Monday, 1 July 2002

St Thomas

The third of July is the festival of St Thomas, our very own saint.  We don’t usually have a service on a Wednesday so we will be marking the festival on the following Sunday.
We all know the expression ‘a doubting Thomas’.  It’s not one that I like, because the way it is usually used suggests that to be like Thomas is to be weak and wishy-washy, someone who sits on the fence and doesn’t have the courage to make and sustain commitment.  Thomas certainly wasn’t perfect, but neither was he weak.  He was his own man and the way he doubted showed, I think, strength rather than weakness.
It is only in John’s Gospel that we are given any insight into Thomas’s character.
Jesus said to his disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”
“But Rabbi,” they said, “a short while ago the Jews tried to stone you, and yet you are going back there?” ….
Then Thomas said to the rest of the disciples, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.” 
John 11vs7,8,16
Okay, so it’s not exactly the most positive contribution to the conversation, but at least it shows a deep sense of loyalty when the others are probably more concerned about their own safety.
(Jesus said) “In my father’s house are many rooms … I am going there to prepare a place for you … You know that way to the place where I am going.”
Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?” 
John 14vs1-5
Jesus is trying to paint a reassuring picture; but such rosy ideas simply bounce off Thomas’s hardened head!  He’s down to earth and stubborn.  Perhaps not the easiest person to have around when you’re trying to develop a vision of better things.  But then how often have we failed to challenge someone when, to be honest, we haven’t got a clue what they are going on about?  As a little boy Thomas might well have been the one to challenge the emperor’s birthday suit!
And then we come to Thomas’s main scene (John 20vs19-31).  From what we’ve seen already, it’s not surprising that he doesn’t take the word of the other disciples – after all it’s not everyday news that they are telling him.  But why does the situation arise in the first place?
The disciples were together, with the doors locked for fear of the Jews.
… but Thomas was not with them.  That seems to sum him up.  While all the others were huddling together in secret, he was out and about, doing his own thing!  And I don’t suppose the rest were best pleased with him.
But when Thomas does see the risen Jesus for himself his exclamation “My Lord and my God” and the subsequent response of Jesus (vs39-31) are considered to form the climax of the whole of the Gospel of St John.

Saturday, 1 June 2002

TRINITY

Trinity Sunday always reminds me of my 10 day trek along the Pembrokeshire coast path: physical challenge, mental freedom and spiritual pilgrimage all rolled in to one – in constant communion with the cliffs, the ever-changing sea and the all encompassing sky.
I felt sorry for the preacher in the church I attended in Pembroke on the evening of Trinity Sunday that year – after all I had picked my holiday dates wisely to avoid that particular sermon.  He tried to give some explanation of what the Trinity was and inevitably ended up by apologising.  If we get bogged down in mathematics or give too much emphasis to three leafed clovers then we inevitably ‘dumb things down’, as they say nowadays. 
Perhaps the power of the idea of Trinity lies in the fact that it is beyond explanation.  Rather it symbolises the complexities of life, the interplay of various contradictions, contrasts and competing interests; but also the relevance of God and the strength which God gives to the believer in the midst of all of these.
Take the basic ‘trinity’ of Self, Family and Community.  A key process in all our lives is to work out the balance between these three.  It would be great if each one was always in harmony with both the others, but of course that’s not the way it is in practice – perhaps it would be if we were all perfect but we’re not. 
Having said that, it is clear that some of the most beautiful things emerge out of conflict – how many of the greatest artists have conceived their works in response to the painful conflicts within body, mind and spirit.  The beauty of the coast is by no means lessened by a dramatic clash between wind, rock and wave. 
God is not a simple idea, nor is he a kindly old gentleman.  God is greater and more beautiful and more awe inspiring than anything we can think or imagine.  As the Old Testament patriarch Jacob found out: in wrestling with God we find strength, even as we are made painfully aware of our humanity.  But again, as St Patrick prayed:
I arise today through a mighty strength, the strong name of the Trinity.
Through belief in the three-ness, through the confession of the one-ness
of the creator of creation.

Memories of the Worsbroughs by Revd Howard Ansell

My first official visit to Worsbrough was in 1966, when I was still finding my way around South Yorkshire and learning the language.  I had come into teaching by accident, having left Lichfield Theological College after a very unhappy year there and arrived at Mexborough Grammar School because I had married a girl from Sheffield who was homesick!  I stayed until 1970, when I became Head of English at Penistone Grammar.  After part time training with the North West Ordination Course, I was priested in 1977, and after eighteen months as curate of Chapeltown I was asked by Bishop Gordon Fallows to take on the Worsbroughs, as he thought I was tough enough for the job!  It was not going to be easy, as Colin Hill had been there for about seven years and was very popular with the church people, and my family had been happily settled for thirteen years in Chapeltown.  However, I was immediately struck by the warmth and generosity of the congregation, as large working parties gutted the then vicarage, opposite the church hall, and redecorated it from top to bottom.
My memories of those four years are quite sketchy, as life was unbelievably busy.  Carol was still teaching in Chapeltown, but became very ill and had to have a hysterectomy, my mother down in Ramsgate went rapidly downhill after my father’s death and needed full time care, and the children were learning to cope with the survival problems which vicarage children usually had in those days.  Of course, the pits were still open but in serious decline, the railway line and many other businesses had closed down, and there was an air of dereliction and hopelessness throughout the parish.  Arthur Scargill, who was a national figure at that time, lived just behind the vicarage on Yews Lane, and so dodging reporters of all kinds and nationalities was an occupational hazard.
As I have no real contact with the parish now, I will give you the names of the people I remember most clearly, some of whom may still be around.  The wardens were Raymond Hampshire and Terry Kilburn.  Ray was our elder statesman, and his wife Marie ran the Mothers Union.  Terry worked for the Coal Board and was a valuable support to me and my successor until his untimely death.  My other valuable support was Pat Vaughan, who kept the keys, cleaned the church, wrote up all the records, ran the Girl Guides, and kept me on my toes – quite a difficult job, as I was still very inexperienced.  The organist was Ron Langdon, a saintly man who followed in his father’s footsteps, giving an immense amount of time and energy to creating and running a large choir, with real choirboys gathered from the back streets of Worsbrough.  The boys were regularly bribed with sweets from Percy, Gwen and Frank, and given occasional superb parties by Madge, Ron’s wife.  Ron sadly died not long after moving away from the parish.  The secretary was Audrey Hawes, who lived outside the parish, and now runs a hotel in Blackpool.  The treasurer was Derek Firth, who ran an engineering company, and grew magnificent dahlias.  The magazine, a monthly affair, was put together by Ann Wigglesworth, who lived with her aunt on the edge of the cutting.  The Church Lads Brigade was run with military precision by Malcolm and Kathryn Crowther, and the Sunday School was run by Hilda Hinde, including trips to exotic places like Mabelthorpe and Hornsea.  And then there were May and Mildred, Jean, Molly and Sally, who brightened my days with their cheery smiles and their willingness to help anyone do anything at any time.  There must of course be many more, but remembering even this lot for me is a triumph!
St Thomas’s was always a ‘church on the move’ – because of the amount of coal which had been dug out from under it.  The Coal Board strapped it and propped it, but yawning gaps appeared, and disappeared, from day to day.  However, nothing ever fell off, and eventually it always settled back on an even keel – unlike Chapeltown, which I gather has been condemned.   One old lady whom I visited regularly, always nagged me about the church bell which was never rung, because the frame was rotten.  When she died, she left sufficient money for the bell to be restored, retuned and re-hung on a very expensive metal frame.  Getting it down and up again, and removing half a ton of extract of pigeon from the loft was quite a problem!  Apart from this venture, I don’t think we attempted anything else of a structural nature during my time.


Visits were always popular with the congregation.  Apart from Hilda’s trips to the seaside, the Wives group and the MU would trek off to stately homes, gardens, and even on one occasion to Windsor Castle.  The choir liked to go on RSCM courses, and often came home full of enthusiasm and new music.  The PCC had at least one weekend away at Scargill, where, in company with other PCCs they ruminated over the problems and challenges – mainly financial – which they constantly faced.
Life for me was of course the endless round of funerals, weddings, and baptisms, with all the associated home visits, which I always felt I should do myself.  Trips to the factories and the pit were quite rare, but always rewarding.  Of course I always had to make my annual visits to the pubs for their Christmas carols and their harvest festivals, which sometimes made it a bit difficult to find my way home afterwards.  My first innovation in the church was a short family service before the main rather formal communion, which was welcomed by those with small children, but viewed with suspicion by everyone else.  The other was an annual Christingle service, quite rare in those days, which filled the church to overflowing.
Last of all there were my three friends from my teaching days, Dave Malkin, Les Foweather and Brian Ivett.  They seldom ever set foot in church, but their contribution to the artistic and creative life of the area was immeasurable.  Their best work – indeed, the best thing which has ever come out of Worsbrough – was ‘A Miner Too Many’ – a play written and researched by them about an actual Worsbrough family who lived and died in the pit disaster recorded on the monument in front of the church, and whose family history they traced in the church records.  It was performed in the school hall by children who were descended from the families they were depicting, to audiences of miners and ex miners who were gripped by the reality of the presentation, which included the creation of a coal face on stage, and an explosion with real explosives!  Their most spectacular project was a re-enactment of the Mystery plays in Worsbrough village churchyard, with the help and co-operation of all the schools, churches, factories, the NCB, and the Angels and Ministers of Grace!  I still remember the crucifixion scene under blackening storm clouds, when, as Christ on the cross said ‘Eli, Eli …’ a quite natural thunderbolt crashed to earth quite near, followed immediately by torrential rain.  On one moved!
Although I enjoyed my time at Worsbrough, and still like to visit Barnsley as a tourist, yet I never felt that I fitted in.  I was a young southern ex teacher with a Cambridge degree who didn’t smoke, drink beer, breed pigeons, or go to football matches, so although I was tolerated, yet I was never accepted, and my children had quite a tough time at school.  Therefore, when I was offered in 1983 the chaplaincy of a huge hospital with a small country parish in Essex, I felt I couldn’t refuse.  However, as I settled into my new job, the news that the miners strike was tearing my old parish apart gave me many sleepless nights.  However, no one is indispensable, and in the fullness of time a new man came, and parish life continued as it always had, and no doubt always will.
I wish you all well, and I thank you for giving me this opportunity to revisit places and faces which I had almost forgotten.

And now …

I’m getting older and more crotchety, and Carol is maturing gracefully.  She has had one cataract done, is eagerly awaiting the other one, while I remain as fit as a fiddle – apart from collapsing at a Mothers’ Union dinner and doing a blue light dash to the hospital.  I can, however, still manage Steep Hill (Lincoln) at a brisk pace without pausing – but of course, all my brain cells went years ago.  Stephen and Jackie are still in Ramsgate producing children – number three is on the way – Simon has just moved to a much happier Roman Catholic School in Dagenham, and Katie has decided to forsake the delights of Sheffield and move back down to London.
Howard Ansell

Wednesday, 1 May 2002

Take yourself for a Royd

Before coming to Worsbrough I hadn’t come across the word ‘royd’ before, but in this area you could say it’s hard to escape.  From Rob Royd to Clayroyd; Gilroyd to High Royd Farm; Hudroyd to Royd Close; and more remote – Stoney Royd Spring to Hall Royd Wood.  The word isn’t in my dictionary, so for some time I was rather puzzled and my interest aroused.  Eventually I read (somewhere I can’t remember now) that it means ‘a clearing in a wood’ which would make sense if you think back to when the whole area was forested and clearings were gradually named from features they contained or the person who made them.  If anyone knows more, please let me know.
Anyway, one of my favourite short walks from home is to go from Ward Green Community Centre, down the steps and along the stream flowing through the narrow belt of trees which, according to my AtoZ, is called Jarret Royd Wood.  The stream doesn’t flow much, except in winter after heavy rain, but such water as there is goes on through Wigfield Farm and finally into the reservoir.  We stop before the farm however, and retrace our steps.  (We being usually Imogen and I or Jemima and I – I once took both but on the way back up I. decided if J. was being carried she was too!)
Sadly, there are some signs of vandalism to the young trees, and occasional fly-tipping of old tyres and other ugly rubbish (like the old motor scooter that is gradually decomposing near the steps).  But at this time of year, all that begins to fade into the background as the bluebells appear and seem to float just above the ground in the patches of sunlight.
Last time, Imogen and I found a ‘secret’ little path off the main one which took us under drooping bows and round a corner to a miniature clearing by the stream – only a few yards but a world apart – a place to daydream waste a few minutes and be restored.  Sometimes ‘you can’t see the wood for the trees’ but a clearing in the forest brings out the beauty of everything that surrounds it.

Monday, 1 April 2002

Two halves that make one whole

Hopefully you will receive this magazine in time for me to wish you a Happy Easter.  If so then there will also be plenty of time for you to wish me a happy birthday – yes, I will be exactly half way to three score years and ten on 6th April 2002. 
As I have already mentioned in Church, this would seem to be a good time to have a mid-life crisis.  (I keep waking up in a cold sweat, in my dream I had my crisis when I was about seventeen-and-a-half – it reminds me of that joke about the man who went to see the Doctor: the bad news was that he had to take a tablet a day for the rest of his life; the ‘good’ news was that the doctor only gave him 7 tablets.)
To make matter worse, I recently went on one of those running machines and set it to recreate the pace at which I last ran the 800 metres when I was at school (aged about 17½); I’m sorry to say that I couldn’t begin to keep up with myself.
I suppose 70 isn’t reckoned to be that old these days, generally speaking, but (more computer generated statistics…) during the time that I have been vicar here, the average age of death for (CofE) people in the parish is only 74.  Though to put it another way, I have taken over 175 funerals since arriving in the parish and if you laid the life spans of those people end to end you would get a total of over 13,000 years!  Just think of all the accumulated experience, thought and wisdom those years contain.
Lent begins, for the enthusiasts at least, with the ash cross on the forehead and the thought provoking words “remember you are dust and to dust you shall return”.  It ends with the story of the empty tomb - the space where everyone expected a full stop
Perhaps it would be an idea if only those who had received and saved their ash cross were allowed into church on Easter Sunday.  Perhaps not!  But both are needed to sum up our lives: We are creatures of this earth, but sons and daughter of God as well.  We find ourselves constrained by time but we also belong to eternity.

Friday, 1 March 2002

Purge me with hyssop and I shall be clean
wash me and I shall be whiter than snow.
        Psalm 51.7
Having watched the adverts à la Julian Clarey I decided it was time for me to wash my danger whites!  (That would be my cassock-alb and my surplice.)  It had been made more urgent by a rain-washed burial at Worsbrough Village which left mud splashes half way up my back.  In our house it’s not a case of picking up DAZ, we use Fairy non-biological (though for some reason my skin never seems to look any younger).  Now I’m just waiting for the reaction when Beccy discovers the surplice in the ironing basket.
I write this at the start of Lent, which time is a good reason in itself to go to the laundry.  We consider our lives and get rid of the grubbiness as we prepare for the celebration of Easter.
But that raises the question - What does holiness really mean?  Is it a case of being whiter than snow (and perhaps we should be wary of the non political-correctness of such a statement) or should it something rather more dynamic.
To be holy means to be set apart for God.  Jesus was holy because he dedicated his life to God’s will.  During Lent we remember this not just in his saying NO to temptations but in his saying YES.  Yes to justice, yes to liberation, yes to the potential that was often stuck inside people and struggling to get out; and he did this despite the danger to himself.  That is why Lent is also as much a time for taking things on as for the usual tradition of giving things up. 
The whiter than white people of Jesus’ day thought he was far from being holy, which just goes to show how superficial standards can become.  Just occasionally (if only) children finish the day with their clothes slightly dirtier than they were when they put them on in the morning (hence the Fairy non-bio); and if they didn’t you would wonder what they had been doing all day.  The Christian faith calls us to be holy, but that holiness usually involves us getting stuck in and maybe getting our hands dirty.

The reminiscences of Revd SB Priston

Vicar of Worsborough Dale 1942-55

The hand written account which is reproduced here was written by Mr Priston himself for Arthur Wright and used as a source for his ‘Short History of St Thomas’ Church’.
The Revd SB Priston came to Worsboro’ Dale in 1942 after 5 years in the large and very busy London ‘working class’ parish of Walham Green – 12 years of varied experiences in many parts of South Africa, three years of further varied experiences in South America and 16 years in a typical English country parish.  He had also done much School Teaching, School Examining and School Inspection.  But, with all this varied experience, he was hardly prepared for the problems of Worsboro’ Dale in Wartime!
The earlier records of the very long incumbency of Canon Banham, and the consequent difficulties encountered by Mr Appleton will have indicated that Worsboro’ Dale with its awkward shape, strong Nonconformist tradition and rapidly increasing population could be a very hard parish in which to begin the complete reconstruction which became more and more obviously necessary as the tremendous impact of the War on Social and Religious life in the West Riding began to take effect.  Fortunately, Mr Bowden had laid a solid financial foundation and had given sound Catholic teaching, even if this were not altogether appreciated or understood by the Congregation.
In the post-war Worsboro’ Dale there was no longer a strong nucleus of fairly rich, highly educated, socially prominent, leisured and zealous Church people, to help the Vicar and Church Officials in the Parish Organisations and in support and maintenance of the Church Schools and Sunday Schools.  It became necessary for the whole body of Church members to make new plans and schemes in many directions.  And there were now very few helpers with the leisure, technical knowledge, and financial ability to implement these schemes.
The financial situation rapidly deteriorated, firstly because although rather more actual money was being raised, the income needed in post-war inflation was more than three times in actual cash what would have been sufficient when the pound sterling still had its pre-war value.  Conditions were made even harder because really all the Church and Parish Investments presented by former parishioners or accumulated in more prosperous times, had unfortunately been invested either in Railway Stock or War Loan.  Both these sources of capital and income began to lose their former cash value at an alarming rage.  Parish Capital was reduced by more than £1,000 and Church income decreased by more than £60 a year.  Allowing for the much lower value of money in the 1950’s, it might be said that the Church lost in all several thousand pounds.  However, the new Vicar felt that financial matters were really the business of the Parochial Church Council, and tried to encourage them to deal with all these perplexities.
Meanwhile, as Parish Priest, Mr Priston turned his attention to those matters which were his own special concern – the adapting the Teaching, Services, Music and Ritual of the Church to the completely changed circumstances of Post-War Yorkshire.
The first improvement that became obviously necessary was to adopt the ‘Sung Parish Communion’ as the chief morning service.  The reasons for doing as thousands of other parishes were doing at this time, were thoroughly explained to the Congregation, and a large majority eventually voted that the change should be made.  Unfortunately a few of the old members of the Church were upset by the change and some of them left the Church.  But, on the other hand a considerable and increasing number of young people who, in the absence of teachers, could no longer be provided for in Sunday School or Bible Class, were brought into the ordinary services of Worship with the rest of the Congregation.
During and just before the War, the Church had become exceedingly dirty.  A big campaign to raise £650 for a through cleaning and redecoration was started.  The work done by the very skilful and understanding decorators, Messrs Kirkland Bridge, was most successful and much admired.
The next matter that worried the Vicar and those Church people who understood that position, was the lamentable neglect of proper dignity and reverence in connection with the Sacrament of Holy Baptism.  It became evident that not only was much careful and very simple teaching necessary, so that people should understand the tremendous solemnity of the Baptismal Service; but it was also clear that the method of administration needed to be brought into obedience to the plain words of the Prayer Book.
There was at first considerable opposition from those who had formerly regarded Holy Baptism as a purely private and personal concern, those who had regarded it as a kind of magical mumbo-jumbo – and those who had no idea that it had any meaning at all.  But eventually with the loyal co-operation of the Organist, Mr Alfred Wright, the Choir and the Servers – and the use of the Baptismal Cope which had originally been presented for the baptism of the Vicar’s son Christopher – a beautiful, dignified and impressive ritual and ceremonial in strict accordance with the Book of Common Prayer, was evolved.  Baptisms, from that time onwards, always took place as directed by the Prayer Book, at one of the ordinary Sunday or Holy Day Services.
The Vicar and his wife (formerly on the stage) had had considerable experience in organising and producing Church Plays.  It was not easy to do this at Worsboro’ Dale, as the Church Hall was utterly unsuitable, and there were considerable prejudice and other difficulties about using the Church.  But, by the enthusiasm of the Church Officials and many young people, these difficulties were overcome; and some really magnificent Church Plays were eventually presented to the Glory of God and in the presence of crowded congregations on three or four days in each of the years: 1953 – ‘On the Road to Bethlehem’, 1954 – ‘The New Crusade’, and 1955 – ‘The Gladdening Light’.  The two latter had to be largely re-written by Mr Priston in order to make them intelligible to and suitable for Worsboro’ Dale people.  This was necessary because the main purpose of the plays was to teach both the players themselves, and the Congregation a great many things about the Bible and about church History, which they badly needed to know, but had hither to very little opportunity to learn.
Coincidentally with these Church Plays, the Church was also discussing and preparing for the reconstruction of the Chancel.  St Thomas Church was the one and only Church designed by its architect.  While he was surprisingly successful in regard to its outward appearance, which is beautiful and much admired, he was not so successful with the interior.  He was hampered, of course, by the prevailing ‘Imitation Gothic’ tradition of the early Victorian era.  Then, his already far too narrow Chancel was further obstructed by the enormous pulpit set up by someone’s misguided generosity.  Here again the Vicar wished to follow the modern – and most ‘evangelical’ – trend, which seeks to place the altar where it can be plainly seen and easily approached by all members of the Congregation.  Suitable plans were drawn up by the very distinguished Diocesan Architect, Mr George Pace.  An Aumbry for the ‘Reserved Sacrament’ was also provided by a bequest of Miss Harriet Banham, daughter of the first Vicar.  Most of the rest of the money came from bequests of Mr A Waterton and Miss E Elmhirst.  These plans were finally accepted by the Congregation and approved by the Bishop and the result is undoubtedly a great improvement.  The reconstruction entailed the removal of the Choir to the West End.  That is the proper place for a choir; but it is unfortunate that it was not possible to remove the Organ also.
The Revd SB Priston, having reached the age of 75, was finding the burden of the growing parish too heavy.  When it was proposed to add St James Church and most of its Parish to Worsboro’ Dale, he felt that it was time to accept an offer from his old College of a country parish, and in July 1955 he left Worsboro’ Dale for Marwood in Devonshire.