Routine Gives Way to ...

It's been a week of preparation, execution and recovery; its pinnacle has been the first major exploratory journey of the year not, as you might expect, in the motorhome, but in a car ... and someone else's at that!

Sunday saw the last choir practice before two significant worship offerings. One was the musical highlight of this morning's service, and the other will come in a few days' time when we are to sing a Taizé chant at a special meal in church on Maundy Thursday.  I caused a few raised eyebrows at the end of the practice when I announced that I should not be there this morning and added, "... but you can think of me on the end of a rope in Suffolk!"

Monday found me driving between home and church on many occasions, as I attended the usual early breakfast gathering, and then contrived to meet (wearing my 'Health & Safety' hat) with two groups who make regular use of the premises, firstly those preparing lunches for the lonely, and secondly a youth group who meet there after school.  Last weekend was the launch of a major information gathering exercise in the form of a questionnaire being issued to all users of the church and hall, so I can assess the needs and abilities of people in this regard.

It was also good to meet up in the evening with a former ringer who was to join us for this weekend, giving many of us a chance to finalise transport arrangements for that occasion.  Along with this were regular features, like a Welsh lesson (this one was no. 13, and taught me how to tell what happened yesterday, using the past tense) the fourth in the series of Lent supper discussions on Wednesday, and the quarterly inspection of my flat by the landlord's agent on Thursday morning.

Between these excitements, I continued my exploration of the 1939 Register (now free, as part of my annual subscription to findmypast.co.uk).  I have discovered that the closure of certain records owing to the possibility that the subject persons might be still alive seems also to extend - amazingly - to people who were still civilians in 1939 (service personnel weren't included in the first place) but subsequently lost their lives in action.

Notionally, the only means of securing the release of these entries is the production of a death certificate, but having been successful in the case of my uncle by providing a copy of a list of casualties on the Burma Railway, where he died of malaria in 1943, I decided to make a similar attempt in respect of my cousin who died in an RAF mission on D-Day.  Here, however, I hold out less hope of success, since the only evidence I could produce was the flying log where his plane is listed as 'missing' and is identified not by his name but by that of the pilot.

And so to the ringing weekend.  We arrived at Felixstowe mid-afternoon on Friday and returned home approximately two days later.  One of the most praiseworthy elements was the food, which was excellent, although its location was a little unpredictable.  Dinner last night was restricted to bar service, because of a 'function' which was using the private room where we had enjoyed Friday's dinner and yesterday's breakfast.  This function proved to be a wedding reception, the crowning feature of which was a murder mystery event (for which we were thankful since it meant that instead of loud music the only disturbance to our slumbers was the occasional scream or loud 'bump'!)  Its aftermath meant that our breakfast today was served in the restaurant, but the quality was just as impressive.

St Botolph, Burgh.

All Saints', Sproughton

We rang at six churches yesterday and two this morning. It's always good to attempt to ring bells other than our own, since the challenge peaks our own abilities, as well as giving local bands a rest, or a boost, according to their own situation.  This weekend offered some rings that are well-used by the local enthusiasts, although perhaps less so for regular service ringing ... or so it seemed to me.  There was a great deal of contrast, too, between those larger prestigious and historic edifices and more modest premises in parishes that are quietly efficient, or perhaps with only a handful of regular worshippers and struggling to keep up with maintenance and expenses.  It was a weekend that was both enjoyable and thought-provoking.