April 18th, 2014


Good Friday

Ailz says, "We won't be able to go to Oad Street; they'll be shut; it's Good Friday." And I tell her she's behind the times and the Church no longer controls the calendar. I'm right of course. The shop we want (they've framed one of Ailz's cross stitches for us) is open until 4.00 this afternoon.

I used to take Good Friday very seriously indeed. I'd be in church, cranking up the guilt machine, from twelve till three (or was it eleven till two, I forget) Those services were called At The Cross (or something like that and consisted of twelve 15 minute blocks- each containing a hymn, a reading, a sermonette and then another hymn. They were an ordeal. People came and went and for long stretches the church would be all but empty.  One very fine Good Friday the vergers opened the great west doors and left them open and the dusty sunlight and the fierce, spicy smell of the spring flowers came flooding in.