For the past few years St David's Day has been taken up with a civic service for all the Mayors of Wales at St John's. This year, because of the refurbishment work on the church, the event has gone up to the Cathedral.
A small funfair was set up, including a huge helter skelter, outside in St John's Street and Working Street. However, there was an 'official' David's Day parade through town, trying to emulate the idea of St Patrick's Day parades, (which I thought were an American invention anyway). Weather wasn't exactly the best - this being in a period of high winds, which seem to be magnified by the funnelling effects of tall buildings, so it wasn't such a good time to be out and about.
I took advantage of not having any duties to go up to Sunningdale in Berkshire and rendezvous at Holy Trinity Parish Church there with my cousins and their spouses at the spot where my aunt and godmother's ashes were interred on St David's Day last year. A memorial stone had been placed there and the idea was to share memories and dedicate the stone.
I dug up and potted some of the characteristic tiny daffodils from our garden to take with me, and succeeded in planting them behind the stone, where opefully they will take root in a little Welsh soil, a hundred and fifty miles from where Auntie Celandine was born nearly ninety years ago.
There was no question of spending a few quiet moments in the Parish Church because the young group had taken it over for a 24 hour sponsored fast for Tear Fund, and were running a happy riot of activities in there to keep them going. So we stood in the pale sunshine outside, and enjoyed the birds and the green tranquility of this neat suburban village, before going off to lunch in a hotel.
I was glad to have been able to do that, as I was abroad when her funeral took place. However the 250 mile round trip in a day really left me feeling a lot older than I think I am.
A small funfair was set up, including a huge helter skelter, outside in St John's Street and Working Street. However, there was an 'official' David's Day parade through town, trying to emulate the idea of St Patrick's Day parades, (which I thought were an American invention anyway). Weather wasn't exactly the best - this being in a period of high winds, which seem to be magnified by the funnelling effects of tall buildings, so it wasn't such a good time to be out and about.
I took advantage of not having any duties to go up to Sunningdale in Berkshire and rendezvous at Holy Trinity Parish Church there with my cousins and their spouses at the spot where my aunt and godmother's ashes were interred on St David's Day last year. A memorial stone had been placed there and the idea was to share memories and dedicate the stone.
I dug up and potted some of the characteristic tiny daffodils from our garden to take with me, and succeeded in planting them behind the stone, where opefully they will take root in a little Welsh soil, a hundred and fifty miles from where Auntie Celandine was born nearly ninety years ago.
There was no question of spending a few quiet moments in the Parish Church because the young group had taken it over for a 24 hour sponsored fast for Tear Fund, and were running a happy riot of activities in there to keep them going. So we stood in the pale sunshine outside, and enjoyed the birds and the green tranquility of this neat suburban village, before going off to lunch in a hotel.
I was glad to have been able to do that, as I was abroad when her funeral took place. However the 250 mile round trip in a day really left me feeling a lot older than I think I am.
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