An unwelcome return visit

.
Last Sunday I became aware of an unfamiliar face I thought I recognised at the Communion rail during the Parish Eucharist. I was a little disconcerted, as I half recognised what I thought to be the face of the thief who had, despite being identified got away with half a dozen bag thefts from women, either elderly or with childen pulling at their hems. Very quick, unobtrusive and smart. Ours was one of several churches and small shops he targeted until he was caught red handed with a stolen bag, arrested and identified as someone with along history of theft behind him. But that was several months ago, and we'd not heard since if he'd been charged or punished. So, was it him or someone who looked like him?

We found out on Friday, when the handbag of an 87 year old woman was stolen while she and a couple of others were opening up the tea room for business. The man, identified from CCTV pictures inside church during the brief period of the theft, ten minutes in and out, was the same as had been caught before, and had appeared, as I feared, on Sunday. It was as if he was there to annnounce "I'm back, catch me if you can." He's a clever predator, and always leaves a trail of distress and trouble in his wake. We're faced with a large bill to change keys now, as the stolen bad contained both house and church keys labelled. Once more, a place which we'd take much trouble to make safe, with CCTV cameras is shown to be vulnerable because it cannot be protected from a skilled and determined thief. Nowhere is sacred any more. The police are as upset as we are, but seem unable to deal with the increasingly unruly and unscrupulous elements of society. We are weighted down with a surfeit of laws meant to give them power to act, but also with a surfeit of paperwork which keeps them tied to desks rather than dealing with crime. Such a mess. What one earth can be done about it?

Smash and grab

.
Last night thirty members of St John's congregation gathered for a Requiem Eucharist, in thanksgiving and remembrance of our friend Vincent, whose funeral took so very long to arrange, because the hospital had somehow managed to have him as a patient for a fortnight without taking any details of next of kin from him, or if they did, they managed to conceal the fact from everyone, including themselves. Our choir robed up to meet Vincent's coffin beforehand at the south gate, and escorted into church for the service. It was a moving simple 'family' occasion with church members present who had known him for most of his life, or worked with him in the tea room. His own closest surviving relatives could not be present, living in Australia and America and unable to travel. His coffin remained there overnight, decked in flowers arranged by
church members.

Today at ten, there were forty odd people in church for the funeral office - some of those who had attended the night before were there again, but not all, as some had to work. Others who couldn't attend last night made it for this morning's service or came to the Crematorium for the Farewell and Committal. There were a dozen members of Cathays Methodist church present. He attended their Tuesday lunch club regularly. They were his friends too. Vincent's poor sight and deafness made him seem more of a lonely person than he really was. He was content to live alone after his mother's death fifteen or more years ago, but remained constantly connected with two local Christian communities where his friendship was treasured.

As we left for Thornhill Crematorium after the funeral office, there was a bit of traffic chaos in the High Street outside. At the entrance to the Castle Arcade, I noticed police cordon tape strung across the battered front of the Clive Ranger jewellery shop, and a parked Panda car nearby - signs of a smash and grab raid. I learned later that it had happened just a short while before we'd left church. Two hundred thousand pounds worth of goods stolen, including two valuable Fabergé eggs on display. Balaclava'd men with a sledge hammer had got away with daylight robbery on a busy thoroughfare.

I spoke later in the day to the shop manager, to express my sympathies. He simply said how thankful he was that nobody was injured. He was philosophical about the assault on the shop, having seen much worse outcomes in his thirty years as a trader in precious things. And he graciously thanked me for 'my time'. I was amazed he had time to stop a minute to speak to me, a stranger in a dog collar, what with all the details of a big insurance claim to sort out, and a shop front to get repaired as soon as possible.

A strange event accompanying Vincent's final farewell.