Deciding to stay on the mission field over Christmas is never an easy decision. Your heart wants to be elsewhere, but your pocketbook won’t let you. Having extended our budget for mission trips and conferences this past year as far as we were able, the finances just would not allow us to go home to be with family. So Pam trimmed the tree and baked some cookies and we hunkered down as best we could in our newly adopted land.
The situation was helped by an unexpected snowfall that covered the nearby park and garden with what in Canada would be considered a light dusting. For southern England it was a shock to the adults and delight to the children who made the most of what little they could find.
Our Horsham office had decided that they would all like to go the Winter Wonderland Fair going on in Hyde Park in London, so we bundled up with our colleagues and their kids and spent a very pleasant afternoon among the rides and market stalls of the fair. It was cold enough to make ice and busy enough to stay warm among the crowds, and with a spirit of camaraderie our staff enjoyed the day.
We followed up that event with a Christmas dinner that was a little more unusual than the typical meal. One of our staff had a raclette stored away, so we dragged that out and each of us brought something for ourselves and something to share with another and we had an abundance of food and fun that encouraged us all.
Trevor and Shirley, who host the Home Group that we attend, also had prepared a Christmas meal. Shirley is a wonderful host who knows how to lay out a lovely table, and the food once again was far more than any of us could eat. This is the same Home Group that has hosted all the Teach Beyond folk who have attended Trafalgar Road Baptist Church, and they have a special heart for those of us who are missing family at Christmas.
Despite our appreciation for our own church, we decided that it would be nice to take in a carol sing at the Anglican church in town. St. Mary’s dates to the 13th century and is a beautiful old building with a timbered roof and lovely stonework and stained glass. Like many of these old churches, the acoustics were wonderful, and it was a real joy to sing the old hymns in a very packed sanctuary all decked out for the holidays.
But the highlight of the season for us were the tickets to see a production of Tchaikovsky’s Nutcracker at the Albert Hall. The production and dances were glorious, as was the music resounding off the wall of that historic venue. Our seats were the cheapest we could get, but there really are no bad seats in that hall and we could hear and see everything without obstruction. It was a glorious evening, and fitting finale to what had been, in the end, a most blessed Christmas in Horsham.
Queen Elizabeth reigned for 70 years, longer than any British monarch; indeed, longer than any European monarch with exception of Louis XIV who came to the throne at the age of four. Elizabeth was 25 when her father, King Edward VI passed away in 1952. She was in Kenya at the time with her husband Phillip when she heard the news. Her coronation in 1953 was a global event watched by over 250 million people. Over 4 billion watched her funeral.
Elizabeth came to the throne at a difficult time in Britain’s history. Although they had won the war, Britain had suffered a great deal as a result. In ’55 when my parents immigrated to Canada, rationing was still in place for many supplies and the economy slow to recover. Elizabeth weathered that crisis with the same steely resolve that would come to serve her so well in the rest of her tumultuous reign.
The sixties brought a revival in England’s fortunes with the arrival of a fresh spirit of optimism, exemplified by the exuberance of its music and fashion. Suddenly, England was the place to be, and the Queen was the poster girl of that era, her picture appearing on countless mugs and plates snapped up by eager foreign tourists.
But the public image of a serenely successful monarch was only the façade. Behind the scenes, in quiet diplomacy, Elizabeth was rebuilding Britain’s reputation and influence, not in the empire of old, but with a new Commonwealth that would, by the end of her reign, include more countries and have wider economic reach than the British Empire at its height.
Her reign was also marked by the failures and foibles of her sons, notably Charles, her heir, and Andrew, his randy and immoral brother. We have watched our share of retrospectives on the drama surrounding Charles’ wife Princess Diana and her unfortunate death and the sordid details of Andrew’s relationship with Jeffrey Epstein. I’m not sure how much blame in all this can be assigned to the Queen who sought to balance public duty with private anguish. As in most of the crises that she faced, Elizabeth put on a public air of dignified acceptance of reality, and found solace in her faith.
It is the Queen’s faith that in the end seems to be her most enduring legacy. As the head of the Church of England, Elizabeth could merely have gone through the motions of her religious duties. But for this Queen, her faith was the rock on which she stood, and in her own quiet way sought to convey the importance of that faith to her people. In one address to the nation, Elizabeth reflected on her reign: “For me, the teachings of Christ and my own personal accountability before God provide a framework in which I try to lead my life. I, like so many of you, have drawn great comfort in difficult times from Christ’s words and example.”
This week, as her funeral cortege moved through the streets of London and down the road to Windsor for her burial, millions of her grateful and grief-stricken people lined the streets in an outpouring of affection and appreciation rarely seen in this reserved culture. The future of the monarchy in Britain remains, as it has been for many years, an open question. But surely no greater argument for its continuation could be made than the reign of Elizabeth II, among the most devout, capable, and accomplished rulers this tired old world has ever seen.
When we stepped into our current role we understood that there would be a lot of travel involved. That did not concern us. We both love to travel and are well-inured regarding its vicissitudes and frustrations. So when Teach Beyond announced that the next Asian conference would be in Hanoi, we were excited about the opportunity to return to Vietnam, a country that we found as vibrant and vital as any in Southeast Asia.
We were further encouraged when our boss Vance, who also has a heart for Vietnam, was willing to financially help several of our national colleagues from WCA in Bangladesh to attend. Many of them had never left their own country and most had no passport and no visa. But with the diligent efforts of our National Director, Shankar, we were able to help all those – fifteen of them in total – who wished to attend.
I was asked to help with the seminar presentations and was encouraged that most of those whom I reached out to were willing to help. I found a couple of very competent Vietnamese staff at the hotel most helpful in setting up projectors, microphones and tables and all of the seminars were well attended and well received.
Pam’s responsibility was to set up the tables that would allow our attendees to get more information about aspects of their ministry that interested the. These tables were then staffed with those who could del with individual questions about their ministry particulars that would have been difficult to ask in a public setting like a seminar. We do try to stay culturally sensitive.
The plenary sessions were a great encouragement to all who came. Of particular joy to us was to see the Bangladeshi nationals that we had encouraged to attend volunteer to lead one of the worship sessions with their own particular traditions of worship, including the gorgeous national dress that is such an important part of the culture of South Asia.
We also had a chance to meet and encourage several of our national members. Our plan was to invite each of them to share a meal so that we could chat in private. These meetings were the highlight of the entire conference as far as we were concerned. We are unable to share the stories we heard, and most work in “creative access” countries, but they made us keenly aware of the importance of these meeting for those who serve in such difficult circumstance. Pam also met with the planning team for the changes necessary in WCA’s constitution and legal standing in Bangladesh, which is going to be a true Gordian knot to untangle.
As the conference happened to fall during Canadian Thanksgiving, the Canucks who were there decided that we should meet separately one night and celebrate our common heritage. David, who had also lived in Hanoi, knew a local baker who would be willing to make a couple of pumpkin pies for the occasion and so a really great meal finished with a favourite desert that was every bit as good as any we have had back in Canada.
A group of us from the Horsham office even got a chance to go to the park in central Hanoi, which was vastly different from the one we remembered from our time there ten years ago. There were stalls and restaurants and a real touristy vibe that has simply did not exist on our last visit. We opted for a quiet meal beside the lake rather than trust the food at the outdoor stalls with the others and had a very pleasant evening together beside the lake.
The conference proved to be a great encouragement to our Asian members and a resounding success. It was also emotionally and intellectually challenging to meet with so many to discuss in detail the problems that they are facing in their own country and ministry and to problem-solve solutions for them in real time. Asians hide their sorrows well, but we know that many of them are facing significant challenges in the year ahead and during our days there we tried our best to support and encourage them in the short time we had.
We also felt the need to just get away from the demands of ministry by leaving the hotel for a spell. We took a stroll along the Song Hong (Red) River that runs through Hanoi until we found a little place that had a tea shop overlooking the water. There we sat and reflected on the path that God has been leading us one for these past 16 years. It has been a remarkable journey, and with this new set of responsibilities it appears that God is not done with us yet.
Deciding it was time we took a look around our adopted country, we took off on a Friday and drove to Bath. The old Roman town of Bath – the Romans liked their baths – is in Somerset located on the river Avon. Confusingly, there are nine Avon Rivers in England and none of them are connected to each other. “Avon” is an old Celtic word for river, so essentially, River River. This is a confusing country in many ways.
But it is also an old and historic one, and aside from the Roman baths, which are still there, Bath was the home of both Jane Austin the writer and Thomas Gainsborough the painter, so its artistic roots are well established. The baths were thought to have healing properties, and the Romans not only built the extensive bath, but also built a temple to Minerva, the Roman goddess of healing. Its ruins are still there.
Bath Abbey is a later addition to the city. It was built in the 1500s in the Gothic style using the earlier Norman Cathedral as it foundation. The original structure dates back to an Anglo-Saxon convent on the site in the 7 th century. Bath Abbey is not the oldest church in England by a long shot, but it was quite stunning with its lacy fanlike limestone vaulted ceiling
We thought of joining a tour group, but the guide was a bit of a bore, so we wandered off on our own. In addition to its university, where my niece Claire got her PhD and met her husband, Bath is also famous for its housing, especially the Royal Crescent, a Georgian era urban development using the local Bath limestone, renowned for its warm colour and durability.
It was a lovely, sunny fall day and we wandered happily in and out of the quant little bookstores, featuring the work of Jane Austin, of course, and had lunch at lovely spot in an upstairs restaurant that was remarkably quiet for a Friday afternoon.
After lunch we had to walk down by the river and back up through the gorgeous Botanical Gardens, still lush with flowers well into September. We were determined to make an effort to slow down on this trip, so after a good walk through town, we retired to our local digs for the night for an early supper and a restful evening.
is a tiny village on the Dorset coast once home to smugglers and other adventurers. However, in World War II the village was one of the most important in all of England, home to a state of the art radar facility. Along with the airbase in nearby Swanage, Worth Matravers was the frontline of the defense of England from German bombers coming over the English Channel, a site in history that is now almost forgotten.
I have not forgotten since it was at Worth Matravers that my parents met and married in 1940. Mom was a young WAAF (Women’s Auxiliary Air Force) officer manning the radar facility when her then fiancé, Denis, was shot down in his fighter plane over the channel. Dad was a young army officer whose regiment was being marshalled along the Devon coast before being shipped out to Africa.
Mom, who had a good voice and had a strong dramatic flair, was singing on the makeshift stage that the contingent of military personnel had set up to encourage the troops. According to Dad, he walked into the back of the mess hall, heard Mom singing, and said to his mates, “That’s the girl I’m going to marry.” Four weeks later, they did just that in the nearby church of St. Nicolas.
Mom and Dad held a reception for their friends and spent their wedding night in the nearby Square and Compass. Dad shipped out the following day so hurriedly that he forgot to pay the minister for the wedding service. They didn’t see each other until the war was over.
Pam and I took a stroll down through the village to see St. Nicholas, built in the 1100s and one of the oldest in England. We walked past the cliff trail down to Winspit quarry that Mom and Dad would walk when they were courting, now used as a film site for the Star Wars: Andor series. And then we had a drink in the pub where Mom and Dad spent their wedding night.
There is little left in the village to indicate that this was where radar was developed and used to such devastating effect in England’s war effort. Nor that at one time there were 2,000 military personnel stationed in this village alone. The countryside bears no scars of that historic conflict, but if it were not for its historic importance, my parents never would have met.
The end point of our trip was the little resort town of St. Ives where we intended to stay for a few days. It is often difficult to separate the myth from the reality in this country, but legend holds that Ives, an Irish princess converted from paganism by the spread of Christianity brought to Ireland by St. Patrick, sailed across the Irish Sea in a coracle and landed on the Cornish coast with the intention of evangelizing the pagan people. She was martyred for her faith in 450 AD and the village of St. Ives grew up around her shrine.
This fishing village has now become a resort, founded on its proximity to one of Britain’s rare sandy beaches, shallow for several hundred metres, that provides a relatively warm bathing spot for families and children. Although it was already late in the year we thought we might just have a go, but the bone numbing temperature was just too much for our Caribbean acclimated bodies, and we quickly retreated to our room.
We stayed up the hill from the village at the Treganna Castle, built in the 1700s on a design by the famous Georgian architect John Woods who also designed the Royal Crescent in Bath that we had seen earlier. Like many of historic British homes, the castle had been repurposed as a resort and we spent a very pleasant few days in one of their quieter garden rooms.
Our accommodation allowed us to make a short day trip to Land’s End, the furthest west you can travel in England. The facilities were closed that day, but there was nothing to prevent us from walking down to the sea where we spent a very pleasant hour watching the dolphins frolic in the bay below.
After a taking a short walk along the rugged Cornish coast, we then drove a little way down the road to the site of the Minack Theatre, an outdoor amphitheater located down a treacherous looking path that overlooks the sea. The theatre was also closed, but surrounding view gave us a desire to return and see a play there in such a stunning setting.
Returning to our hotel, we treated ourselves to formal dinner in the dining room at Treganna Castle. We often don’t indulge in such things, but every once in a while it is nice to dress us and dine at someplace nice. The evening was worth the cost.
There are few writers that Pam and I both enjoy in common, but one of them is Agatha Christie. Once I had read all of Conan Doyle’s works as a teenager, I scouted around for another writer of detective fiction and landed on Christie. I have read nearly all her works and Pam and I both thoroughly enjoyed ITV’s Hercule Poirot series with David Suchet.
As we had to drive back through Devon to get home, we thought we would stop by Christie’s summer home at Greenway. Virtually inaccessible by road, Christie and her husband, archeologist Max Mallowan – Christie had divorced her first husband but kept his name – would sail up the Dart River to reach Greenway. That boat dock is featured in one of Christie’s novels, Dead Man’s Folly.
The home, like many of the historic places in Britain, was well preserved with spacious grounds that led down to the river along winding floral pathways. The boat dock that served as a gateway into the grounds from the river and was equally well laid out.
The rooms of their Georgian home were strewn with Christie memorabilia and artifacts. Decorated in the heavy Victorian style of the period, the place had a restful and most literary air, with bookshelves and quiet places to read and reflect throughout the home.
I was surprised to learn that despite the inviting introspective atmosphere of the house, Christie wrote nothing while she was at Greenway, wisely using the time there to get away from the stress of her craft and her rising popularity. Her second marriage proved enduring, and she and Max remained married until her death in 1976.
The famous Glastonbury Festival, held every year in late June, typically attracts over 200,000 people. The festival is actually held in nearby Pilton, but Glastonbury has historic resonance in this country, and the festival has come to be known by that name.
The area around Glastonbury shows evidence of human settlement as early as 4000 BC, making it one of the earliest settlements in Britain. The nearby Glastonbury Tor has been revered as the site of spiritual significance in Druid rituals since the Iron Age and is still used by modern Druids and New Age spiritualists as a place of celebration and worship. Legend places the Tor as central to the realm of King Arthur whose remains are claimed to be buried under the nearby Abbey, now fallen into ruin.
It was a stiff walk up the Tor in a brisk autumn breeze but the view at the top did not disappoint. If King Arthur has wanted a lookout for his kingdom, he could not have chosen a better spot. We were sorry we hadn’t brought a picnic, as many climbers had thought to do, but it was pleasant to rest in the sun at the top for a while and take in the view.
Afterwards we took a stroll through the ancient streets of Glastonbury itself. Glastonbury Abbey, built in the 600s, was once the most important and wealthiest in all of England, living testimony to the country-wide influence of this once thriving market town. Now the streets are lined with stores selling New Age paraphernalia and the smell of incense filled the streets.
Although such things are not exactly our cup of tea, it was pleasant to walk around in the sunshine among the crowds milling about the stores and cafes and interesting to see another part of Britain’s rich history.
While chatting to some locals in Bath about their cathedral, a couple mentioned the cathedral in nearby Wells would be worth a visit. As Wells was on our way to Cornwall, we decided to stop for a bit a have a look. We were not disappointed.
Construction on the cathedral began in 1175 and was largely completed by the early 1300s, although the striking scissor arches were not added until the middle of that century. Although the outside of the structure looks like a fairly standard Gothic cathedral, the interior was visually stunning, full of light and created a most elevated and reverential atmosphere.
The transepts and side chapels were also lovely with their ribbed vaulting and intricate stone carvings. Some of the stained glass windows were among the most beautiful we had ever seen. The grounds and gardens adjacent, including the well preserved Bishop’s Palace was also restful and serene. The entire grounds gave testimony to the faith of those who had created this place and the peace of God that remained on the place.
Needing a bite to eat we wandered into the nearby market and strolled among the stalls. Market day is one of those traditional European features that we seem to have lost in North America. We didn’t buy anything among the many stall offering their wares, although Pam couldn’t resist trying on a very British hat.
On our way back to our car we passed by Vicar’s Close, which has the distinction of being the oldest continuously inhabited residential street in England. Built in 1350, it originally housed the Vicar’s Choral, who responsible for singing daily services at the cathedral. It remains in remarkable good condition and still fully occupied. Parking was not an option.
Home Thoughts From Abroad 