For the first time in a long time, I did not venture to the Locks to witness the Old Glory coming across the marshes, their torches on fire. It was a different day.
Rupert and I rose when it was still dark and set off with lights on for Southwold. There we gathered with Mell and her women to witness the sun arriving across the north sea, on this the shortest of days, chanting, beating our drums. We never saw the sun, until we caught a glimpse of it setting over the A12 as I drove Rupert to Martlesham to catch a train back to London, his Darsham train having been cancelled due to flooding on the line. At first I refused the offer of a drum, but accepted the 2nd time offered and was glad to feel the innate rhythm – sometimes difficult to keep – of a simple beat. The time of sun rise was variable, but come 8.30 Tracy who no doubt was more savvy to the time of sun rise arrived, with her drum and confidence in beating it, led us in a water ceremony, as water was her thing, hr passion, and as she reminded us that up to 60% of our human adult body is water.
Rupert and I meandered the high street of Southwold, a place I rarely visit, so an unexpected adventure. The Charity shops particularly rich in their pickings, and I found two items to remind me of this day.
Breakfast at Old Hall over looking the Blyth estuary and a flutter of covids.
After such an early rise, a 10 minute kip on the sofa before Rupert left on his bike for Darsham station. John Esling rocked up, to discuss the land layout, but first declared his own tiredness and aloneness this christmas. I extolled his freedom, freedom from quaralling families, oughts and naughts and fed him the last of Ruperts pheasent stew full of goodness (and I hope not shot) before dashing off to relay Rupert on his way, while John had much needed kip on my sofa.
So it was we both turned up late for Laurence’s bronze pouring. We missed it, but were in time for the sausages and social. The view from the top of the stairs was the best, and both Mandy and I watched as we exchanged easily with each other. I only realised half way through we knew each other through Active Hope. She had 3 sons who she pointed out to me from our height, she spoke of her journey to Isfahan, of getting old and not wanting to engage in fake news. Below us, I watched Katie arrive, Wynd, Bill and Deborah (I’d forgotten she had a son in the army, just returned from Gaza). So connecting with people past and present.
On to service of readings and carols. Jason asked me to read representing Halesworth Ash.
St Matthew chapter 1.
18 Now the birth of Jesus Christ was on this wise: When as his mother Mary
was espoused to Joseph, before they came together, she was found with
child of the Holy Ghost.
19 Then Joseph her husband, being a just man, and not willing to make her
a public example, was minded to put her away privily.
The ipitomy of the year. Valerie there, Pedro, his wife conducting the choir. Some ancients on cello violin and viola. A woman came to sit next to me, who declared at some point how after 40 years of living in Halesworth she knew surprisingly few people. Her divided london halesoworth life, no doubt a cause. It was a touching exchange of strangers.
After the mince pies, and warm gathering, Judith invited me to her home, which completed the social day. We recalled the events of the year that sustained us. For Judith and Dina, both had precious moments with old friends
Kalikellett 