Last Saturday I went to church. St Mary’s in the Lace Market, to be precise. And not for any kind of worship, but to listen to some lovely choral and orchestral music performed by the East of England Singers and the New Classical Players. While listening to heavenly notes from the likes of Handel, Pachelbel and Britten, I tried to write a poem (not yet a real live poem, but there’s definitely something feebly twitching there) and I looked around at the interior of the church. And… there was some weirdness there…
Jesus dying on the cross, looking down on... Jesus's birth...
Directly in front of me was a scene that gave me the creeps. Stop me if I’m wrong, but isn’t it a little odd to represent the saviour at both ends of his life and have both representations of him looking at each other? Perhaps it’s some kind of metaphor for something… I dunno.
Then I looked over at the pipe organ – a most beautiful beast, precariously perched high above the floor where the mere mortals walk, held up by only two concrete arms (presumably reinforced by steel girders). And I looked a bit closer, and realised that the blessed thing has a baby set of pipes in its belly, looking for all the world like the pregnant Barbie doll whose tummy you can take off to see the offspring curled up inside.
During the interval I investigated the various memorials – there were some lovely examples, and I couldn’t resist taking photos. These are a couple of my favourites.
He might have only had a few friends, but they thought a lot of him
Not sure why, but this one made me giggle
I couldn’t get a decent photo of my outright favourite, so I’ll transcribe the text for you.
Sacred to the memory
of
LIEUTENANT JAMES STILL R.N.
who
in the 22nd year of his age
fell a victim to the ravages of the Yellow Fever
on board His Majesty’s Ship THE PHEASANT
while stationed off SIERRA LEONE
on the 12th of October 1821.
For four successive years
he had been employed in the fatal service
of enforcing obedience
to that sacred Law, which, to the honour of his Country
and in the spirit of Christian Love
forbade
the Traffick in Human Blood.
That he possessed the best feelings of the heart
was manifested in his unwearied watchfulness over those
whose aid he was in sickness
and who
withering like the blighted shoots of Spring
left their blessings upon him.
That he was endued with the spirit of Enterprise
was proved by the testimony of those
who had witnessed his skill and admired his gallantry.
That he was characterized by suavity of temper and prepossesing manners
was apparent from that regard, excited in every breast
which held him forth as an Ornament of Social Life.
How beloved a Son! How endeared a Brother! How esteemed a Friend!
is evidenced
in the poignant grief of his sorrowing Family
in the unfeigned regret
of many who cherish the remembrance of his worth
and in the heartfelt Tribute
of Him
who
dedicates this Tablet
to the Memory of his Virtues.
Plenty of food for thought there.
I just realised. I’ve lived in Nottingham for more than half my increasingly long life now, and have only been inside Nottingham churches four times, and all of those times in the last twelve months. And… three of those times were East of England Singers concerts!
