Warwickshire

I was born in Warwickshire. Some time during my early years I found myself in the West Midlands without moving house. I was given a post-code - B29 7HW. But I've always been a child of Warwickshire in my own eyes. I now live in Worcestershire but Warwickshire is 400 metres down the road. If I look poorly I've asked to be carried across the border.

I think, even by my standards, that reviewing a book published in 1936 is leaving it a bit late. But Warwickshire, in The King's England series merits a chat. I'm glad to have it because it feels like the sort of book that ends up on a pub bookshelf as decoration when the place gets post-modernised. Now it's a £3 investment in my rescue library.

This was a book I found in the wonderful Malvern Bookshop and, although I won't be reading it cover to cover, I will make a point of looking up every local place I visit. Why? Well a few examples will help but first let us see how it ended up in my house because it bears the evidence of having been a library book.

The proprietor told me that she often bought up collections so closed-down libraries were a key source. She was such a book buff that she kept behind the counter a book full of lovely sketch illustrations of dogs, 'I will only sell it to someone who promises not to remove the pictures and sell them separately', she told me. I don't know what the staining is on the inside cover page of my book and will not be finding out.

The copy I have is a 1950 reprint. I don't know if you can, offhand, think of anything that made a substantial difference to the appearance of Warwickshire towns and cities between 1936 and 1950 but the author could. Then chose to ignore it. Which, to be fair, is what makes the text zing. Every visit to a Luftwaffe drop-zone with this text reminds you of what the place used to look like. 

Let us head to Coventry. Or maybe the wonders of the clean air and dust-free buildings turn your thoughts to the Med? Did I say buildings? What buildings? It wasn't desirable to note that they are now missing.

But I am a child of Selly Oak. (My mother now pipes up from the grave reminding us, because she was a dreadful snob about this sort of thing, that I came from Selly Park, not Selly Oak.) Whatever, I have to say I failed to notice that I was in '...one of the wonderful intellectual centres of England.' I had to walk half a mile into Edgbaston to get to one of the best schools in the country. And Selly Oak library warrants an illustration, although it is not of the building I remember which was black (from coal dust, probably), austere and next to a railway bridge.

The discussion of Selly Oak Colleges goes on the suggest that there is a possibility of a drinking vessel used at the last Supper being there. This interesting argument is slightly skewered by the inscription of the words of Jesus at that event on the goblet. Indiana Jones not heading our way.

My late Aunty Brenda was fond of saying 'I'm just going up the village' when she left the house to go to Selly Oak. It strikes me as a folk memory from a time before Birmingham came out and swallowed it, moving on in pursuit of Northfield, Rednal and Rubery

Although my favourite hard-to-visualise is the comparison of Sutton Coldfield's Parade with the famous Richmond in Surrey. Famous for being on-Thames I recall. Sutton what are you like? You misplaced the river.

I will be returning for further volumes.

Ribble Valley

We found ourselves in the very beautiful Ribble Valley. Sorry, that sounded like an accident. We meant to go there. It is a part of the country we don't know very well.

In the past we've done North Yorkshire Moors, Teesdale, Weardale, Lake District, Lancashire coast and many major northern towns and cities. It feels like we have got this part of the world surrounded without ever having entered. I did do a few training events at Whalley (pronounced Warley) over the years but never explored.

We were just down the road from Clitheroe. The Aspinall Arms at Great Mitton became a firm favourite. The Tolkien walk around the rivers Calder, Hodder and Ribble, passing Stonyhurst College, was excellent. Allegedly JRR worked on the Rings Trilogy here and named/described some places he knew locally. We got to know Booths supermarket. Their bags were the product of an excellent slogan-writer's mind - Cumbria not Umbria; Wuthering Bites.

Further afield we visited to the north of Morecambe Bay - Arnside and Silverdale - from where I took the panorama photo here.

Lovely autumn colours and not too cold yet. Great break.

National Anthem

To the tune 'Barwick Green':

England is a lovely place
Full of hills and green stuff
A people of amazing grace
From monarchs to the dog rough
On an island
North of Europe
Fading days of Empire
History's not been kind to us but
We look to the future.

Not too hot and not too cold and
Nothing tries to eat you
Courts are fair and doctors free
The police tend not to beat you
Pies and chips
And cheese on toast
And tea to soothe our worries
We don't need the rest of you
(But thanks for bringing curries)

Thought for the Day

As delivered at BBC Radio Bristol this morning:

From a very early age I can recall having a profound sense of gratitude that I lived in England. I meet, and respect, people with the travel bug - but I don't have it. I like it here and have to be dragged abroad for holidays where insects bite and the sun burns.

England's not too hot and not too cold so the colour of the landscape is green and pleasant. Not too frozen; not too scorched.

It's not too high and not too low so most of it is habitable and little of it floods. Yes Somerset, I know some of it does.

That temperature again means we have few dangerous critters or wild animals that try to kill, poison or infect you.

And we have good management of potential health hazards. It's a sanitary country.

Natural disasters are few and far between - hurricanes, tornadoes, becoming snowbound or forest fires are all pretty unusual.

Last night I was listening to the candidates for election to Parliament in my constituency set out their arguments. I remind myself that democracy is not a privilege all enjoy. I can disagree with the authorities without being jailed for dissent.

We celebrate food heroes because many of us live with a choice of meal.

So a respectful moment's thought, and perhaps a prayer, for those who have lost their homes, or friends, in earthquakes. For those who are threatened with death if they don't change their faith. For those who have no choice about their leaders.

We are lucky. Some might say blessed. And along with that comes a God-given duty to share. We should respond in gratitude. When you have a chance to give to relieve suffering, try and be generous.

Thought for the Day

As delivered at BBC Radio Bristol earlier this morning:

St George's Day today. A Roman soldier, martyred for not renouncing Christianity in the fourth century, is the patron saint of England, dragon-slaying myth and all.

The red and white cross of St George has been used proudly by English football fans and misused badly by racists.

What does it mean to be English? I have been terribly confused. With England making up the greatest population of the union of kingdoms I have, over the years, celebrated English success when I meant British.

We have Team GB at athletics, one Irish rugby national team for the Republic and Northern Island and five separate national football sides.

In various invasions over the first thousand years of Christianity it is likely that many of the occupants of England fled to the Welsh and Scottish hills. Romans came and went. As did Vikings. And Normans. The population of England, so modern DNA testing tells us, largely represents a people movement from continental Europe. Yes, we're Anglo-Saxons, all immigrants in a cosmopolitan melting-pot.

Yesterday we celebrated the joys of cuisine this huge mix of people groups has given us in multi-cultural Bristol.

Today we remember a man, probably from the Roman Province of Syria Palaestina, born to Greek parents, who heard the Gospel of Jesus Christ the Jew, and became the patron saint of a distant country full of people from everywhere except there.

So forgive me being confused. And to quote St Crocodile of Dundee - maybe the land doesn't belong to the people; the people belong to the land.

On this day of all days may we celebrate that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for we are all one in Christ Jesus.

A brief discussion followed about the national symbol of England needing updating and presenter Keith suggested a pie. So the Keith Gooden Pie of Patriotism was born.

Quote of the Day

1005. In settling an island, the first building erected by a Spaniard will be a church; by a Frenchman, a fort; by a Dutchman, a warehouse; and by an Englishman, an alehouse.
(Francis Grose - Provincial Glossary - 1787)

Quote Book Index 290-300

Paul Theroux in 'The Kingdom by the Sea' on England:

295. ...upright and antique and church-going, with all the colour schemes wrong.

Ten top tips for being English today

It is the day someone called George, and not from England, didn't kill a dragon. So:

1. Shaking hands is a perfectly acceptable way to greet someone.

2. Real ale is served cellar cold. That is neither warm nor ice-chilled.

3. Cheddar cheese and home made bread for lunch.

4. Tea may be drunk between 3 and 5 p.m.

5. Stare at an oak tree in a field; green and pleasant is a good look.

6. Take the piss out of your friends or public figures, not strangers.

7. Football shirts should, by and large, be worn on football occasions.

8. How do you do? This does not require an answer, merely a repetition of the same phrase.

9. Excuse me and sorry.

10. Offa's Dyke, Hadrian's Wall and the English Channel are there for a reason.

11. Ask first if in doubt.

12. Don't believe the headline.

Not Holidays

Strange things holidays. I love them, then want to get home, then when I'm back I wish I was on holiday again. No-one can exist on a diet of the best of everything all the time; it would simply raise your standard of what is the best and you'd need to earn more money to afford it.

Gozo, where I have been for my holidays these last few years, is a small island next to Malta and its principle attraction (forgive me) is that you're not there. In summer it is hot, dusty and the insects nip. It is interesting but not particularly beautiful. People are helpful but not over-bearing.

I relax, swim, sit in the sun, read, eat good food (restaurants excellent), explore a little and reacquaint myself with Mrs T.

'Is it me,' I say to a colleague, '...or has the parish speeded up while I was away?' We conclude that indeed it has, but also that I've slowed down and the combined velocities are a mismatch.

In late 2007 I joined a health club, a step up from the council gym. I confess that the attraction, inter alia, of a large outdoor pool round which to sit and read on a day off, was very powerful. Last year the number of Fridays when this was facilitated by the British weather was a no score. This week has been hot and dry and I thought I might break my duck. Clutching for the positive I count the rain falling on my green garden and my pitter-patter amplifying conservatory as a blessing.

This is a green and pleasant land. All the birds are not sparrows and pigeons. Yesterday 36 starlings breezed into my small garden and cleaned the lawn. Martins and swifts swoop overhead. Dust lasts but a short time, dismantled by water. It's good to be back.

Englishness

Dropped into Bishop Alan's Blog (I commend it) where I read his thoughts on St George's Day. He said, '... being English is something to do with fairness, scientific curiosity, a quirky passion for personal freedom, amateurism, tolerance, justice for the underdog, tradition and evolution, pragmatism, and creativity.'

I love being English and have always given that as my nationality if it was one of the choices, rather then GB or UK. I remember thinking as a child that I was incredibly fortunate to live here rather than anywhere else in the world. I stick with that, even if I might be Roman, Saxon or Viking deep down in the DNA.

What would I add to his lovely list? Being English is about never being far from the sea, undulating countryside, the colour green everywhere, understanding that sometimes it's good to be alone, that pints of beer or cups of tea are the first-stop help on the counselling route, that good ideas don't need a point and that aims and objectives are often over-rated, that good enough is sometimes good enough, that it's OK to chill even when you haven't finished and I need to go out for lunch now but I haven't finished yet.

No-one Likes Us - We Don't Care

I was prompted to write this by a blog-friend Ali who just had to have a bit of a rant about a narrow, recent rugby victory. I think she may be Irish. I have no problem with defeat. I'm a Baggie and I'm English for God's sake; I'm used to this. Everyone else loves beating the English more than most other victories. Post colonial cool-down will probably have to last for another couple of centuries before everyone realises we've had our day and no longer wish to run the world. Anyway we can't really work out what English is. Half the time we confuse it with British. Bothered. Well the Welsh, Scots and Irish are. Probably joined by Yorkshire and Cornwall. Oops. Off track.

The thing I wanted to write about is this - and I will need to explain a few terms as we go along. When I started at King Edward VI, Birmingham in 1966, in the Shells, I was put in a house called Vardy.

The houses were all named after former Chief Masters (Head Teachers). The years had titles. Shells were what is now known as year 7. My school had Remove, Upper Middles, 4ths, 5ths, Divisions and Sixths - don't ask. A pupil in the Shells was called a sherring by everybody in any year above. I know it's all a bit Harry Potter but stick with me here.

At the end of my first year there was a prize giving. The house prize was called the Cock House Championship (stop sniggering). Vardy came last. The Chief Master, aware that Vardy had won the Championship for the previous six or seven years in a row, said, '...and how nice to see Vardy in last place.'

Take a moment or two to imagine the fate of a Head Teacher of a school still doing competitive games who had the cheek to utter this today. They would be at a disciplinary hearing faster than you could say disciplinary hearing.

I remember sort of wincing and thinking I would like to see my house win again but I was only twelve and pretty soon other things came along to make me less resolute such as cigarettes, skiving and academic inadequacy.

But I think it may have been part of the toughening up process experienced by the hero of the song, 'A boy named Sue.' I got the idea that there are some things you will not be liked for and you can't do squat about it. English. Public school boy. Vardy. Brummie. Baggie. Not proud. Just unable to change and wouldn't want to. Mind you one house was called Prince Lee and their house colour was pink

The person this has delivered to society enjoys criticism in whatever spirit it is delivered, turns off his visual interface when he is concentrating, says what he thinks, often a bit quickly and doesn't mind making unpopular decisions. In fact it never occurs to him that one should even stop to consider making the wrong decision if the right one will hurt someone. He's thick-skinned and expects everyone else to be.

So an England cricket team manages only to draw a test after scoring 600 for 6, the England football team are resolutely about 8th in the world, England rugby teams over achieve at World Cups but are pants the rest of the time and the Baggies are consistently the 21st best side in England and this doesn't really matter.

Enjoy your victories. We know it makes you happy.

The cup for chess was awarded by Viscount Pugh - the Pugh Cup. Say it quickly.

Olympic Thought

We got more medals than the Aussies. Only one more, so no recipe for complacency but we got more. We dreamed we might and we did.

One Aussie newspaper response is to suggest that the Poms are only any good at sports where you sit down or lie down. It's a good gag, swimming, rowing and cycling being notorious for the lack of effort involved, but forgive me. I only just noticed. You only have to come second once and you know what? You turn into a winging Aussie. Now I'm afraid that is our national sport. No way will they take that crown. They'll have to lose far more convincingly first.

National Sporting Failure

I write a short monthly leaders' article for the Urban Saints (formerly Crusaders and I'm sure Urbane Saints would have been cooler) Energize web-site. Each month we help youth leaders to tackle a main news story and use it to introduce themes to their group; themes which are also in the Bible. It's called Energize in the News. Sorry, you have to subscribe to read my stuff.

In researching the latest piece, which is about the three succesive defeats England suffered nationally over one week at football, rugby and motor racing, I came across this article by Harry Peason from the Guardian earlier this year. I recall reading it at the time but it got better on re-reading. If you're English and ever do anything, ever, see if it stops you in your tracks. It did me. Again.

English

"It's time for a British boss, somebody who understands our passion, belief and commitment. There's no distinction between English and British."

This from Premiership Chairman Dave Richards, quoted on the BBC web-site.

Oh isn't there? My Welsh and Scottish friends would have a bit to say about that. As it is true that all the really good bits about being British are either English or in England I think that if we appointed an English football manager who understood, passionately, why England is great and not just another name for Britain or the UK it would be worth a goal start.

Islam

A few weeks ago I talked about the possibility of lying if someone told you at gunpoint to 'Choose Islam or die'. Started a few conversations, which I see as a good thing given the aim of this blog.

The subject of Islam has come up again this week following the coincidence of the visit of Patrick Sookdeo to our church and the chapters in A New Kind of Christian on other faiths.

Patrick said that the government is under-playing the figure for the number of Muslims in this country. He told us that at the present rate of growth we will gain 300,000 Muslims a year and could see a population of 5-6 million in 10 years time. This would amount to about 10% of the population of our country.

Is it wrong to have a reputation for being a friendly and welcoming country? Many asylum seekers are Muslims? We do not have a religion-test before allowing people in. Should we be frightened of the changes caused by the influx of Islam? Wary maybe, but frightened? Don't think so. And as Christians we should certainly not become over-militant. If we are welcoming we are not supposed to be welcoming people into a fight. I have a great deal of difficulty with the metaphor of Christianity versus everyone else as warfare.

Ephesians 6 tells us to be equipped for a spiritual battle. You can convey the same sentiments and principles with a different image. The battle analogy is culturally bound. How about:

Finally, be cool in the Lord, the King of cool. Put on all the oomph going so that you can face evil with confidence. This is not just a human thing. If you are frightened of muggers in dark alleyways take the light way home. Spiritual opposition is more subtle. So be prepared. And ready for whatever.

Being honest is like keeping your trousers on. It should be obvious. Only take your trousers off if they are really holding you back.

Don't let anything get into your heart that will spoil your relationship with the one who made it.

Know your Jesus stories. Like pride in a good pair of new trainers, let people notice and wonder where you got them.

Hold your beliefs firmly and sincerely if people are chucking random bits of pseudo-religious nonsense at you, but be prepared to put them down for a while when the chatter is calm and seeking after truth.

Know your eternal future in your head and keep a hat on in winter. You lose a lot of heat through the top of your body.

Wise people compiled books of words they thought they heard God saying and things they thought they saw God doing. Wiser people still sorted them out and put them together. If you meet people who haven't read these words try and help them. It's easier than trying to listen to God's voice directly and you don't have to go up a mountain to do it.

Give God feedback pretty much all the time. It sometimes feels like he's not listening but enough people think he is for it to be worth the risk. What harm can it do? While you're at it, ask him to help others who are seeking after the truth too.
(Ephesians 6:10-18 without a battle or a weapon in sight and with apologies to Eugene Peterson and the New International Version compilers)

I like living in a country where people tend to apologise for having their toe trodden on rather than acting aggressively. I like living in a country where we are coming to grips with the evils of our colonial past and are repenting rather than being proud. I like living in a democracy and part of that involves a willingness on the part of the minority to go along with the opinion of the majority. Democracy is, as has been said many times before, a flawed system, but there is no better one. We may need to improve our democracy but for the forseeable future it is the system. Part of being welcoming involves giving the new arrivals a voice.

I have been told by some commentators that Muslims live together for separatist reasons, forming parallel societies. Yet socio-economic reasons must be just as powerful. If I am a jobless, Muslim, asylum-seeking immigrant I am not going to find a pad in Virginia Water. Successful Muslim business people do move out to the suburbs and make good neighbours. Like-minded, like-origined, like-faithed people do like-living near each other. In our part of Leamington we even call one street Bible-belt these days. It's because the Christian first-time buyers have identified it as the best place they can afford to live, for the moment.

I have heard it said that the Muslim community won't embrace multi-culturalism. I can't believe they all won't. There are liberal and conservative Christians and Muslims. Some like talking to people with whom they have differences. Others don't.

We have a mature faith. If God is real we do not need to defend God. If someone speaks ill of Christianity during Easter or Christmas we do not need to take offence. The Bible asks us to consider if we should be slow to take offence in various circumstances. We invite Muslim children at church schools to come to the Christian church. I'm told they say the Lord's prayer. We show respect to the Koran because it is the tradition of Islam to reverence their holy book; this is not a widely held Christian tradition with the Bible. We respect and reverence the words, not the binding. Showing courtesy to another faith's holy book is just good manners.

Random observations to conclude:

Jesus showed passivity. Maybe we should start calling the Passion the Passive.

I'm really going to try to make friends with a Muslim.

What possible 'right' have I got to say this is my land? As the philosopher Mick Dundee put it in Crocodile Dundee, 'I reckon the land's been here for 12 million years and we've been here about 200. It's more true to say the land owns us.'

Brian McLaren suggests that there is so much culture wrapped up in being a Muslim, or Buddhist, that we need to think in terms of introducing Christ but not our culture. That would suggest a period of succesful dialogue might lead to there being Buddhochristians or Islamochristians - Jesus driving any evil out of the culture. Of course we need to remind ourselves that there is plenty of evil in western Christian culture which needs to be driven out. And we need to be content that we may see the growth of Christomuslims or Christobuddhists too. It cuts both ways.

Where do you see the truth?