
Adi Holzer
TWO BY WHO? by mick twister
The Face in the Pew
Tim Brierley
T
here are a number of reactions to being told you look like someone famous. You might at first preen slightly, before alerting
yourself to the possibility of this being a wind-up, before anxiously searching for your facesake and plunging into the gloom
of OMG-no-surely-not-is-that-what-I-look-like-ten-years-ago-I-was-apparently-a-dead-ringer-for-Jose-Mourinho-nowthere-you’re-talking-I-can’t-possibly-have-changed-that-much. In my case, the likeness was that of Justin Welby. Arsenal and
England? No, Archbishop of Canterbury. And this was not for the first time of asking.
A year ago we visited a church in Dorchester, where the vicar appeared to be in a state of some agitation. At the end of the service I
was not mobbed, exactly, but the nearest thing to it that the C of E can manage. The Reverend Lady was greatly relieved when she
realised her mistake. I have to admit to feeling slightly deflated. For her it must have been like spotting Michael Billington in the
third row of a preview, or having a surprise Ofsted visit. Ofrev, or some such. I think there may be a national tour to be had out of
this. Even money to be made.
I’ve always liked dressing-up. Dame Judi used to say she had the character once she had the shoes. As an actor, once in a
policeman’s uniform, you can’t help but adopt the shoulders, gait, mannerisms and that odd way of talking that policemen have
(‘the suspect discharged a firearm from the premises’ and the like). In bovver boots, with a shaven head, I strutted like a farmyard
rooster.
B
ut Justin Welby? Justin PORTAL Welby? At least he seems to smile a lot. And it could be worse. Last week I was accused of
playing golf. To which there can be no equivocal response. It’s a vile slur and slander.
So if at some unspecified time in the not too distant future, you happen on a sad-faced, greyhead in a mitre and robe, fondling his
crook in the back row of St. James’s, don’t ignore him or spit on him or toss him pennies. Be inclusive, as ever. Just welcome him
with:
‘Morning, Archbishop, has Lucy Winkett made the shortlist then?’ or:
‘Any likely short-term movement in crude oil futures this week, reverend?’
He might just give you a blessing.
Overheard at St James’s : ‘Mis-read peanut butter lid this morning: ALL SEPARATION IS NATURAL. How kind to offer breakfast consolation to the
divorced.’
13
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Here There and Everywhere
Leah Hoskin continues her exploration of the variety on offer in the Piccadilly Market, and Betty
Harris explains why a group of volunteers are turning marketeers for a season with Traidcraft.
Cradled on a plinth of honour behind the subtle and
beautiful colours of the necklaces, ear-rings and bracelets
on display, is a glistening stone roughly the size of a pingpong ball. To hold it is to be reluctant to return this polished
seed of the Colombian Tagua Tree from which the vegetable
ivory is made. Elena held it reverently and was adamant that
nothing would ever persuade her to part with it.
The worked Tagua Tree seed was discovered more than
300 years ago in the Amazon jungle and its products were
very popular both in Colombia and in Victorian England.
Samples of antique ornaments,walking-stick handles and
jewellery are to be found in both the Natural History and the
British Museum.
Vegetable ivory products regained popularity fairly recently
and now Colombians Elena and Antonio of DeMEC have
reintroduced them here. The colour, hardness and density of these seeds are very close to those of animal ivory, meaning (a real
bonus) they are the only natural, sustainable alternative to ivory. Thus their use helps to save elephants and preserve the rain forests.
Undoubtedly the ethics of their wares are as important to Elena and Antonio, and to their many customers, as is their quality and
beauty.
Photo: DeMEC
Simon Weinstock’s London photographs portray the everyday in such a
way that we see afresh familiar locations, streets, buildings, scenes and
images which so often go unnoticed, or seen from a London bus.
And London buses form a large part of his work. He captures their
iconic presence and displays them as universal symbols of London’s
streets; who knows, should the the present trend of multi-coloured buses
continues, Simon’s photographs might become red bus memorials!
However, when Simon came to London aged 18 to study photography at
London University, photographing London scenes was the last thing on
his mind. This was the time when digital printing was starting to capture
the imagination not only as a technique but, as he explains, it opened
up a new way of looking and it fired his imagination to create abstract
images which would not have been possible with a camera.
Photo: Simon Weinstock
He was also in demand in the rapidly expanding television world of
advertising which he describes as cutting edge and very exciting, but this era passed and abstract photography did not pay the bills.
Fortunately he was able to direct his talents into making the London photographs which attract local people and tourists alike.
Why the smiles?
Traidcraft was set up 35 years ago to
help the poorest of the poor WORK
their way out of poverty. It buys
from farmers with small plots of
land, helps them form co-operatives,
offers training to improve quality
and offers grants or low-interest
loans when new tools or equipment
are needed .
14
Siripala , Sri Lanka
Traidcraft developed the world’s first rubber gloves paying above the unfairly
low rate offered by giant corporations for his latex. This has enabled him to bring
electricity into his home. Now his children can read their schoolbooks indoors.
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Nő-el No-words
Jane Preest talks to the composer
of a new Christmas carol specially
commissioned for Shoppers Carols at St
James's
Milan Dev Bhattarai , Nepal
Traidcraft provided a grant for fencing, seedlings and treeplanting to combat soil erosion. The new forest, covering
12 hectares will benefit around 4,500 people, supplying a
sustainable source of wood.
Poor cocoa farmers
cannot supply the huge
quantities needed by large
manufacturers, so Traidcraft
tested recipes and devised
its own brand of chocolate.
Now farmers in numerous
countries supply the cocoa
that goes into:
Representatives of the charity seek out those living in
remote areas
Its strophic structure is reminiscent of a
traditional Christmas carol, but there the
similarities end. Misha Mullov-Abbado,
winner of this year’s Kenny Wheeler Jazz Prize
and the Dankworth prize for composition,
has composed a piece that combines the
familiar a cappella chorale idiom with some
jazz harmony. But why does his carol have no
words?
‘If I’m honest,’ Misha admits disarmingly, ‘I
chose not to set any words because I wasn’t
feeling particularly inspired by anything I
came across. And then I thought about trying
to imitate the chorale nature of a Christmas
hymn, but in a way that was more intimate
and less blunt. In particular I was inspired
by Jan Sandström’s setting of “Es ist ein Ros
entsprungen” where most of the singers
are just humming the chorale, creating this
beautiful sound-world effect.’
Nöel-Song has been commissioned by Joy
Hill and Leslie East and is performed for
the first time by the Vigala Singers at the
popular Shoppers’ Carols on Thursday 16th
December, a chance for everyone to let go of
their preparations, just for a while, and look
forward to Christmas with joy.
and work with skilled artisans, helping them create goods
for a Western market.
A Traidcraft stall is being run by volunteers in
Piccadilly Market Tuesday - Saturday, 10am till 5
pm, 11November to 20 December. Come and find
out for yourself!
"YOU MUST BE THE ANGEL OF THE NORTH"
15
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Piccadilly People
Former Site Manager Finna J Ayres on feminism and faith,
architecture and apartheid. And also about her years working
at St James’s
W
hen I was about ten we went to
see Annie Get Your Gun. Annie
is a brilliant shot. She only gets
her man after she’s tricked into loosing
to him in a rifle competition. As they
rode off into the sunset I was dragged
out, sobbing, and screaming, ‘It’s a lie! Its
cheating! Its not FAIR!’ For the first of
many times my mother shook her head:
‘You’ll learn … ’ and my father added,
‘Well I hope you do … ’ It wasn’t until
years later when I discovered feminism
that I understood why I was so upset.
My father was a sculptor and my mother
was a painter. We never had any money.
My brother and I were clothed by the
Canadian Red Cross. It was just after
WW2 and if it hadn’t been for all the
war memorials my father did we would
probably have starved. These led to other
work for churches, which we sometimes
all worked on together. My mother
researched the religious and military
sym-bols and painted the finished
objects, and as we grew up, we children
did our bit. So we were surrounded with
religious iconography and familiar with
the myths.
I never wanted to be a fine artist like my
parents and my brother. I wanted to do
something practical, and maybe improve
things in a small way. I began to train as
an architect, but that stopped when my
mother and I were seriously ill at almost
the same time. Then I married and left
London.
It wasn’t until we went to apartheid South
Africa that politics forced themselves on
me. I realised that it’s not enough to be
humanely interested in good causes, you
had to get angry and work out which side
you were on. I found the life of being a
white ex-pat comfortable but alienating,
so we joined the Black Sash and the
Progressive Party. The social interaction
between races was contrived, felt
pretentious, and was shaming because
the black women’s lives were so terrible
com-pared to mine.
I took food parcels around, but that
seemed so footling. For instance, there
was a basic government concrete house
built for the blacks. When the housing
16
got really bad they divided them in two,
but horizontally, so you couldn’t stand up
in either of them. It still shocks me. That
was when I really started to identify with
housing. Where politics meets art.
After we returned to London I was
surprised to find how much I missed the
passionate political involvement of the
struggle in South Africa. So I made a
tentative approach to the Labour Party.
The woman I was put in contact with
looked me in the eye and said, ‘I think
for you feminism should come first.’ How
right she was.
M
y marriage broke up and I got
cancer. The next ten years or so
were really tough. I had three
children and no money at all. I sold all
my jewellery, dodged fares, learnt to
scavenge and shoplift. My understanding
and attitudes changed completely during
those years but I resumed my studies and
finally qualified as an architect. I passed
the final Professional Practice exam 28
years after I started.
There came a moment in those hard
years when I became seriously suicidal.
At what I think was my last try, I phoned
the St Martin -in-the-Fields crisis centre,
and this wonderful man came out and
literally saved me. He wanted me to pray
with him, but I couldn’t. He asked why.
‘Because I’m so effing angry with
God!’
‘Have you told God that?’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘It wouldn’t be polite.’ Even as I said it,
I realised how idiotic that sounded. And
as we began to laugh together I saw that
he’d released me to reconnect with God.
I spent ten years working for housing cooperatives, and housing associations both
of which began to be diluted by the Right
to Buy Legislation. After Labour lost the
’92 election I’d had enough, returned
to the new South Africa. and ended up
teaching public housing at the University
of Cape Town.
After three years there I learned to value
being part of a local church. Back in
London I tried to find one near home,
Words on a 1672 pot ‘Earth I am, it is most trew; disdain me not, for soe are you’.
but they all made me cross. Now and
again I’d give myself a treat and go to St
James’s. Finally it dawned – I can go any
time.
The opportunity to be Site Manager at
St James’s came in the late 90s. I loved
it, loved the way no day was ever the
same. Loved the way I was making the
details right in order to make the big
thing work. Loved really getting to know
a building well and how the people and
the building and the space changed each
other. The Grinling Gibbons connection
was important too: he was the nearest
thing we had to God in my family. One
of my treasures is a prize given to my
teenage father for wood carving : it’s a
1914 first edition of Grinling Gibbons
and the Woodwork of his Age by H. Avray
Tipping.
W
hen Christopher and I
decided to get married, it
never occurred to us to marry
anywhere else. He’d been coming to the
church since he was a child. And when
the new lime tree was planted we had the
circular bench made to protect it, with
the names and dates of our parents, and
our names linked between them, with
the words, 'in this church they met and
married in 2008.'
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••• ••••••••••
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
When Gabe brought his tidings to Mary
She said, being just a bit wary:
“Not having known man,
I’m not sure I can A virgin birth’s rather contrary!”
OH, REALLY? by mick twister
And another thing ...!
C
ara doesn’t go out to work, but she certainly works. Through coffee mornings, fundraising concerts, vigils, fetes, and of course
Church on Sundays, she is devoting her time and energy to getting her children into the best primary school. It’s a Church of
England school so a good reference from the vicar will make all the difference. Of course, once the kids are safely in the school
uniform, their parents needn’t ever darken the church doors again. And won’t.
Ours is an increasingly agnostic society. So why should religious affiliation, faked or otherwise, be the passport to a decent education?
Conversely, why should ‘faith’ be an acceptable excuse for teaching nonsense? At some Islamic schools in the UK, children are told
the world was created in seven days, five millennia ago; they also learn that women are inferior to men. How long before Creationists
get to do this too? All the same, faith schools, whether Anglican, Catholic, Jewish or Islamic, are at least partly subsidised by the tax
payer. And that’s not how our taxes should be spent.
Like so many other disastrous reforms (think of the NHS reorganisation) this perverse development was never discussed with us, the
electorate. If it had been, I don’t believe that most voters would have supported faith schools any more than they supported Prince
Charles’s soppy notion of one day becoming Defender of All Faiths. By definition, if you believe in one you have to disbelieve all
others; if you believe in none, any and all the religious education being forced down the throats of faith-school pupils seems equally
irrational.
B
ut the most important argument against
educational apartheid is the social one.
Children need to learn how to get on with
people who are unlike themselves. To segregate
children from different faith backgrounds is mad, sad
and downright dangerous.
So it’s both unfair and infuriating that public money
is supporting the propaganda factories otherwise
known as Faith Schools. We shouldn’t subsidise
the teaching of any dogma that is profoundly and
dangerously alien to the vast majority of people in
the UK. We shouldn’t let fake piety influence the
intake of state primary schools. My taxes shouldn’t be
supporting any establishment which teaches girls that
boys are their betters. And what possible justification
can there be for a schools admission policy neatly
expressed (by Tom Hollander in the BBC’s Rev) as
On Our Knees To Save The Fees?
Rant - Anon.
Former guest of the night shelter, coming to service: ‘I have a home now.’
17
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
PICCADILLY EYE
The Maison next door
When they describe their handcrafted
volumes as ‘over-sized’ they are
not exaggerating in the least. The
spectacular books on sale in Maison
Assouline, which has just opened in the
old Hauser and Wirth premises at 196a
Piccadilly, must need reinforced shelves
to house them. The list covers ‘the
greatest artists and cultural icons of our
time’ and new additions include Venice
Synagogues, Celebrity Cocktails and
Backstage at the Cirque du Soleil. Only
the strongest of coffee tables will do.
What Gargoyle?
The mystery image in the summer
edition which looks like a cross
between a depressed llama and the
missing Marx Brother turns out to
have been, according to impeccable
sources, either a recent representation
of God the Gardener, or depending on
which impeccable source you listen to,
Jesus being mistaken for the gardener
after the resurrection. Neither version
explains the pith helmet or the
clubland moustache. This turns out
to be one of those answers that just
raises more questions. (Like, what’s it
doing on the west wall anyway?)N
18
The Assouline brand has boutiques
from Santiago to Seoul, and from
Mexico City to Istanbul and Paris, but
it is celebrating its 20th anniversary by
opening its first ‘maison’ in the centre
of London. ‘The owners fell in love with
this building,’ said a spokesperson for
the company. ‘They live in Paris and
their business HQ is New York, but
London is the city to be right now.’ The
new venue is well worth a visit, for the
friendly welcome, for the cocktails and
for publications that prove definitively
that Kindle has not killed the book. N
No Peeking Allowed
A vast basement containing four large
paintings almost entirely obscured by
scavenged tarpaulins (apparently the
artworks beneath are ‘lush Abstract
expressionist style’, but they are so
fiercely guarded by curators anxious to
preserve the artist’s integrity that you’d
have to buy one to find out) is part
of the first major London exhibition
of the work of legendary US artist
David Hammons. The abstracts on the
ground floor, made by bouncing a
dirty basketball on white paper, have
a strange and haunting beauty. At the
White Cube in Mason’s Yard till 3rd
January. N
Overheard in Piccadilly: gnomic statement: ‘The furthest point on earth is closer to us than yesterday.’
197 Piccadilly Winter 2014
Two for the New Year
Gian Carlo Menotti’s timeless story
of the crippled shepherd boy and
the Three Kings, Amahl and the Night
Visitors, is being performed on Saturday
17th January at St James’s Church and
on 14th February another Saturday,
the patron saint of Romance will be
celebrated with a piano recital featuring
music by Beethoven, Chopin, Liszt and
Mozart.
Tickets for these and most other
evening concerts can now be bought
from Havenessence in the market (left
of the north door) from Wednesday
to Saturday each week and more
information about the full concert
programme is on the website. Or keep
in the loop on twitter @SJPiccadilly. N
Listings
Sunday 30th November
11.00am: Advent Sunday Parish Eucharist
Sunday 30th November
6.00pm: Churches Together in Westminster Ecumenical Advent Service
Monday 1st December
Sami Awad from the Holy Land Trust event www.eventbrite.co.uk
Wednesday 7th December
Jerusalem Youth Chorus, which brings together young people from East and
West Jerusalem, sings after the service at St James’s as part of their UK tour.
Sunday 14th December
3.00pm: Blue Christmas (a service for those who find celebrating difficult at
Christmas)
Thursday 18th December
5.30pm: Carols for Shoppers
Sunday 21st December
6.00pm: Festival of Lessons and Carols (Parish Carol Service)
Wednesday 24th December
5.00pm: Carols for the Eve of Christmas 11.30pm: Christmas Midnight Eucharist
Thursday 25th December 11.00am: Christmas Day Eucharist
Shirley Shortlist
Jermyn Street Evergreen
It was sensational in the 1930s and
then again when it was revived, starring
a young Laurence Olivier, in 1950.
One of the first plays to deal with gay
issues, though necessarily veiled, it
portrays a young man torn between
the respectability of his fiancee and the
allure of his older dilettante mentor.
Mordaunt Shairp’s The Green Bay Tree
is at the Jermyn Street Theatre in a new
production directed by Tim Luscombe
and starring Alister Cameron, Poppy
Drayton and Richard Heap from 25th
25th November – 21st December. N
Star of stage, screen, tv, radio and also,
on Palm Sunday, the pulpit in front of
St James’s, whence her voice beams
out over Piccadilly while Larry the
donkey struts his stuff in the courtyard
beneath, Shirley Dixon is not only a
role model for all who are embarking
on their ninth (or any) decade, she
has now been nominated for Best
Supporting Actor. She was the narrator
and also played Nanon in Honoré de
Balzac’s Eugénie Grandet. N
MAP DATA© 2014 GOOGLE
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• Antique and
contemporary jewellery
• Cosmetics
• Ceramics
• Fossils
• Framed photographs
• Glassware
• Handmade soaps
and essential oils
• Hats & fascinators
• Herbal & fruit tea
• Kaleidoscopes
• Kitchenware
• Knitwear
• Leather goods
• London souvenirs
• Postcards
and greetings cards
• Prints
• Russian dolls
and militaria
• Silverware
• Watches
Piccadilly Market
at St James’s Church
Arts & Crafts • Antiques & Collectables
Market open Tuesday-Saturday
10.00am-6.30pm
Also… Good Food Market every Monday 11.00am-3.00pm
offering hot and cold food from four continents
St James’s Church, 197 Piccadilly, London W1J 9LL • 020 7292 4864
www.piccadilly-market.co.uk