Three church visits and a sermon

Well, that's just about it: one and a half seasonal events over the past week or so - not counting panto and ballet, of course - and a third setting-foot inside a church for a bit of peace and quiet. Events first: the Maytree fundraiser in St Botolph's Aldgate included several eloquent, touching speeches from those wonderful people involved with the 'sanctuary for the suicidal'; vivid readings including an evocation of Mole's makeshift good cheer from The Wind in the Willows, John Julius Norwich's now-familiar take on The Twelve Days of Christmas - always worth hearing when delivered as well as this - and U A Fanthorpe poems beautifully read by Adjoa Andoh; and the handbells - ah, those handbells! Such a surprisingly dulcet art, especially when applied to the little wisdom of Papageno and Pamina in the Act 1 finale of The Magic Flute. And on Sunday after birthday revels for two-year-old Mirabel, we went round the corner with her ma and friends to St Leonard's Shoreditch. 

That's right, 'as seen on TV' in the gently charming and ever so slightly subversive Rev.. The carols-by-candlelight event was packed, and mostly with young folk from the arty-bohemian vicinity - but no mocking renditions of 'Jerusalem' (if you've seen the humiliating Midnight Mass episode of Rev., you'll know what I mean). 

And there may have been a sermonish speech from St Leonard's own laidback Rev., but I blush to say we didn't have a chance to find out since we left our money in the plate and exited halfway through, as intended, for a more profane supper up in Highbury. The sermon I've taken for the season was this. 

Pullman's central conceit is of two brothers, one of whom is hellbent, if you'll pardon the expression, on making his sibling's not entirely good but always human words and deeds - glad Pullman doesn't go soft on the angry, militant side of Jesus - sexier for posterity. Interestingly, Jesus's most extended speech, in Gethsemane, isn't overheard by brother Christ but, of course, related by the narrator - and it distils the very simple message of this alternative story: 'as soon as men who believe they're doing God's will get hold of power, whether it's in a household or a village or in Jerusalem or in Rome itself, the devil enters into them'. As for the death of Jesus and the resurrection of Christ - well, that's a punchline I realise I may have given away. It's clever and rings true enough for me but still feels somehow a little undernourishing. Tuesday's church visit was made spontaneously during a visit to the ma-in-law down in Rye. I always like to do a circuit of the cobbled streets up the hill, and no matter the time of year the 'square' - more a graveyard with houses around it - at the top is quite a sanctuary. But I'm not sure I've been inside St Mary's since I was a child. Its size is surprising, with the Clare Chapel to your left as you enter and Norman remains embedded in the North Transept. 

The glass is all Victorian and 20th century, but I'm developing a fondness for those later angels like the one up top (Kempe, 1896, I think). A Burne Jones design executed by William Morris & Co is dismissed by Nairn and Pevsner with one word - 'sentimental' - but it's characteristic. 

I do like the big windows local literary hero E F Benson had dedicated in the late 1920s and early '30s to family members: at the east end to his parents - J's just read a book about the very remarkable mother - and in the south transept (finest of all but too dark to capture) to brother A C of 'Land of Hope and Glory' fame. The nativity of 1933 is slightly twee but colourful.

And I suppose one of the original Quarter Boys whose fibreglass replicas stand either side of the clock outside will serve as suitably seasonal cherubic ambassador of good will to all readers. 

Three seasonal suggestions

1. If you’ve planned a trip to Mali, don’t cancel completely because of what you’ve read in the news. I’m not trying to drum up more business for our dear Sophie’s fabulous mud hotel in Djenne if I say that you should perhaps think of following Foreign Office advice and not venture north to Timbuktu – as we did a couple of years ago (Sankore Mosque pictured above) - or to the annual music festival in the desert, but instead spend time (if you hadn’t already planned it) chez Sarin at the Hotel Djenne Djenno. I imagine the singular Maison Rouge at Mopti would not be out of bounds either.


Weirdly – and I’ve no idea on what intelligence these things are decided – the FO’s danger line seems to include Djenne in the no-go area. But the fact is that the recent debacle which happened in Timbuktu only has one other counterpart south of the Niger, in Hombore, and the circumstances of that kidnapping are dodgy, I’m told. As Sophie points out, the isolated situation of Djenne and the fact that it has to be reached by ferry would make it difficult for would-be terrorists to make a quick getaway.


I wonder if the favourite part of our trip (apart from staying with Sophie in Djenne, of course) – a journey down the Niger on a pinasse from Timbuktu to Mopti, scene from which pictured above – would be ill-advised these days. Shame; but bigger shame on the extreme Islamist movement which is decimating Mali’s fragile tourism. One plus is that you might see less of the haughty French tour-groups who ruined our time in Dogon country. The whole France-Mali relationship has long been highly dubious with respect to the way that the French consulate seems to have been punishing its former African colony by advising its citizens not to go; but it’s true that Mali needs to take a tougher stance on harbouring terrorists.


2. Sophie’s equally inventive artist-friend, and one of our most loyal, the wondrous Cressida Bell (pictured above with the selection of designs, and choice, for the cover of the latest London Review of Books), has just hosted an open-studio weekend along with other artists in Hackney, always a treat. The neighbouring shops proudly put out a flyer saying ‘as seen on TV’; you know what that means. But I enjoy a jaunt to Clarence Mews and get a kick from the vibrant fabrics; so in this instance my advice, rather than plea, is to take a look at Cressida’s online shop for a few gift ideas. In case you're wondering, the below shot was taken after close of business on Saturday, when many of the silks had been sold. But it still looks very colourful.


3. There are plenty of non-seasonal events still to absorb – I’m going to a string of master-recitals this week – but by Wednesday 14th, if you’re in London and free, you might feel sufficiently in the mood to attend an event organized by another dynamic friend. It’s ‘a celebration of Christmas’ at St Botolph without Aldgate (not to be confused with the one without Bishopsgate), adjacent to Aldgate tube station, a splendid place for a concert.


The event is in aid of the very worthwhile charity Maytree, which provides a London sanctuary along with counselling for the suicidal. Check out the charity’s website.


Star, keynote speaker, call her what you will, of the proceedings is actress Adjoa Andoh, who featured in Clint Eastwood’s film Invictus and may be a familiar telly face from Casualty, Eastenders and Dr Who. Other artists include the Belair Wind Quintet, the Hawthorn Singers and a team of hand-bell ringers. Audience participation, wine and mince pies included; 7.30 start, tickets a bargain at £10 on the door or online here. Hope to see some of you there.