NEWSLETTER

May 2002 From the Revd. Hugh Trenchard, Vicar. Dear Parishioners, I feel it appropriate to make the following tribute to Her Majesty the Queen Mother. "Her Mum, Their Mum, Our Mum." In Bleak House, the author, Charles Dickens has one of his characters, a Mr Chadband, say with great emphasis: "What is peace? Is it war? No. Is it strife? No. Is it lovely and gentle and beautiful and pleasant and serene and joyful? Oh yes!" I cannot think of better words to sum up not only a unique life but also the unique, rather odd and fumbling feelings each of us, in our own way, experienced this Eastertide. Whether Royalist, Republicn, Communist, what ever political out look, there seems to have been an unsought consensus that in this life which had seen so much, heard so much, and given so much, is one of the most profound examples. Royal-ness is not a quality confined to one group, it is something far greater, something far more touchable than the remoteness of a palace, the grandeur of a tiara or the awesome nature of an office. It has far more to do with "who" you are and not "what" you are. The Queen Mother was possessed by the simplicity of doing the ordinary, extraordinarily well. While she walked with Kings and entertained the Highest from so many lands, you only had to look at the faces of people like "page of the back stairs' to realise that this Lady was first and always a true human being. She was not blessed with a "common" touch, ( such a dull phrase), but with a humanity whose fun loving humility and peaceful patience exuded the confidence and steadfastness which she drew from her deep faith, and made her the friend, parent and grandparent of these nations and far beyond these shores. She taught me two great lessons. I say this not to impress you but to impress upon you the "gift" and "grace" we all have experienced and which, if our faith is real, will never be lost. During the Blitz she and the King regularly visited the scenes of devastation in London. They were both deeply moved particularly by the accounts and by the sights and sounds of profound grief. It was sometime later in her life that she revealed her secret of getting through those experiences. When you feel simply crushed and just want to roll into a ball with inconsolable tears, pick your head up and look the tragedy and its people full in the face. It will not stop the tears but it will get you through so that you will not miss one person in their grief and lostness. Her advice I have shared with the families I have been priviledged to accompany in the early days of their grief. The second lesson came when as a Curate in Caerleon, I was secretary of the last Children's Society Family Group Home House Committee. These distinctive homes were being closed nationally and as we had 15 teenagers in our care we resolved not to disband as a committee until each child had been resettled. We faced implacable opposition from the Society and in desperation, I wrote to the Society's Patron, the Queen Mother. By return of post came a delightfully crafted letter from her lady in waiting which said that while it was not the way in which the Queen Mother operated, she, nevertheless, wished to express her thanks for our concern for the children and to convey to them her wishes and prayers for their futures. I had not even managed to contact our Chairperson before the telephone went ballistic. Local calls from rea and Regional Directors, then the London Headquarters: "How dare you go over their heads and involve the Patron?" Needless to say were the last remaining House committee in the Society and saw each of our children settled successfully. I do not know what happened because as was so typical the Queen Mother never claimed any credit. So much done for so many in exactly that way. True and loving humility. On a lighter note and as part of all I have said we have a mind which refused to grow old or bitter. 50 years a widow could have embittered anyone but her love and gentleness, her beauty and serenity were enfolded by a huge blanket of joy. 101 years in the company of gin and Dubonnet, never mind the live function, let life be the sort of party Jesus wished it to be at the wedding in Cana. The princes record her impressions of 'Ali G' as apposite and funny! I conclude with part of the anonymous poem with which the Cathedral service began and the last verse of the Poet Laureate's tribute: "You can remember her and only that she's gone or you can cherish her memory and let it live on. You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back or you can do what she'd want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on." "In the eyes of or minds when the country and cities turn back to themselves this history stays: the four generations which linked with your life re-winding their span to childhood again, and seeing you stand at the edge of their days, where if they so wished you helped give a shape to slipstreaming time with a wave of your hand. Hugh Trenchard Vicar.