This week at Number Ten granddaughter Megan came to stay replacing Freya her younger sister who stayed last week. On Wednesday mornings I go to church, as on Sundays I am often busy with B&B guests. It’s a simple communion service and I look forward to it as my oasis of peace in this hectic life. Megan, whose eight, came along and after the service I asked her what she knew about Jesus. I’m sorry to report that she knew next to nothing which seems a shame. When I was at school daily prayers were obligatory and each Christian festival well marked. At Megan’s age I had the freedom to wander around as I wished and one day my friend Janice and I when out on a ramble came upon a church holding a Bazaar (remember those). Temptation over came us and we went in. Inside the hall we played games, viewed the handicrafts and brought some cakes. I recall the place had that evocative dusty smell that church halls always seemed to have in those days. It was autumn and Harvest Festival featured in the displays around the hall. Janice and I were each given a paper books of the Gospels. There was no charge, just as well as we had spent out on cakes. Growing up I read this modest little book avidly marvelling at the stories and the life of Jesus.

Last Sunday afternoon I went along to a performance of St Mark’s Gospel at the Methodist church. I didn’t know what to expect but I freely confess to being moved, transported in fact. I forgot that it was my friend Adam Hopkins portraying Jesus and lost myself in the story. The Crucifixion, a difficult if not impossible scene to depict, was dignified and powerfully portrayed. While watching I found myself holding my breath. I say well done to all who took part, to Adam in particular and especially to Angela Weir, whose superb professionalism shone through. I’ve said it before and I‘ll say it again, I have a wonderfully rich life here in Sedbergh.